Thanksgiving Decor

There will not be a large family gathering at our house this year due to Covid. We are not going to act like "Covidiots" either and hazard traveling. However, while remaining safe at home, I can still decorate and bring the ambience of the season to our dwelling. In a Zoom meeting with the SoCal grandkids this week I took my iPad around the downstairs and we counted turkeys - seven in all. Five were stuffed but not with bread stuffing. They were pillowy soft and huggable because their insides were polyester fluff. The first two turkeys were on the dining table, flanking a spiral table runner and three glass candle holders filled with pomegranates and tangerines. Take a peek at each of them up close and personal. 

 

On the nearby china hutch hangs an autumnal colored wreath with green and gold jingle bells and unique, orange, pear-shaped bells. Hmm. That bow gets a bit more bedraggled each year. Apparently my fluffing skills are somewhat wanting in 2020.

Continuing on around clockwise to the living room, I swapped out some Halloween decor for two pilgrim pumpkins, sitting on a pumpkin placemat, against the same backdrop of gourd-filled vases from Halloween. Zooming in you see the smiling faces of those girl and boy pilgrims.

The hearth had a few updates. I removed the black and orange pumpkins, turned the fabric Jack o' Lanterns so their toothy grins no longer faced the room, and added the gold-guilded papier-mâché pumpkins. Robin and Dan painted those pumpkins as elementary-grade school-age kids in a workshop sponsored by an unfinished wood furniture store.

Still wondering where the rest of those turkeys are? Continuing to the right of the hearth is our antique cash register with three turkeys #3, #4 and #5 roosting there. Two stuffed ones are on top. One itty bitty one made from a walnut and silk leaves is nestled between two other small pumpkins on the lower marble shelf.

Circling on around, perched on a chair by the front door is the biggest, plumpest turkey of the flock, #6. Actually, to be correct, a group of wild turkeys is called a flock but a group of domesticated turkeys is call a rafter. So he is the biggest one of the rafter.

A set of GIVE THANKS blocks is displayed on the second china hutch, on the wall opposite the fireplace. I bought these hand-painted blocks at a craft fair and never removed the cellophane wrap that was part of their packaging. They pack away and redeploy much easier that way.

Above the hutch I hung a quilt called Pumpkin Time. I made it this month and have a DianeLoves2Quilt blog post about it dated 11/22/20 . From a distance it looks like a big number "3" but is really a fence and pumpkin lined path to a cottage.

 

With an about face, on the floor behind the couch is a rug I bought this year with a red car carrying a pinecone as a variant on the red pickup with a Christmas tree theme of late. I think the pinecone and holly allow me to get dual holiday purposing out of the rug. Another Thanksgiving quilt called Gobble can be seen hanging on the back of the couch. Also made for this season, I published a DianeLoves2Quilt post about it dated 11/8/20. If you are truly serious about counting turkeys, there are thirteen squares in this quilt made with turkey print fabric. Each square has about three turkeys, give or take, so thirty-nine turkeys anyone? Now, that's a full rafter! If the grandkids were here in person we might count these but I am not up for the philosophical discussion on how to count a partial turkey; so, those birds can just gobble quietly amongst themselves behind our backs on the couch while I ignore them. 

A third wallhanging I quilted for this season I called Harvest Moon. It too has its own blog post in DianeLoves2Quilt dated 11/9/20. I displayed it on the back of our wing chair between the dining room and living room.

But where is turkey #7? Turkeys know better than to venture into the kitchen, so this wooden one stopped right before entering the kitchen at the small table next to the doorway. Hmmm. Looks like that teapot lamp could use a bit of a polish, putting a whole other interpretation of the phrase, "polishing the silver for Thanksgiving".

Pumpkins are not so skittish about the kitchen. These two sit on my kitchen counter to bring some Thanksgiving into there. The one on the left has a little crystal in each of the spirals that sparkles when a candle behind is lit. Unfortunately, every time we sat down to eat or read we caused the table to vibrate a bit and the crystals jiggled, making an annoying and distracting sound. I moved the metal/crystal pumpkin to the more stable tile countertop. The pumpkin on the right is actually a light infused Jack-o' Lantern but, once again, I get double holiday duty by turning the grinning face around. I flip the switch on throughout the day and evening to add a bit of a festive air.

Here is my more successful attempt at pumpkin pies – far better than my misadventures with Frank's birthday pie in my 11/11/20 post and my sugar and heat challenged pie in my post for 4/4/20. I fear I am a more consistent decorator than chef!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL!

Ponder: A Rule Against Murder

A Rule Against Murder ©2008 is the fourth in the series of Chief Inspector Gamache novels by Louise Penny. I began it October 12th but did not post my thoughts about it until now. Hmm... can I remember that far back? Fortunately I bookmark phrases in books I find pleasurable in the language or sentiment to cite at a later time, so I will share those tidbits here.

I do recall that the location is a fresh change from the town of Three Pines near Montreal, quaint and  picturesque as it is. After all, how many murders can a small, pleasant, supposedly crime-free town support? In this novel Gamache is on a vacation with his wife at a resort, Manoir Bellechasse, a treat they allow themselves annually for their wedding anniversary. After only one chapter into A Rule Against Murder, I already wanted to visit Manoir Hovey, the actual Canada lakeside resort after which Penny modeled the resort in the book. Staying at a calm retreat such as these would be quite enjoyable as long as there wasn't a murder committed there during the visit. Gamache was not so lucky as to have an uninterrupted vacation. Several days into his stay, someone suffered an untimely death, yet to be determined if it was accidental or intentional.

The vacation started out relaxed, nostalgic, and indulgent. The food described is delectable and the desserts even more heavenly. Confronted with the choice of "fresh mint ice cream on an eclair filled with creamy dark organic chocolate" or a "pudding du chomeur à l'erable avec creme chantilly" I would be hard pressed to decide, as were Gamache and his wife Reine-Marie. I learned per Wikipedia that Pouding chômeur (literally unemployed man pudding) is a dessert that was created by female factory workers early during the Great Depression in Quebec, Canada. It is made from cake batter and hot syrup, then baked so the syrup bubbles up and through. 

"Oh, dear God," whispered Reine-Marie, turning to her husband.
"What was it Oscar Wilde said?"
"I can resist everything except temptation."

Wondering about the chosen title for this murder mystery novel, I learned its source fairly early on, at the end of Chapter Twelve. A conversation about the murder took place between Madam Dubois, owner of the resort, and Inspector Beauvois, Gamache's right hand man.

"What happened here last night isn't allowed," said Madame Dubois.
It was such an extraordinary thing to say it stopped the ravenous Inspector Beauvoir from taking another bite of his roast beef on baguette.
"You have a rule against murder?" he asked.
"I do. When my husband and I bought the Bellechasse we made a deal with the forest. Any death that wasn't natural wasn't allowed. Mice are caught alive and released. Birds are fed in the winter and even the squirrels and chipmunks are welcome. There's no hunting, not even fishing. The pact we made was that everything that stepped foot on this land would be safe."

This promise was hardly fulfilled when one guest is crushed in an extravagant manner and another is dangled from a rooftop. An attic room is filled with grotesque gargoyle-like taxidermic reminders of "what happens when creatures turn against each other."

As with Penny's works, the novel has an intriguing and delightfully detailed cast of characters. A large number of guests at the resort are members of a wealthy and dysfunctional family, there for a reunion. Gamache ponders on their clipped conversations with each other, ripe with mean innuendos. He described them as

... malevolent inflections that rode into polite conversations on the backs of reasonable word. And the feeling flattened and folded and turned into something else, like emotional origami. Made to look pretty, but disguising something not at all attractive.

Emotional origami! I have to remember that term; love it. Even the staff range in age and disposition, from the college students who are marking out the time in a summer job to the aged maitre'd who has been at the manor for years and takes huge pride in his work. 

Pierre Patenaude stood at the door of the kitchen. It was clean and orderly, everything in its place. The glasses lined up, the silverware in its sleeves, the bone china carefully stacked with fine tissue between each plate. He'd learned from his mother. She'd taught him that order was freedom. To live in chaos was to live in prison. Order freed the mind for other things.

Order was freedom - another phrase I want to remember! There is a wide selection of suspects for a murder - if it was indeed a murder. The technical aspects of how the deed could be pulled off is cause for consideration throughout the story and adds to the mystery. This book has characters that come alive, a plot that  challenges the intellect, conversations chock full of nastily amusing insinuations, all set in a location the reader would definitely like to visit. As a bonus, it is sprinkled throughout with brief, witty phrases that, far from being sesquipedalian, tickle and delight me, begging to be recalled and recounted.

I realize that for those who have not read Louise Penny's previous three books, a five-star rating is a stretch. At least half a star come from familiarity with the recurring characters I now view as friends. Nevertheless, because of the level of my general enjoyment, I would rate A Rule Against Murder five stars, which in my system translates to
 ★★★★★ Great! Read it!  

Frank's Birthday Pumpkin Pie

Yesterday was Frank's 72nd birthday. I asked him if he wanted a cake or pumpkin pie to celebrate. He chose his favorite, pumpkin pie, and he loves my recipe for it. I use Libby's canned pumpkin but alter the recipe on the back by tripling the cinnamon, doubling the ginger, and substituting 2 tsp of nutmeg for ½ tsp of cloves. I have made it so many times I can almost make it in my sleep.

 

In this time of pandemic, my grocery shopping has gone exclusively online with curbside pickup. That method is pretty good. I'd probably rate it about an A- or B+. But occasionally I do not get exactly what I requested. The grocery bag contained two cans of pumpkin pie mix instead of the 100% pumpkin only. I could not make this pie on auto pilot. I would have to think... bummer!

 

At first, I considered trying to adapt the recipe to my spice combination. I assumed that the mix already contained the spices that the recipe on the 100% pumpkin label specified to add. I reasoned that to make my recipe, I just need to reduce the spices I normally put in by that amount. Except, I could not take out the cloves. And maybe, just maybe, my assumption about those spice ratios in the mix was incorrect. Discretion being the better part of valor, I decided to give the can for the mix a try unadulterated, and follow the label directions. Then, when it called for 2 eggs instead of my customary 4 eggs, I was alerted to the fact that even though the can was the same size, the mix only made one pie while the 100% pumpkin made two pies. Hmmm. Also, as well as adding no spices, the recipe did not call for any sugar, either. Strange, but I plunged ahead, beat only two eggs, and added my usual two cans of evaporated milk. I preheated the oven to 425°F and  meanwhile  prepared my pie shell. I noticed that when I fluted the crust, the edge had not come up as high above the rim of the pie plate as I was used to. Hmmm. Maybe Pillsbury had made the crust smaller. After all, those cans of evaporated milk that used to be 13 oz. were now 12 oz. I made a mental note to stretch the crust thinner on the next pie so the fluted edge would be taller. 

After mixing up the batter, I began to pour it into the prepared crust. The level kept rising higher and higher, awfully close to the tippy-top of the crust edge. I realized transferring it into the oven would be nigh impossible without sloshing it over and making a mess. I got out a custard cup and decide to move some batter into the cup to lower the level in the pie With a big diameter pie and small diameter cup I realized I would not lower the level by much but I dutifully used several scoops of a ¼ cup to ladle out some of the volume. Then I carefully transferred the pie plate and the custard cup into the oven and set the timer for 15 minutes. After 15 minutes I lowered the heat to 350°F and set the timer for an additional 50 minutes. When the timer went off again, I opened the oven door and checked. The pie jiggled and undulated – a lot – so much so that the pie surface reminded me of the motion of a jelly fish's fragile membrane. No need to poke a knife in there to check if it would come out clean. Clearly this pie needed more time.

Then, as I was closing the oven door, I noticed that there was bubbling a bit in from the perimeter, and periodically little squirts of liquid shot up. When you walk along the wet sand of a beach, where there are clams, you can detect their location by the tiny stream of liquid spouting into the air. That is how this pie was behaving. It was alive like there were little creatures lurking beneath the surface.

I set the timer for an additional 10 minutes; after checking again, I set it for another 10 minutes. After those cumulative 20 minutes, I realized that if I cooked it any longer, the crust would be charcoal. When I inserted a knife in the custard cup contents and it came out clean, I removed the pie and custard cup. I figured if we had to eat it with a spoon, so be it. Frank and I taste-tested the contents of the custard cup and it was perfectly acceptable, smooth, definitely pumpkin flavored. It had the consistency of crème brûlée but it was deep orange color. Granted, it was so hot we had to blow on it, but it tasted good enough we devoured it all. The pie would wait until after dinner. It was not "a thing of beauty" nor "a joy forever" (from Endymion by John Keats), but it would suffice to stick a candle in – unless the candle toppled over.

I wondered what had gone wrong. Then it hit me. I had used two cans of evaporated milk instead of one. (I said I could almost make this pie in my sleep. Almost is the operative word. I must have been asleep.) It gets worse. I dug the can out of the trash to reread the label. It was supposed to be one 5 oz can. This pie could not hold a candle to my other pumpkin pies. But could it hold a candle at all? We used a broad based train candle and it did stay upright. When I served the pie, I set out both forks and spoons, not sure which utensils we would need. Frank scratched his head, trying to decide.

It took several matches to light the candle, but only one breath to blow it out. Happy Birthday, Frank!

The trend today is to take selfies of yourself at a restaurant or a photo of the gourmet-looking dish you are about to eat. I do not think this pie would make the Instagram cut for visual appeal. But it tasted fine and we did eat it with a fork after all. I have one more can of the pumpkin mix. This time I am going to make it with the 5 oz of evaporated milk it calls for instead of the 24 oz I used.

I have blogged about a previous pumpkin pie episode from a few months ago, April 2020, shortly after our pandemic lock down in March. You can laugh at that one too, in my post for 4/4/20. The fallout from this pandemic keeps on comin', eroding my cooking skills. In the mood for some alliteration? How about... Ponder: A Piece of Pandemic Pumpkin Pie? Let's hope I improve before Thanksgiving.