Thanksgiving With the Buttertons or: Our Cow Kicked Your Turkey’s Butt. Or: Mama’s Fine Wine Buying Advice

Prime Rib for Thanksgiving Dinner.  Perfection.

I’ve finally been revived from my food coma long enough to blog a little about my wonderful family and the great Thanksgiving we shared.  We are a family largely made up of food lovers, so each occasion is usually marked by and centered around some sort of feast.  And usually there is lots of butter involved.  And Fritos.  My Dad once joked to Amy and I that we are lucky our names are not Little Debbie and FritoLaya.  We are, however, Buttertons.  Damn-Near-40-Year-Old Buttertons.

Bacon Flavored Green Beans

Amy and her husband Jeff were gracious enough to host our Thanksgiving Feast at their home in Amarillo, and instead of turkey and dressing, they rocked it with a Prime Rib, Bacon Flavored Green Beans, and Twice Baked Potatoes.   

Bleu Cheese Sauce

And I do mean Rocked It.  That Prime Rib was a thing of beauty. Perfectly cooked, tender, juicy goodness.  Makes my mouth water just to think of it.  Amy whipped up a delectable bleu cheese sauce to go with it, as well as an Au Jus that I could sit and eat with a spoon. Heck, I could drink it with a straw, it was that delicious!! Probably because of the wine that was in it. 

Surprise!  My sweet sweet Sissy.

I learned something very important about wine that day.  I came toting a bottle of wine that my friend Tammi introduced me to called “Red Electra.”  It is a California Muscat wine, and it is sweet and a little bubbly.  I thought my Sweet Mama would like the flavor of it, so I mainly brought it for her to try.  She does not always care for the darker reds that my sister and I like to partake of on occasion. 

Since Mama is not much of a drinker, I was taken by surprise when she looked at the bottle and declared, “This wine doesn’t have enough alcohol in it.”  Huh?  Hadn’t even crossed my mind to check the alcohol content, and here she is telling me it’s too low. 

“Whattaya mean it doesn’t have enough alcohol in it?  How much is it supposed to have?” I inquired. 

“Well,” she informed me, “I always buy my wine according to the alcohol content.  This stuff only has 5%.  That’s too low.  See this bottle I brought?” She hoisted a bottle of  $5 White Zinfandel and peered at it’s label. “This is good stuff, it has almost 11%.” 

My sister and I looked her and busted out laughing.  “So that’s how you tell the good stuff, huh?” we asked.  She started laughing too. My Mama has the best laugh, especially when she is laughing at herself.  Her whole face laughs, and you can tell she is on the verge of laughing herself into tears.  It makes everything funnier, and it is one of my favoritest things in the wide world.  Mama’s laugh.

I could sort of understand her thinking behind shopping for the highest concentration.  She was taking the "quantity vs. quality" approach.  I guess buying wine to her is like buying skeeter spray; instead of choosing your product based on scent or flavor, you just look for something strong enough to kill a small hummingbird.

Half Apple Pie

With our wonderful dinner down the hatch, it was time for Dessert Round One. (There are always multiple rounds of dessert when you’re a Butterton.) Mama had made some beautiful pies: chocolate with the most beautiful calf slobbers on top, a delicious pumpkin pie complete with whipped cream, and a Half-Apple Pie.  Now, when she brought the pies in and announced that she had made my brother in law a “Half Apple Pie”, I was a little confused.  I assumed that it was half filled with apple pie filling and maybe half filled with cherry or something else that would kinda go with apple.  I had never seen her do this before, but it seemed somewhat logical.  Turns out, what she was referring to was the fact that it only looked like she had used half the amount of pie filling.  The top crust on the pie had somehow sunken in, so that the pie had a concave look to it.  So much so in fact that Dad thought it was just an empty pie crust waiting for the filling.  I thought it was genius, because it made for more crust, my favorite part.  I think I will start requesting Half Apple Pie every year from now on.

After Dessert Round One usually comes game time, so we can work up an appetite for Dessert Round Two.  We love to play games, especially Mama.  And she cheats at the games she’s bad at.  Makes the rules up as she goes along.  Peeks at the trivia answers when nobody’s looking.  Skips her board game pieces ahead a few spaces.  When she’s good at a game, she plays for blood.  Slams down doubles on a Mexican Train just to see if you can back it.  Shrieks in delight for you to “PUT YOUR PENNY UP!!!” when you can’t.   That’s why it is so  much fun to beat her when you can actually get it done. 

We were trying to decide what to play when I remembered a game I had seen advertised called “LOGO”.  It looked like fun and I guess I was drunk on Au Jus because I suggested that we head to The Wal Mart and see if they had it.  Now, most people who know me know that I despise The Wal Mart.  Only go when it’s absolutely necessary and usually in the middle of the night.  But here we were, only hours shy of the beginning of Black Friday, making a trip into the belly of the beast.  I was sure that we would need bail money.  Or Valium.  We got there and the parking lot was packed but not completely  full.  Amy and I left Mama in the car and headed in to face our fate.  We walked through the doors dodging customers with flat screen TV’s and 362 boxes of Christmas lights.  Dread welled up in me like a fist in my stomach. I despised these people for no reason other than them being present at the moment.

We stepped into the store and lo and behold, there it was, not 20 feet in.  “LOGO” in big white letters on a red background.  My heart skipped a beat. I was practically giddy.  Could it be true that we could walk right in and it would be there for us on a silver platter?  I grabbed a box and we sprinted for the checkout stands where another Thanksgiving miracle awaited.  A green light beckoned from above one of the Self-Check Registers.  Not a soul was near.  I didn’t even have to argue with the recorded voice when it told me to Please Place The Stupid Item In The Freaking Bagging Area.  Just slapped the barcode against the glass, swiped my debit card through the machine, and raced out of the store.  Not one bit of anxiety, no cussing, no waiting.  I was truly Thankful. 

I  hope all of you had as joyful and happy a Thanksgiving as we did.  I am blessed with the most wonderful family, and even though I make fun of ‘em a little here and there, I truly do thank God for them.