Staging a Thanksgiving feast, from Act 1 to finale

In the culinary production titled "Thanksgiving" all the table's a stage and all the guests merely waiting for the players. This month you'll find those players vying for attention everywhere you look.

Here they are! — tanned, gorgeous and nearly naked, posing as cover-shots for glossy magazines. There they are! — cavorting alongside their colorful supporting cast while being prodded, perfumed and perfected by the likes of Rachael Ray and Sara Moulton!

As they take to the stage, watch as these suppertime superstars make you hungry with anticipation. Be sure to tell them to "Break a drumstick!" Then offer a big round of applause for turkey and all its trimmings, that homemade host of gut-busting goodness and the hottest ticket in town.

Stage fright is normal

So, what's it like to be the director of this classic Thursday-only production?

Take it from an old hand: whether it's your first attempt at staging a Thanksgiving meal or your 51st, stage fright is normal. Go with it. Breathe deeply. Then grab a pen, paper and a mug of coffee and sketch out your plan for producing a show in three acts: appetizers, turkey and trimmings, dessert.

Lists, my friends, are your best friends, and short of a rehearsal dinner they're the best way to get this show on the road. Putting out a great meal is much easier than you think, as long as you plan ahead and heed these important cues: Shop early, prep early, thaw early (especially if you've bought a frozen turkey) and leave time for "error."

Leave plenty of time

That bird, for example, may take longer to defrost or to roast than you think. Your guests, on the other hand, may defrost faster and get roasted sooner if they wait too long for the star of the show. So be ready to feed them a little something (see: appetizers) before the curtain goes up.

If this is your first time doing the turkey dance in the kitchen, do not, under any circumstances, go into that scared-to-death, gotta-do-it-right, "A Chorus Line" routine. Lay off the overly dramatic "God, I hope I get it. I hope I get it! How many giblets do I need?" nonsense, OK?

As for those giblets: You'll likely find them in the turkey's cavity, often in a bag, which must — pay close attention here — be removed prior to cooking. Unfamiliar with these bit-players? They're the heart, liver, gizzard and neck, and all but the liver play a part in gravy-making. Or not. You're calling the shots.

Skip the solo act

First-timers should take me seriously when I say that it's much, much easier to pull off a Thanksgiving meal if you don't hog the limelight. Want to do a solo act? Wait till next year, when you've got a better feel for the flow of the show. Instead, share the love!

Old hoofers (you know who you are): lifelong do-it-yourselfers sweating it out in an apron, steaming up the kitchen and making everything yourself, should consider taking a good long look at your over-stuffed ego and ask: "What was I thinking?" Divvy-up the cooking duties, secure in the knowledge that taking life easier doesn't mean you're no longer the leading lady/man.

So, when guests ask, "What can I bring?" don't be shy. Direct! Need some cues? How about these?

"Hey you, stage left, bring the pumpkin pie — and don't forget the whipped cream. You buy it, I'll whip it." (Note to self: Don't forget to put the mixing bowl and beaters in the freezer at least 10 minutes before whipping. Note to friends who bring canned whipped cream: Don't. "And you, stage right: Make the twice-baked sweet potato casserole and the gingered green beans. What do you mean you don't have those recipes? Hell-O or you'll be eating Jell-O! You'll find them right here in related links to appetizers, entrees, side dishes and desserts.

Recipe for success: Read

Speaking of recipes, allow me to offer this advice: Long before opening night, read your recipes from beginning to end. Then read them again. And again. That way you'll know which ingredients you need to have on hand, can gauge the degree of difficulty and easily figure out what can be prepared in advance. Bear in mind, too, that cooks who normally make their daily debut at the crack of noon need to rise earlier — or plan a late-night dinner.

And speaking of sage advice: If the dried sage in your spice rack has been there since "Cats" were kittens, toss and replace it — as you should do with all your culinary herbs. These are available, in bulk and cheaply, at many supermarkets and specialty-food shops. Remember, when it comes to wowing your audience, it's often the little things that make the difference. Things like ... real cranberries.

Banish the thought of canned jelly and do as I do: Find a simple recipe (mine involves dried cherries, currant jelly and dark rum) and get cooking. In addition to making the cranberry sauce — a task easily accomplished in minutes and best done days in advance — my Thanksgiving Playbill inevitably involves making stuffing, a 16-pound turkey and lots and lots of gravy. The latter is accomplished by adding homemade giblet stock and canned chicken broth to pan-drippings, then thickening them with (trust me here and put it on your list) Wondra flour.

Don't know from pan-drippings? They're the reason you should not — as I did for years — roast turkey in one of those nasty aluminum pans. Instead, invest in a roasting pan, preferably one that comes with a nonstick rack. That way you can remove the turkey and let someone else do the carving while you make gravy directly on the stovetop, using the butter-enriched juices you've been basting over your bird for the past several hours.

Having a butter ball

Did I say butter? You bet. Lots of it, so be sure to have a few pounds in stock — dieters be damned. The day butter is banned from a Thanksgiving meal is the day your kitchen deserves to go dark. Besides, who wants the fat lady to stop singing? Other must-haves: sharpened knives, serving dishes and utensils, and lots of Ziploc bags and plastic to-go containers for sending friends and family home with leftovers.

About those leftovers — you know, the ones hanging out late on your living-room couch. If they don't take your cue once dessert's been devoured, the dishes long done and you've gotten your well-deserved standing ovation, there's only one thing left to do: Get the hook!

Nancy Leson: 206-464-8838 or taste@seattletimes.com