My crew is about to embark on a new-to-us adventure.
For the last fifteen years, with very few exceptions, we have celebrated Thanksgiving all by ourselves. We’ve chosen to stay home instead of pinball between our parents’ houses.
Every year, I’ve cooked the entire Thanksgiving feast for our crew. This year, most everyone on my side of the family is coming to eat and celebrate Thanksgiving with us.
I’ll spare you the list and just say that this departure from the norm translates to 13 people more than usual at our Thanksgiving table. Clearly it would be madness for me to cook the whole feast solo, so I will be delegating dishes to everyone who is coming. Thankfully, everyone in my family cooks well, so it’s not that we’re afraid of a well-loved dish being “messed up,” it’s just, well, we are creatures of habit.
One of our habits for every major holiday is some sort of pastry breakfast. For my small army alone, this is a lot of pastry. Now imagine tripling the amount I usually do, because many of those who will dine with us may also stay the night before Thanksgiving. There is no way on Earth I could prepare pastries for that number of people without getting up at 3 a.m. People, I do not get up at 3 a.m. unless a child is throwing up on me.
Mercifully, I can whip up a bunch of something marvelous to keep in the freezer so that all I have to do on Thanksgiving morning is roll out of bed, wrap my robe tight and toddle downstairs, preheat my oven, lay the chosen goodies out on a tray, and slide them into the oven to let them bake while I start tea water and coffee. The magical pastry that allows me this luxury is the classic scone.