Thanksgiving plans set

We'll be having a very small gathering Thursday for Thanksgiving--just J and his mom and me--but I am excited about it because it will be the first time in  four years that I have not been at work on the holiday. The last couple years, J cooked totally awesome dinners for us by himself that I was able to enjoy when I got home, but I really missed being able to participate in the cooking. Generally I am rather Scroogey about the holidays, but as a professional cook and an avid home cook, Thanksgiving offers a lot of fun. And I'm all about the food with it. I don't care one whit about any other aspect of the tradition. I don't put up seasonal decor for it. I don't issue greeting cards. I pay no attention to that sport that they show on TV. I ignore the cornball half-myth of the Pilgrim forefathers. Indeed, if I had been in England in the early seventeenth century and had happened to have been on hand as the Mayflower was leaving dock, I probably would have shouted, "Don't let the door slam you in the arse on your way out!" [Note to self: add "insult departing Pilgrims" to "Fun Things to Do With Time Machine" list]. But I love it because it is the one truly food-oriented holiday that most Americans observe.

We've been going back and forth on what to make for the obligatory bird item. Since the gathering is so small, I had ruled out doing a whole turkey, though I knew that would be the most traditional and probably most appealing to J's mom. On the other hand, she is interested only in the lean breast meat. In 2006, we did prepare a turkey breast sans the rest of the bird. But I want those leg and thigh portions, if a bird is on the menu, and I have been pretty determined for weeks that we are going to have some kind of whole bird. Maybe not a turkey, but certainly a whole bird. But options dwindled. A duck or a goose would not have appealed to mom, nor would a pile of miniature winged beasties like quail. While I would have been totally fine with an awesome, perfectly roasted chicken, tradition may not have been sufficiently honored. I considered getting a capon (also essentially a chicken, but actually a castrated rooster that has grown plump and tender from a life of not having all its boy parts). A bit bigger than a normal roasting chicken, a capon can totally pass as a smallish turkey. In fact, nine years ago J and I used a partially de-boned capon as the outer "turkey" layer of a small tur-duck-en that we made for Christmas dinner. Capons are expensive, though. And so are turkey breasts, actually. So we considered it a real coup yesterday at the store when we found a 13-pound whole turkey for about fourteen bucks. At that weight, it's not a totally ridiculous size, and it will afford abundant leftovers to send home with mom. So the turkey tradition is satisfied and I get the whole bird that I desire for both culinary and gustatory pleasure. Thanks to the fact that we still have not had a real freeze here yet, we still have harvestable herbs on the deck outside our kitchen, very lucky for the end of November. While I have not decided on the whole plan for the turkey yet, I know that these herbs and a lot of butter and that turkey's skin are going to meet in glory in the oven.

I may take pictures while we cook on Thursday and post them here.

NaNoWriMo Update: Failure Ahoy!

I will NOT give up quite yet, but it honestly looks like I could possibly not finish NaNo this year. I really, really want to, but I am so far behind on word count with not even a week to go. Day-jobbery in November has been way intense and time-consuming and I have spent much of the non-day-job time beating down missed deadlines in the M-Brane world. Sigh. Also, my novel-in-process is such a colossal mess of nonsense. I know that one is not supposed to worry about that so much at this stage, but I do anyway because I really love my protagonist and the general gist of my story and I want it to get done somehow and not have it be yet another unfinished file of suck on my computer. I put this excerpt up on Facebook last night, from last night's writing. It's set in the "Mars" thread of the story (there are four very different worlds and interlinked threads that converge at the end, or so I think):

From an overview, for the newcomer, of the singular Kaseian society:

            The first thing a visitor needs to know upon arrival in the capital is that, in Kasei Vallis, the jeddak rules not so much a princedom but an everlasting house party. He is not so much a king as a seductive but quite domineering host. His laws are are more invitations that one ought not refuse. When he drinks, everyone drinks. When he eats, somebody else cooks (but more on that point in a moment).

            The boys of Kasei Vallis—rather more than the girls, it must be said—bear the visible hallmarks of his tastes and obessions: many of their bodies are inked elaborately in livid tattoos—more true of those who were of a certain age when the jeddak was most enthusiastic about skin art. Those younger ones who have fewer tattoos still tend to have their ears and nipples and cocks pierced with rings and bars of tantalum and osmium. What is a fad for the jeddak becomes a lifestyle for the young men of the princedom. When his taste in music shifts, as it frequently does, bands are hastily formed and subsequently disbanded overnight. If he enjoys a TV show, then all Kasei Vallis enjoys it with him. Likewise, new modes conveyance prosper and fail on his whim: it’s motorcars this season, and it will be zeppelins next. Whatever the topic, whatever the detail, currying the jeddak’s favor is always in vogue—except when it’s not. During those seasons, punks coif their hair into outré configurations, adopt a surly manner and profess to give not a damn about the likes and dislikes of their prince. But they come nonetheless to his parlors and party halls when he calls. And soon enough, they again follow his lead. And why do they behave this way? Does the jeddak of Kasei Vallis hold them in thrall by his force of arms, by his authoritarian operation of the levers of the state? No, he does it by sheer force of his charm and beauty, by circuses and bread—more stew than bread, really.

            Which brings me back to the point I was about to make earlier. While Kasei Vallis eats when their jeddak feasts, someone needs to cook that feast. In the deepest warrens of the jeddak’s compound, a kitchen steams and sizzles, its preparation tables heaped with the finest produce of all the Red Planet. If a visitor were to wander into this hidden but fantastic corner of the jeddak’s princely lair, one might find a massive thirteen-eyed stove, blackened by three centuries of nearly continuous use, and standing before it a young man of no particular note other than that it is he who is there and no one else. And when you draw near to that stove and get a closer look at that young man, you will recognize him from as if from a past life that you cannot quite remember having lived. He will not tell you his name, but you will somehow know that it is Dagen and that you have known that name before. This is important: you will seduce him as you suspect he may have seduced you before in another world. When the jeddak eats, it is Dagen who cooks. And now you are in the kitchen of the jeddak, his cook in your large hands.

            So will the jeddak drop dead from poisin in his food? Will you be the slayer of a prince? And if you are, will you remember having done it? Will it be a conscious action, or a  forgotten one, the reason for it lost in the hazel haze of Dagen’s eyes? You will wonder who seduced whom as you step into the throne room, applauded by the Warlords of Mars, feeling vastly powerful yet stripped naked by the cook’s eyes. You will never forget your visit to Kasei Vallis, its sensual delights and horrid excesses, the magnificent and terrible things you did there.