Although the other state beach ended up having a few spare sites, the choice turned out to be wise, because TJ didn't get off work early, as we were hoping, so we arrived at this nearby campground after dark. If we had driven further up the coast, we definitely would have been pitching the tent in the pitch black. Instead, I was able to manage by our neighbor's kerosene light while TJ braved the last-minute grocery-store crowds to score some firewood.
Considering how skillfully he removed the backbone from the hen, using only a Swiss army knife, I should have never doubted TJ's ability to prepare the perfect bird. I was especially impressed by how little he mangled the meat with his Macgyver skills; I surely would've made a fowl mess.
To avoid getting ash on the hen, we did use the fire pit's grate to suspend it above the coals. Still worried about undercooked poultry, I added my second input to the dinner, by suggesting that we cover the basket with foil and hold it down with a skillet from a camp kit.
While TJ monitored the fire, I lent my final assistance to the cornucopian picnic: setting the table to ensure that all essential condiments, plastic silverware, and alcoholic accoutrements were within easy reach of my proficient chef.
The last step before the hen made it to the table was to baste it, with a mixture of stock, balsamic vinegar, spices, and Madeira wine. I get half-credit for the wine: I was the one who decided it would go well with the main meat, but TJ was the who determined it would work even better in the sauce.
About the only item missing from our spread was dessert, but amazingly, right as we started cooking, our neighbor brought over a small loaf of pumpkin bread to wish us a Happy Thanksgiving. Maybe it was because I was longing for pumpkin pie, but my slice made for a most moist and delicious final course.
Surprisingly, even with our limited dishes, we packed a pair of sausages and half a hen in the cooler. We might have eaten them later that day, but check-out time was 1 p.m., so we tooled around in SoCal a while before we returned to Mexico, with time to spare for a trip to the gym. After a spin on the elliptical, I didn't want to succumb to tryptophan again, so I settled on only one more slice of pumpkin bread. To reward TJ for his succulent success, I have generously offered to be in charge of the bill of fare for tonight: leftovers.
The firewood was an essential ingredient in all of our Thanksgiving dishes. With a fire ring instead of a oven, I left TJ in charge of the menu. He selected a surprisingly cheap Cornish game hen as a turkey substitute. A little dubious of his open-flame roasting skills, I made him buy sausages as a back-up. So while the fire settled into coals, TJ sliced peppers and onions for Plan B.
Considering how skillfully he removed the backbone from the hen, using only a Swiss army knife, I should have never doubted TJ's ability to prepare the perfect bird. I was especially impressed by how little he mangled the meat with his Macgyver skills; I surely would've made a fowl mess.
With the backbone removed, the hen could been flattened into the grilling basket, a holdover from my family's history of camping -- and the first of my limited contributions to the cooking process.
To avoid getting ash on the hen, we did use the fire pit's grate to suspend it above the coals. Still worried about undercooked poultry, I added my second input to the dinner, by suggesting that we cover the basket with foil and hold it down with a skillet from a camp kit.
As it turned out, the hen was heating up just fine, because of TJ's fire-building finesse. But since we had them, we threw the sausages and potatoes (in foil at top left) on the flame as well. The sausage was made of pork, so I guess it was like having both ham and turkey at Thanksgiving.
While TJ monitored the fire, I lent my final assistance to the cornucopian picnic: setting the table to ensure that all essential condiments, plastic silverware, and alcoholic accoutrements were within easy reach of my proficient chef.
The last step before the hen made it to the table was to baste it, with a mixture of stock, balsamic vinegar, spices, and Madeira wine. I get half-credit for the wine: I was the one who decided it would go well with the main meat, but TJ was the who determined it would work even better in the sauce.
About the only item missing from our spread was dessert, but amazingly, right as we started cooking, our neighbor brought over a small loaf of pumpkin bread to wish us a Happy Thanksgiving. Maybe it was because I was longing for pumpkin pie, but my slice made for a most moist and delicious final course.
Surprisingly, even with our limited dishes, we packed a pair of sausages and half a hen in the cooler. We might have eaten them later that day, but check-out time was 1 p.m., so we tooled around in SoCal a while before we returned to Mexico, with time to spare for a trip to the gym. After a spin on the elliptical, I didn't want to succumb to tryptophan again, so I settled on only one more slice of pumpkin bread. To reward TJ for his succulent success, I have generously offered to be in charge of the bill of fare for tonight: leftovers. 
Sounds like you fared well on Thanksgiving. And mercifully, the rain held off. Otherwise, you'd have had a soggy fowl mess. If you have a hankering for leftover stuffing, I'd be willing to share.
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