Wednesday, November 24, 2010
We're celebrating Thanksgiving a day early here. Conflicting schedules and numerous invitations to dine with extended family have prompted this unofficial date change. The turkey has been brining for over 12 hours now, the ham is in the oven, the pies were done early this morning (early, like 1am), and all the rest will be finished up over the course of the next few hours. For once, I get to sit with my feet up and watch brain numbing football games on Thanksgiving Day instead of standing over a stove, watching a timer and coordinating what goes in and out of the oven at what time, etc. And I feel neglectful of my perfuming duties. I dreamed of nutmegs last night. Sprinkling it atop nog, throwing a dash into a homemade potato soup, rubbing the spice on my wrists. Years ago I visited a "witch shop" wherein the owners of the shop, a couple, were arguing about the abortive qualities of nutmeg, was it 2 tsp or 2 TBLS that caused a miscarriage, or was it a whole, unground seed? Sadly, the discussion was of a personal nature as the woman was clearly very pregnant, and the man was clearly not happy about it. As fortune would have it, the resultant child is in her late 20's, married and planning her own family now -- with someone who isn't suggesting she choke down a barrel full of nutmeg powder. So, back to the finer qualities of nutmeg, for example, how sensual it smells, how magical, when blended with equally sensual and magical scents, like sandalwood, or tea rose, or osmanthus. I'm afraid I may overdose on nutmeg today as it is primary in my mind -- add it to the jus from the ham and baste? Mix it with the herbs and poke them up the turkey's bottom? I promise, I won't go too heavy on the nutmeg. My mother-in-law is coming over and we wouldn't want to have her dancing the Charleston to Like a G6 whilst waving a turkey leg over her head.