In the Kitchen
As usual, the kitchen was a flurry of activity. Much of it questionable in nature.

Folks seem to have gotten used to my little set-up and procedures. I spend less of my time explaining the basics of cookery and more visiting with people.

Here Harv, Eric, Leon and Greg help me with one of the most critical aspects of proper cajun cooking -- beer drinking.

But there always are a few that HAVE to lend a hand.

Here I try to instruct Dug on the finer points of gumbo creation and the proper manner to wield the axe handle.

You will be happy to know the subsequent burns he suffered were only second-degree and only a limited amount of the gumbo was lost.

Given I had a lot of time on my hands, most of the grunt work this year was done in the days before the party. Marinading the turkey's, assembling the kitchen, etc etc etc. With all that extra time there was more opportunity for creativity and we hit pay dirt with the Jagermeister turkey.

While I was marinading the turkeys Lynden was stocking the coolers. He produced the dreaded bottle of Jagermeister which gave me the thought of how it might work as a marinade. So I put a dose in the blender with a cup of honey and cayenne pepper. It was thick enough to be a pain to inject in the bird but not imossible. I poured a bit more straight Jager on the bird before putting it away.

The result was fantastic. Instead of the licorice taste, the Jagermeister gave the bird a citrus flavor and sharp tang to the skin. It was easily the cooking hit of the party, besting even the Turducken..

In addition to my culinary pyrotechnics, we had an actual Cajun on hand for the festivities this year. Although she and her boyfriend (a Texan) arrived rather late in the evening she was quick to instruct the unwashed on the finer points of south Louisiana life..

Thus it happened that the lovely Christiaan Lester from New Iberia was on hand to demonstrate her unique method for consuming live crawfish.

Despite many heartfelt promises about how folks would like to help, it was just me and the hungover guy behind the glass here on hand at 9 a.m. Sunday morning.

I have never missed Golf Ball Man more than at this precise moment.