We did without my world-famous-in-this-house turkey giblet gravy this Thanksgiving. You see, today is not only Thanksgiving Day but The Memsahib's birthday. (No, I won't tell you which one. As has been mentioned before, that would be more than my life is worth. She very well might tell you, but I'm certainly not going to.) So we can't have her spending the day in the kitchen basting a turkey can we. Even if I do take over the gravy chores, that still leaves a fair amount of bother for herself on her day.
So we went along to one of the nicer Long Beach hotels for our festal meal. They don't do the sweet potatoes quite as well as Herself does and they don't do the giblet gravy quite as well as I do, but all-in-all it was a fine meal in an elegant atmosphere. And the wine was a step up from what I probably would have come up with. No, not a step up; a couple of flights of stairs up. No two-buck-Chuck here.
It was going to be just the two of us but quite by accident we met some long-standing Irish friends there at the same time. So congeniality reigned.
And now we are home and there is mince pie in the oven.
I hope your day was suitably happy and appropriately thank-filled.
And for the day that's in it, read here about the pilgrims, Jesuits, Squanto, the pope, and Thanksgiving.
[H/T to Fr Philips for the link.]