If burning the crescent rolls is the worst that happened during your maiden voyage as host of one of the big holidays, then it’s safe to say you passed the benchmark with flying colors.

 

By Jim Byrne

 

If burning the crescent rolls is the worst that happened during your maiden voyage as host of one of the big holidays, then it’s safe to say you passed the benchmark with flying colors.

 

Just remember that, despite the 27-pound turkey and all those delicious homemade sides and desserts, people really love their crescent rolls. I don’t know what that devious Pillsbury Dough Boy sprinkles into the mix, but – whatever the secret ingredient is –  guests are quick to grab one when the basket comes their way.

 

Let’s back up. After purchasing our first home together in the summer, my wife Stacy and I nonchalantly tossed out the idea of hosting Thanksgiving to my parents, who had pulled off the event superbly at their Yorktown Heights home for as long as I can remember. They made serving over 20 family members and close friends look easy. Nevertheless, when we offered, they jumped at the idea.

 

Their immediate jettisoning of the duty didn’t make us nervous. It made us very nervous. Stacy started sweating immediately. And even though it was August, we were inside with the air conditioning on full blast.

 

My family is, on the whole, easygoing and good-natured, but that didn’t prevent us from conjuring thoughts of a horde of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Orcs bashing through our front door November 24, ripping the turkey to shreds, and grinding pumpkin pie into the couches. This is our new home we’re talking about, our baby!

 

Of course, the other type of nightmare occurred as well. Stacy, a bang-up cook, confided in me she feared a Seinfeld-type scenario, with everyone getting sick and spitting up food onto their plates. I assured her it was unlikely, and begged she never compare herself to Frank Costanza again.

 

As the big day approached, what we realized was how tremendous our support would be. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents asked what they could bring and how they could help, and we gave each specific instructions. My 91-year-old grandmother was delighted that we asked her to whip up her specialties: apple and pumpkin pies, and pearled onions. She busted out her rolling pin the day before, and bopped around the kitchen with renewed vigor.

 

I was also reminded how lucky I am to have the parents I do. So happy were Mom and Dad to not have Thanksgiving at their home, that they purchased the big bird and a case of wine. My dad’s advice: “Just get everyone lubricated and they’ll all have a good time.”

 

That couldn’t have been more true, Exhibit A being my 90-year-old grandfather dancing around the dining room with Stacy while belting out “Singin’ in the Rain” near night’s end. You had to be there.

 

Mom was a real champ. She stayed over the night before, and quickly transformed into what my brother and I used to affectionately refer to as “Thanksgiving-bot 3000”. We cleaned the house a day earlier, but good lord, I didn’t think rooms could glisten the way they did after she was through. The grizzled Thanksgiving veteran was like Michael Jordan in the kitchen to boot, whipping mashed potatoes as if they were the ’90s Knicks.

 

Guests began arriving at 4, and we were actually pulling this thing off. I have to admit it got a little chaotic in the kitchen as the finishing touches were put on, but my dad’s calming presence at the carving station kept us all on track. I learned a thing or two from him about cutting up the bird, but I still think I’m a few years away from taking that job over for good. However, I am now a master of the post-meal Irish coffee. A little sugar, some Tullamore Dew, a bit of Kahlua for color, coffee, then the self-whipped cream on top. Fantastic.

 

With the dishes done in record time, everyone put on their construction-paper pilgrim bonnets, don’t ask, making it plain to see that Year One of Thanksgiving in our home was a wild success. People were laughing, complimenting the music selection, and giving kudos for a job well done. It felt good.

 

It was definitely different not being in my parents’ home at the end of the night, but with Stacy and Thanksgiving-bot, er, Mom, asleep on the couch, my brother and I munched on the crunchy leftover crescent rolls and finished the night with a game of Madden.

Just like the old days.