Alternative Thanksgiving Adventures Part One: All Turkeys Go To Heaven

As mentioned in last week’s post, The Husband and I decided to shake things up this year and take Thanksgiving on the road. Our lives have taken some crazy twists and turns lately, and we’ve found ourselves in a place where we’re not going to have much free time for a while. So we wanted to have some time to ourselves while we could.

Up until this point, Thanksgiving for us has primarily been about mooching. I grew up going to an extended family gathering hosted by my grandparents; later, my aunt and uncle took up the mantle of holiday management. The Husband celebrated turkey day with his parents and siblings. In recent years as my family has found it increasingly difficult to gather during the holidays, my side of the family (parents and siblings) has started to have our own smaller gatherings on a different day. We’ve helped with those. The Husband’s family now lives across the country, so mooching off their holiday efforts is no longer an option. (Well, unless we take out a second mortgage for airfare.) The point I’m trying to make is that neither of us has ever really put in the effort to host a large scale holiday event.

And we weren’t about to start this year.

So we made a slight upgrade from being Complete Moochers to Paying To Go Out/Mooching Off A Restaurant’s Efforts.

The day started with us sleeping in. The Husband put together a lasagna the night before, so we popped it in the oven when we got out of bed and had Brunch Lasagna.

For the record…I highly recommend having lasagna for brunch.

After a bit more lounging around the house, we hopped in the car and hit the road. We decided to get a hotel about an hour and a half away. Why did we pick this particular spot, you ask? That will come later in the story.

I was a little nervous about hitting the road. I have heard many a horror story about how crazy Thanksgiving travel can be. The airport, I imagine, is the worst. But I thought the roadways might have some crazy as well.

Surprisingly, the only incident we had on the roads was being told we were going to hell. No, this was not a road rage incident. The cornfields told us we were in Satan’s grasp.

I’m not kidding. Our drive took us through some sparsely populated regions of the state. The only landmarks to let you know where you are would be the giant Hell Signs. Several signs along the side of the road announce that the devil is real, you just passed a church, and you’re going to hell if you don’t stop there and accept Jesus RIGHT NOW. The way the signs are positioned it almost looks like they are growing out of stalks of corn (which in case you were wondering is a really creepy look for a sign). (Or pretty much anything.)

“We must be getting close if we’re passing the Hell Signs,” I said to The Husband.

“Yup,” he agreed.

Not long after passing the Hell Signs, we saw the exit for our hotel. After spending some time relaxing in our room, we decided we should try and find dinner. I told The Husband that since we were leaving the hotel around 4:30 that we’d probably beat the dinner rush, especially since most people do Thanksgiving earlier in the day.

I quickly learned that statement was quite possibly the dumbest, most naive thing I have ever said in my life.

The dumb continued when we got to restaurant #1. The parking lot was super full, but I trudged on, convinced that since we were a party of two that the wait couldn’t possibly be THAT bad.

I didn’t even make it to the host stand, y’all.

Oh, I tried. I busted out some mighty fine crowd maneuvering moves. I thought back to my brief experience in a mosh pit and remembered defensive moves I could use to survive the hordes. Shortly before I could get to the host stand, I heard the hostess tell another couple ahead of us that we were looking at an hour wait minimum.

NOPE.

So The Husband and I pushed and shoved our way back out of there, hopped in the car, and went to restaurant #2. We had called them earlier and were told they had a 40 minute wait. When we arrived, it had upgraded to a 20 minute wait.

It turned into a 50 minute wait.

Lesson learned — there is no way to outsmart the long waits. Repeat after me, friends: restaurants be cray cray on Thanksgiving. That’s just the bottom line.

This particular restaurant had a set menu for the day, so thankfully it didn’t take us long to order. I did, however, have a brief struggle in my head when picking my entree. They gave three choices: turkey, ham, and country fried steak (better known as BEEF with breading and gravy).

“At last!” I thought. “A chance to have BEEF instead of turkey!”

“But tradition!” said another voice in my head.

“This weekend is all about BUCKING TRADITION, Amy” I yelled at myself. “Seize the opportunity! Get the beef!”

“But TRADITION!” the other voice shouted back.

It was starting to sound more and more like a performance of Fiddler on the Roof was taking place in my head. Finally the server showed up and I chose…

turkey.

But ONLY because it came with stuffing. And y’all know I need my stuffing. (See last week’s post for details.)

You can’t see the stuffing. It’s hiding under the turkey. But you best believe I found it. 

After surviving the restaurant ordeal, we were happy to go back to the hotel. We got our pie to go. Other than being disappointed at the small amount of whipped cream on my pumpkin pie — pie is meant to be COVERED in whipped cream — I was quite satisfied with the meal.

The dollop of whipped cream looks cute, but it was NOT sufficient. Not at all. 

The story of our holiday travel shenanigans shall continue next week. Tune in again for Alternative Thanksgiving Adventures Part Two: Of Toast and Toilets.

How did your holidays go? Tell me about it in the comments. Have a great week!