Last year was our first Thanksgiving as a married couple in the same place, in our new home (this is Katie talking). So, I decided to take on Thanksgiving 100% by myself. I, naively, planned to cook a giant dinner 90% by my lonesome for around 20 people and hosted it in our tiny apartment, seating folks around our coffee table.
It took about a week of prepping and cooking, but the dinner went down without a hitch — no burnt dishes, no gluey mashed potatoes. Everything was good to go, until folks started to leave. See, my darling husband had a bit too much to drink with dinner and when he drinks, he gets generous. So, as our guests were leaving, he was handing them tupperware of leftovers left and right, and indadvertedly gave away all of the leftover turkey.
Now, I don't know about you, but leftovers are kind of the point of Thanksgiving, and basically the biggest reason that one would even decide to host it themselves. I had no idea that my husband gave all the remaining meat from the two turkeys that I had spent days thawing, brining and roasting, and when I woke up the next morning to fix myself my favorite post-Thanksgiving snack (a turkey sandwich on white bread with mustard, mayonnaise and cheese), I was baffled. Where was the turkey, and why was it not in my fridge? I had plenty of cranberry sauce and an unfortunate amount of creamed corn, but none of the showrunner — the turkey.
It's been a year and I still haven't let my husband live this down. Sure, that may be a bit unfair, but every party we host brings up flashbacks. Leftovers are important, guys, and they're almost the best part of Thanksgiving (after, you know, family and stuff).