Just about everyone's escaped from Boston this week, leaving us to prepare the first Thanksgiving that we've done ourselves. For the last three years, we've been at Whitney's parents' for it, and before that, I had no reason to celebrate the holiday where you're meant to demonstrate your thankfulness to the native Americans for pushing off into the reservations by stuffing yourself with the local wildlife until you explode. With the mass exodus we nearly failed to find anyone at all who was still around to spend it with us, but Whitney's brother came round in the end.

Most of the morning was spent going through a very long list written on a Post-It note at fifteen minute time intervals, describing precisely what the oven should be set at and what things should be in it at the time. Whitney had gathered up a heap of seafood to make her family's traditional cioppino (I've finally found out what it's called), and on top of that, seeing as I'd missed out on it for so long, we also got a turkey breast (which, though it sounds conservative compared to getting a whole bird, is basically exactly the same thing with the extremities cut off and still weighs a couple of tons). With mashed potato, gravy, green beans with mushrooms, dinner rolls, pumpkin pie and apple crumble. I think we'll be eating leftovers for a very long time.

And not much happened apart from that - the day was about five hours of cooking, half an hour of eating, two hours of film and pies, and I think that we're going to have to spend at least a couple of hours on the task ahead.


I'll be really thankful when I don't have to do any more washing up.