I woke up the morning after Thanksgiving with a pulled muscle in my right hand. Now that may sound like a nuisance at first, but think of the consequences. My right hand is my texting hand. My right hand is my cocktail holding hand. And perhaps most importantly and relevantly, my right hand is my cooking hand.
This isn’t surprising given that Thanksgiving was a marathon. Ordinarily it’s eight straight hours of intense cooking, but this year I decided to kick it up a notch by learning the family turkey trade and by checking out some video equipment from the lab.
The day started with me plopping our 21 lb turkey in the sink to rinse off the dry brine I had administered a few days prior. I then had to negotiate the turkey out of the sink and onto a roasting rack where it could be properly buttered, herbed, stuffed with soggy bread, and trussed. No worries, I got the majority of the ordeal on video.
Once the turkey was safely in the 325-degree oven, it was pie time. My sister took on the aesthetic components while I made the pumpkin and pecan fillings.
The next few hours was a blur of chopping, melting, mixing, mashing, and of course, shooting b-roll.
By 4pm we were sitting at the dining room table passing hot dishes from daughter to grandfather to son and on, right over the noses of three anxious dogs.
It’ll be at least a few days before I find the will (and the hand dexterity) to dig into all of the footage, so don’t hold your breath but definitely stay tuned. Below are a few screenshots because I’m a bit of a tease…