THE CABINET AND OTHER THANKSGIVING GAFFES

I have the world's tiniest pantry.  It's actually a few small cabinets in my kitchen.  One cabinet holds larger boxes, such as cereal, crackers, and popcorn, along with tall things like spare maple syrup and ketchup.  Two tiny cabinets house things like spices, food coloring, cornstarch, toothpicks, and also hot cocoa, olive oil, honey, and gravy mixes.

Then there's the cabinet.  Inside the cabinet are two shelves of dishware I rarely use, like large serving trays and the turkey platter, and one shelf stuffed full of the everyday staples that make up my life, like pasta, soup, canned vegetables, spare salsa, barbecue sauce, and peanut butter.  It's a corner cabinet, so the opening is mid-sized, but the surface area is considered cavernous by apartment standards.  I know there's a lot of hidden stuff in there, so periodically I clean it out, write expiration dates on things in permanent marker, and shove it all back inside again in some semblance of order (that lasts about three days).

I realize while making the shopping list for my small Thanksgiving that I may have much of what I need already inside my makeshift, disconnected pantry.  I look through the spices and discover to my great surprise that I actually own pumpkin pie spice.  That's really strange since I always use other spices in my pumpkin pie.  I've never used "pumpkin pie spice" for it, so I must've bought it for something else.  I wrack my brain wondering if I've ever had or made pumpkin martinis.  I also discover no less than three containers of ground cinnamon.  Not quite sure what that's all about.  There must've been a sale or something. I move to the general baking goods next.  I know I need cornstarch, so I don't bother checking.  I need brown sugar, white sugar, and flour.  In case I decide to get creative, I put baking soda on the list, as well.

Finally, though, I must face the cabinet.  I start emptying it all out.  I discover two opened boxes of panne pasta, both different brands requiring different cooking times, hence why I probably never combined them in the first place.  There's also a quarter of a box of lasagna noodles, like I forgot to put the top layer on the last batch or something.  I have a can of crushed pineapple, a can of pineapple rings, creamy peanut butter, crunchy peanut butter, three bottles of BBQ sauce, enough corn to feed the entire neighborhood, and an unopened jar of mayonnaise.  All good stuff, but not what I'm searching for.  I need to find...

Aha.  Cans of pumpkin and cans of evaporated milk.  I check marker dates: Must be recent purchases because the dates are all months and even years away.  I have enough pumpkin to make pumpkin butter, pumpkin pie, and pumpkin smoothies.  I also have enough evaporated milk to make a pie, some soup, and whatever else might strike me.  Excellent.  I finish making the list feeling content (and a little surprised at my good fortune).

When I get to the store, however, I am perturbed to discover that the idiots doing the ordering have failed to plan for Thanksgiving.  The milk shelf is nearly empty, the crescent rolls (my weakness) are almost gone, and there is zero pumpkin bread mix.  I have no idea what goes into pumpkin bread; I haven't made it from scratch in over a decade.  I figure maybe that's what pumpkin spice might be good for, grab another can of pumpkin and another evaporated milk for good measure, and move down my list of baking needs.  I am proud of myself when I remember cornstarch.  It's on my list but it has been written above stuff I've already crossed off, and I almost missed it.

I continue on, running back and forth between fresh and frozen turkeys like a nut.  In the end I get a mostly unfrozen one that is supposed to be fresh, but the fresh ones felt just a little too fresh.  I'm happy with my purchase.  On to the vegetable.  I find perfectly equal sweet potatoes, a simply charming sweet onion, and a nice bag of potatoes inside of which all the potatoes appear to be healthy and blind (no eyes).  I debate the butternut squash situation: whole (a bitch to both peel and cut), already peeled and sliced into halves (expensive), or go for boring frozen.  I continue to worry about this until suddenly I develop Shiny Object Syndrome.  I notice the frozen limeade containers and remember there's a recipe for Beergaritas in my file at home.  I circle the wagon (literally) and head in to the crowd to get the limeade.

It isn't until later, much later at home and over a few glasses of wine, that I realize I never bought the squash.  Oh well.  I still have to hit the liquor store tomorrow, so I'll just jump into the local supermarket and grab some squash and maybe some fresh fruit.  I am pleased with my shopping trip and start filing all of the important items where they belong when I realize I have already put away the cornstarch.  That's strange because I don't remember climbing on the chair to the tiny top shelf.  As I repack the baking cabinet, I reach down and grab another box of cornstarch.  Dang.  Now I have an overload of canned pumpkin, enough evaporated milk to feed a small army, and enough cornstarch to last four or five years.

I do go to the small plaza the following day.  I hit the packy for important things like beer, gin, tequila, and wine (but will probably end up drinking ice water).  Then I hit the small grocery store and buy the squash and some fruit and ... oh, thank the turkey and giblets god, there hiding on the top shelf almost out of view are boxes of pumpkin bread mix.  I step up on the bottom shelf, reach over, and grab two boxes of the mix, quickly hiding them in my cart in case some interloper comes by looking for the boxes on the shelf and finds them in my carriage, instead.

Stealthily I make my way to the check-out, desperately waiting for another express register to open (it does).  I get home, anxious to hide the loot in the pantry of tiny cabinets, which is how I got into this mess in the first place.  You know, it's moments like these that probably explain how I acquired so many boxes of cornstarch and cans of pumpkin and evaporated milk in the first place.

Well, folks, if there's ever a nuclear holocaust and you're craving Thanksgiving, there's always my house.  I'll keep the cornstarch handy so we can dust a path out front while thickening the gravy inside on the gas stove.

Happy Thanksgiving, folks.  I'm going to bake pies now.