My Perfectly Imperfect Thanksgiving Dinner

Remember the first Thanksgiving of your married life?

Remember wanting to make it perfect, so you’d make a good impression, especially on your mother-in-law?

I’ll never forget mine. It should have been a disaster. It almost was.

Let me start where every Thanksgiving dinner starts, with the turkey. I’m not a novice when it comes to turkey.

On my TV show Katie Brown Workshop I talk about cooking and entertaining, and I’ve given tons of turkey tips—how to keep it moist and flavorful (I’ve concocted an herb and salt rub that works wonders), how to make sure the dark and white meat come out perfectly.

I’d bought a huge turkey for this Thanksgiving, the first one William and I were hosting as husband and wife. And as parents. Even though our baby girl, Prentiss, was too young to remember this day, I wanted to start building traditions for our new family, traditions as warm, loving and indelible as the ones I grew up with.

We’d invited lots of guests and I was thrilled that my mother-in-law, Pattc, was coming. Work on our brownstone was finally finished. I’d be cooking our first Thanksgiving dinner in a fully restored kitchen. No need to worry here about something breaking down.

Prentiss got me up early. I fed her and, juggling her on my hip, preheated the oven. Then I handed her over to William. “You guys go watch football,” I said. “I need to concentrate on cooking.”

Much as I love to cook and entertain, I have to admit I have a reputation for being a bit, well, scattered as a hostess. Casual, for sure. I’ve been known to answer the door in my bathrobe and ask guests to put out the hors d’oeuvres while I shower.

“And if you don’t mind,” I’ll say, “can you set the table?” I’ll come back to find everybody bonding over where to put the dessert forks. I don’t think it’s half bad. At least it breaks the ice.

But not this year. This Thanksgiving I vowed to be super-organized. I’d already decorated the table with gourds and small pumpkins and enlisted William and Pattc to set it later.

I took out my list. I had it all scheduled: when to boil the potatoes, braise the carrots, sauté the spinach, cook the yams, put in the Brussels sprouts, do the asparagus.

First, the turkey. I covered it with my herb and salt rub and popped it in the oven. The biggest challenge for a perfect Thanksgiving dinner is making sure everything is ready to eat at the same time. You want the mashed potatoes to be steaming, the asparagus to be crisp-tender and the turkey warm with the juices running clear.

I thought back to my childhood Thanksgivings in upper Michigan. We always went to Aunt Nan and Uncle Hugh’s place on Mackinac Island. Mom baked some pies and Dad made his hand-cranked caramel ice cream from his family’s secret recipe (even I don’t know what’s in it).

On Mackinac Island no cars were allowed, so we’d be picked up by horse-drawn sleigh. We’d ride off to my aunt and uncle’s, the sleigh bells jangling and my sisters and me singing, “Over the river and through the woods…” Talk about traditions!

Well, we’d start our own traditions here in Brooklyn. I could picture us, when Prentiss was a little older, making Pilgrim hats out of construction paper like my sisters and I did. And maybe she’d want to put on plays of the First Thanksgiving like we did (my older sister always had to be the star).

I’d been waiting to host my own family Thanksgiving for a long time. Sure, I’d had friends over for Thanksgiving when I was single, at least till they got married and had kids. I yearned to get married and start a family of my own.

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