Date: October 20, 1989.
Location: The Cooper Kitchen / The Front Porch.
Event: The Fallout of the Skillet Incident.
In the South, there are crimes you go to jail for, and there are crimes you go to hell for.
Scrubbing a cast iron skillet with soap and steel wool is in the second category.
"You killed it!" Meemaw shrieked, pointing her wooden spoon at Monica like a bayonet. "You stripped the seasoning! That pan has been in my family since the Hoover administration! It had flavor molecules from 1932!"
"It was black!" Monica cried, backing up against the refrigerator, clutching the steel wool pad. "It was sticky! I was just trying to help!"
"Help?" Meemaw advanced. "You call skinning a cat 'helping' the cat? I ought to—"
"Constance!" Judy Geller stepped in front of Monica. She didn't look scared; she looked disdainful. "Stop shouting at my daughter. She did you a favor. That pan was a health hazard. In New York, we have standards."
"In Texas, we have flavor!" Meemaw roared.
I stepped into the kill zone.
"Okay!" I shouted, putting my hands up. "Time out!"
I gently took the wooden spoon from Meemaw's hand (risky move) and the steel wool from Monica (who surrendered it immediately).
"Meemaw," I said calmly. "It's not dead. It's just... in a coma. I can re-season it. I'll spend all weekend doing the oil coats and baking it. It'll be slick as glass by Monday."
Meemaw glared at me, breathing hard. "It won't be the same. The history is gone, Georgie. My mother fried chicken in that pan the day I was born."
"I know," I said. "But we can start new history. We'll fry chicken in it when we win State."
I turned to Monica. She was trembling, looking at her shoes.
"Monica," I said gently. "In the South, we don't wash these pans with soap. The black layer is non-stick. It's seasoning."
"I didn't know," Monica squeaked, tears welling up. "I just wanted everything to be perfect. Mary seemed so stressed, and I thought if I cleaned the big dirty pan, she'd be happy."
My heart broke a little. This wasn't malice. It was the desperate need for approval that would define her character for the next ten seasons of Friends.
"I know," I said. "You did a good job cleaning it. It's definitely... clean."
"It's ruined," Meemaw muttered, lighting a cigarette inside the kitchen. "I need a drink."
***
The Retreat
The dinner party disintegrated rapidly after that.
Jack Geller sensed the mood. "Well! I think we beat the traffic, eh? Wonderful meal, Mary. Really. Rustic."
"Get out," Meemaw said, blowing smoke at the ceiling.
"Right," Jack nodded. "Kids! Load up!"
In the living room, the Nerd War had one final skirmish.
Ross packed his satchel, trying to look dignified.
"Well, Sheldon," Ross said. "It was... interesting meeting you. Perhaps when you get to college—real college—you'll understand the nuance of biological history."
Sheldon stood by the door, holding a disinfectant spray.
"And perhaps," Sheldon countered, "when you realize that dinosaurs are merely birds that failed to fly away from a rock, you will take up a real science. Like geology. Or basket weaving."
Ross's face turned red. "Geology is not a real science!"
"We agree on something," Sheldon nodded. "Goodbye, Ross. I have already submitted a letter to the editor of your journal regarding your errors. Look for it in the spring issue."
Ross sputtered. He grabbed his bag and stormed out.
***
The Porch Confessional
I walked the Gellers to their rental car. Mary was inside, probably crying into a pillow. Meemaw was mourning her skillet.
Monica was standing by the trunk, waiting for Jack to unlock it. She looked miserable.
"Hey," I said.
She jumped. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I didn't mean to ruin Thanksgiving."
"You didn't ruin it," I said, leaning against the car. "Honestly? This is pretty standard for a Cooper holiday. Usually, the police are involved, so this was actually an improvement."
Monica let out a watery laugh. "Really?"
"Really. And for the record... the lasagna wasn't dry. Missy just said that because Meemaw is terrifying."
Monica looked up, her eyes wide. "You think so? The béchamel was okay?"
"It was great," I said truthfully. "Best foreign food I've ever had."
She smiled. A real smile.
"Thanks, Georgie," she said. "You're... you're surprisingly normal. For a Texan."
"I try," I said. "Hey, keep cooking. You're good at it. Maybe open a restaurant one day."
"Maybe," she sighed. "If my mother doesn't make me go to Law School first."
"Monica!" Judy called from the front seat. "We're leaving! Stop flirting with the football player!"
Monica rolled her eyes. "Bye, Georgie."
"Bye, Monica."
She got in. The car backed out of the driveway, narrowly missing our mailbox.
I watched them go.
I knew their future. Ross would get divorced (three times). Monica would become a neurotic Chef. Jack and Judy would remain... Jack and Judy.
But for tonight, they were just another hurricane that had passed through Medford.
***
The Aftermath
I walked back inside.
The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that follows an explosion.
Mary was sitting at the dining table, head in her hands.
"I failed," Mary whispered. "She hates us. She thinks we're savages who cook with dirty pans."
"She thinks everyone is a savage, Mom," I said, sitting next to her. "That's her problem, not yours."
"But I wanted it to be perfect," Mary sniffed.
"It was perfect," I said. "The house was clean. The food was hot. And nobody got stabbed."
Meemaw walked in from the kitchen. She was holding the skillet. She had already coated it in oil and was rubbing it with a cloth.
"I'm putting this in the oven," Meemaw announced. "400 degrees. One hour. We repeat it four times."
She looked at Mary.
"Stop crying, Mary. You stood your ground. And you invited family. That's what Christians do. Even if the family is annoying as hell."
Mary looked up. "You're not mad?"
"I'm mad at the girl," Meemaw grunted. "But I'm proud of the brisket. Did you see Jack eat it? He liked it more than the pasta. I saw him sneak a second piece."
Mary smiled weakly. "He did, didn't he?"
"Damn straight," Meemaw said. "Texas 1, New York 0."
Sheldon walked by, looking pleased.
"I would score it differently," Sheldon said. "Sheldon 3, Ross 0. I destroyed his ego on three separate theoretical fronts. It was a complete victory."
"Go to bed, Sheldon," we all said in unison.
[Quest Complete: Survive Thanksgiving]
* Result: Chaos, but no fatalities.
* Relationship Update: Monica Geller (Positive).
* Meemaw's Skillet: Critical Condition (Recovering).
* Sheldon's Ego: Inflated.