The one thing I did not make the other day was gravy for the turkey. I hate to make it with too much fat, and hadn’t the opportunity to chill and skim the broth. Had we been having Thanksgiving at my in-laws, it would have been a different matter. I have been the family gravy-maker since the first Thanksgiving I spent with them, the year Wick and I started dating. And the way it came about was funny enough that K. suggested I blog it.
My mother-in-law was bustling around finishing the dinner, running late and looking harrassed. Me being me, I walked into the kitchen and asked how I could help. “Make the gravy” she bade me. “Here’s the mix, and the broth is already boiling on the stove.” So I read the directions on the package. I mean, it’s a mix, how tough could it be? But the instructions said to mix the contents of the little envelope with cold water. It was emphasized. Cold was required. No mention was made of boiling broth. I looked at the directions again. Same thing: “cold” in bold print, appended to “water”. Back to the stove. That broth was boiling enthusiastically. It was supposed to provide the base for the gravy. Hmm. A conundrum. Finally I walked over to my mother-in-law and asked “Do you mind if I make it from scratch? I don’t know how to use a mix.” First she stared. Then she burst out laughing. Then she pointed me toward the things I requested – flour, her spice cabinet, apple cider, white wine. It came out very well indeed, so well that I made the gravy every year thereafter until she stopped doing Thanksgiving dinner for the multitudes. And I still haven’t figured out how to use a mix.