My Goose was Cooked

But the turkey wasn't. Okay, so I got the bird in the oven a little late. And I had a little trouble figuring out what the oven temperature was in Fahrenheit when using a British gas cooker that only has "gas marks" on it. And the consensus among three reputable culinary reference texts was that we probably pulled the turkey at the early end of the allotted roasting time. But it was getting a little late, and the natives--not to mention Pippin, Louise's adorable guide dog (that's him desperately trying to reach the stove)--were getting a little restless.

I'll spare you the gory details (and mercifully omit the photographic proof), but let's just say that carving a definitely-the-wrong-side-of-done turkey is a little difficult, a lot gross and very...shall we say...juicy. The meat did not exactly fall off the bone. But we persevered and tossed the whole lot back in the oven for a little quality time with the BTUs, and after a fashion we had ourselves a grand old Thanksgiving...even if we did so at about the same time that most of you on the Eastern Seaboard--five hours behind Greenwich Mean Time--were just getting 'round to your third helping of pumpkin pie.

Below is a portrait of the fruits of our labor and the end result of a LOT of waiting. From left to right, we've got: Suzie's homemade, tuckus-kickin' cranberry sauce; roasted root vegetables; 100% U.S.-made, store-bought, just-add-water stuffing and a few slabs of white meat slathered in my lump-free, patented turkey gravy.