Our Cup Runneth Over

As it turned out, Honey was feeling better yesterday, but I was feeling worse.  The decision to stay home for Thanksgiving seemed more than justified.

Since we had not planned on being home, our holiday feast was not exactly typical, but it was close.  Instead of a turkey, we had a spatchcocked chicken. 

If you’re not familiar with the term, Spatchcock is a word from 18th century Ireland that describes a way of cooking poultry, and you may have been doing it already without knowing what to call it – it involves removing the backbone and laying the bird flat on a grill before placing it in the oven. 

In addition to the chicken, we made a big pan of dressing and some giblet gravy, and Honey made the broccoli rice she had intended to make for Cheryl. We ate around three o'clock, and had way too much food for two people. 

Then just after dark, as we were trying to decide whether to go for leftovers or ice cream, the door bell rang.  Knowing that we had been under the weather, the Graffs, our next-door neighbors, had brought over dinner.  The plates included ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, yams, devilled eggs and more, and there was another plate with slices of pumpkin and pecan pie.

If you’re hungry, feel free to stop by.  We have enough leftovers to feed an army.