Since this is my first post with the Casablanca Babes, I thought I'd take a minute to introduce myself before I get into the meat (or turkey, considering it’s almost Thanksgiving!) of my post.
For those who don’t know me, I’m new to the Casablanca line. My first release with Sourcebooks, TEMPTED, hits store shelves in October 2011. This is actually the third book in my Eternal Guardians series. The first two books, MARKED and ENTWINED, released in May and August, respectively. In addition to dark paranormals, I also write sexy romantic suspense and my next RS release is an anthology with Kensington in June. If you’d like to learn more about me and my books, I’d love it if you’d stop by my website at http://www.elisabethnaughton.com/ (and be sure to drop me a note if you do!)
Okay, now on to the fun stuff…Turkey Day! I hate to admit it, but I’m not a big fan of the traditional Thanksgiving dinner. (And I hope I’m not going to be blackballed admitting that on my first day!) It’s not that I don’t enjoy being with family – I do! – its simply that I can’t stand turkey. This aversion stems from childhood and it’s not a pretty memory. You see, I grew up on a small farm in Eastern Oregon and one year my parents raised turkeys. We had three. Three very mean “demons” as I called them. It was early fall, school had just started, and the turkeys roamed our property at will. I’d ridden the bus home from school, walked up the drive and realized that the front door was locked. Whenever my mom mopped the entry floor, she’d lock the door so my brothers and I wouldn’t tromp mud all over the place, and she often wouldn’t hear us knocking if she was at the back of the house. My older brother, being the loving older brother he was, talked me into going around to the back and entering through the sliding glass door so I could then unlock the front door for him. And being the lowly younger sister that I was, I had no choice but to follow his command…er, direction.
I knew the demons were in the backyard somewhere, but I figured if I was quiet enough, they wouldn’t hear me. I carefully crept around the side of the house, peeked through the bushes. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary and thinking I was safe, I darted onto the back deck, then froze mid-step when I saw the turkeys camped out behind the deck furniture.
I’m sure you can imagine my reaction. I was probably only 8 or 9 at the time. My heart raced. I took a step back. I’d never liked those turkeys in the first place but that day I’m convinced their eyes turned red and they smelled my fear. They jumped up, ran right for me. I screamed, dropped my bag and ran the other way. And being the evil demonic beings that they are, they spread their wings, shrieked (I swear it sounded like a blood-curdling shriek), and attacked.
My mother saw the horror from the kitchen window and came tearing out to save me, frying pan in hand. By this time I was already in the garden, running between rows of corn, trying frantically to get free. She managed to scare them away, and my brother, peeking around the corner of the house, got a good laugh out of the whole thing, but I was never the same again. To this day I have a severe aversion to large fowl (you should see the way I will run an extra mile simply to avoid a darn goose in my running path!), and every time I smell turkey cooking, I think of those evil birds and how mean they were.
I suppose, considering my trauma, it should be logical to enjoy frying the bastards, but my reaction is the opposite. I’d simply rather avoid the whole affair. Mashed potatoes and stuffing I like, but just the smell of turkey cooking turns my stomach. My absolute favorite Thanksgiving meal is lobster. I know that sounds strange, but my mother has cooked lobster several times for Thanksgiving and I’ve never been happier. In fact, whenever she talks about Thanksgiving Day plans, I’m always rooting for seafood rather than fowl.
I know most people don’t think lobster is a dream holiday meal, so these days when I’m invited somewhere for the traditional Thanksgiving feast, I keep in mind what’s important about the holiday to begin with—which is simply spending time with the ones we love and being thankful for the blessings we have. Of course, there is a small part of me—a tiny part, really—that’s also thankful a turkey on the table, even if I won’t eat it, means one less demon roaming the earth waiting to attack me when I least expect it.
In honor of my very first post with the Casablanca Babes, I’m giving away a copy of MARKED, book one in my Eternal Guardians series, to one lucky commenter today! Simply tell me your favorite (or least favorite!) Thanksgiving memory.
And since I’m a non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner kind of girl, here’s my version of a yummy non-traditional Thanksgiving dessert:
COCONUT CREAM PIE
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch or 1/2 cup flour
3 cups milk
1 T margarine or butter
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1 cup coconut
2 bananas, sliced (optional)
baked pastry shell
whipped cream for topping
In a medium saucepan, combine sugar and cornstarch or flour. Gradually stir in milk. Cook and stir over medium-high heat till mixture is thickened and bubbly. Reduce heat; cook and stir for 2 minutes more. Remove from heat.
Separate egg yolks from whites. Beat egg yolks lightly with a fork. Gradually stir about 1 cup of the hot filling into yolks. Return all to saucepan; bring to a gentle boil. Cook and stir for 2 minutes more. Remove from heat. Stir in margarine or butter, vanilla and flaked coconut. Pour the hot filling into a baked pastry shell (can line shell with banana slices if desired). Cover pie with plastic wrap to prevent skin from forming. Refrigerate until set.
Top with whipped cream and serve!