The kitchen was a mess this morning. And honestly? That tracks. Because last night, I made a very intentional choice: I will deal with this tomorrow. There was no chance another dish was getting washed after everyone left. My body had fully entered food-coma mode, and my motivation had packed it's bags and headed to the couch.
But here’s the twist — mornings are where my energy lives. I’ve always been that way. Give me sunlight and a cup of coffee, and suddenly cleaning feels like a possibility again. Last night? Not so much. Last night was for stretchy pants, laughter, and one too many bites of ham I definitely didn’t need, but absolutely deserved after the morning of cooking we did.
Everything was delicious. Every single thing.
The kind of delicious where you have to pause mid-bite and just point at your plate because words fail you. The turkey alone (thank you, Kurt) was worth the clean-up delay. After what can only be described as a propane-tank crisis of epic proportions, Kurt stepped into his element and fried that bird like a man on a mission. And friends…if you’ve never had a deep-fried turkey, let me be the whisper in your ear nudging you in that direction. It is, hands-down, the best way to go. Juicy. Tender. So good it makes you briefly consider whether you could fry all future poultry, forever. If turkey had a love language, Kurt spoke it fluently last night.
We also had a brown-sugar glazed ham, the one we thought we were serving to 20 people instead of a cozy, contained gathering. To make it even sweeter, we had a Crown-worthy spread featuring everything from sourdough, artichoke stuffing (thank you Paula) to mashed potatoes (thank you Bret), casseroles, deviled eggs (Meredith, they were yummy) — the works. You would have thought we were hosting the county.
What made it even tastier than the food itself? The friends around the table. The ones who show up for you in all the little ways: bringing their favorite beverages, arguing passionately about football rivalries, cheering at the TV like it was their living room too, and settling into conversations that move from funny to heartfelt, then back again.
It was one of those nights where the drinks didn’t need refills because someone else always topped the glass for you. Where football narrators provided background noise and halftime entertainment, but the real headliners were the casual stories shared between bites.
But in our kitchen, turkey aside, two new winners I made myself. The recipes that now come with a signed contract for yearly return appearances.
And speaking of crisp — I ate it for breakfast. Boldly. Unapologetically. Possibly standing in that same messy kitchen. Because if crisp-for-breakfast is wrong…well, I don’t want to be right either.
While we didn’t get to spend this Thanksgiving in person with our kids and grandchild, there is a quiet and deep gratitude that fills that space too. I’m thankful they’re healthy. Happy. Living lives full of laughter and love — even if it’s happening a few states away from the casserole and glaze headquarters we created here.
I’m thankful for family. I’m thankful for community. And I’m thankful for sweet friends who stay long enough that you forget eventual cleanup was ever part of the plan.
And if these cozy holiday moments, paint-slinging days, and fried-turkey triumphs have taught me anything?
It’s that gratitude is found in the little sparks: the laughter, the stories, the shared dishes, the problem-solvers, the deep fried turkey and jalapeno poppers, the football…and yes, the crisp for breakfast.