There is nothing un-American about spending Thanksgiving in a restaurant. It’s not like some weird cop out. It’s not a denunciation of the homey, good smelling preparations of the day. It’s not a thumbing of one’s nose at the traditionality of it all. It’s just another way. And when you’ve been to 48 Thanksgivings — change is welcome.

So eighteen of us gathered at BLT Prime on East 22nd Street, in an elegant downstairs party room that looked like a dining room you wouldn’t mind having in your apartment.

It was spacious, easy to wander around, trade seats, chit chat with family members, including my aunt and uncle, two graduates of James Madison High School back in the day, who told me that they were pleased as punch to be mentioned in an OTBKB piece about the famed high school, alma mater of three current members of the US senate.

Also there were a host of cousins and their children. Their children are articulate, graceful adults.

And it didn’t make me feel old as in I remember when you were born. Or you were only two at my wedding (that sort of thing). It made me feel grateful to have such a cool group of relatives

The children of my cousins are interesting people:

–A is in law school; her husband is a doctor and an opera enthusiast.

–AG is studying slavic languages, will travel to China, and is a delight.

–D is studying psychology in college and wants to go into clinical social work eager to help people.

–M loves Shakespeare and the idea of directing plays. She will to college in a year.

–J, a high school freshman, just made honor roll school, a cause for much celebration.

The food was delicious. FANTASTIC. Served home style, there was lots of variety: turkey, salmon, and prime rib. Incredible mashed potatoes, Brussels sprouts, string beans. I don’t think I saw sweet potatoes. There were carrots.

No sweet potatoes: now that’s un-American.

They served an incredible  butternut squash soup with creme fraiche. Tres tres. 

My children seemed to be holding their own. I was at the other end of the table so I didn’t really see/hear what they were doing. Teen Spirit was dressed to the nines in a spiffy tweed jacked given to him by my father. OSFO wore her most favorite worn jeans with lots of holes, embroidery, sparkles and colorful striped tights underneath.

My mother-in-law joined us all the way from California. A real pleasure. Hepcat talked politics and Wall Street with my cousin’s husband. That’s what they always do.

The upside of the restaurant Thanksgiving: no dishes to clear or wash. No dishwashers to load. No finding space for leftovers in the fridge.

The downside: No leftovers. Maybe four hours later we were hungry again (after seeing The Queen at Cobble Hill) and there was that longing for cranberry sauce, turkey, stuffing, etc.