An image-less Thanksgiving

November 25, 2012

Well. It was Thanksgiving. I cooked. We all ate a lot. It was good. The end.

OK, OK, not really. Not really the end, I mean. But it’s just a shame to cook a great, traditional Thanksgiving meal, and not have a single stinkin’ photo of it. I’m not sure why I don’t; it was just that every time I started to fetch the camera, I got busy with something else.

As usual, my Thanksgiving was strictly along traditional lines. I cook this dinner once a year. I’ve got it down to a pretty fine science, and it’s all the stuff we like, and I don’t see much need in messing about with the menu.

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So, you thought you were getting gourmet, or something?

Fugheddaboudit.

Dinner on the lake. Top it. If you can.What you are getting is one of the best damn burgers you ever sank a tooth into.

Chocolate, by God. CHOCOLATE!

And, because I’m just overcome with Christian charity, you’re getting chocolate chip pound cake. From a mix. Deal with it. I defy you to do better from scratch.

Burgers are something of a weekend ritual here on the lake. They’re quick, they’re good. What’s not to like? PJF beef (happy cows, I know they must have been, before they met their demise in service of the greater good), an egg (Keith Smith double-yolked), a shot of Worcestershire, a handful of panko bread crumbs, some Lawry’s seasoned salt. Four patties out of a pound-and-a-half, little dimples in the middle so they don’t blimp up on you on the grill. Hot coals, five minutes on one side, three on the other, move them out of the direct heat, add the cheese if you’d inclined to do so, toast the buns for 60 seconds, hustle the whole thing inside.

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