It’s been a long time since anyone in my immediate family ate turkey on Thanksgiving. We mutually decided, several years back, that turkey just wasn’t the meat for us. And in case you’re wondering, ham wasn’t either. And beef? Forget about it.
In my house, my mother’s cooking was always characterized by its simplicity. She doesn’t deep fry. She doesn’t over season. In fact, her two best cooking friends are chicken and lemon. For that reason, the over-stuffed, over-dry, giant, honking turkey was banished from our holidays very long ago.
We experimented with individual Cornish game hens for a while there, but after we noticed that even that tiny bird was too much for us, we opted for the single, more manageable roasted chicken. It was a perfect fit.
Thanksgiving, this year, was missing one crucial element: my delightfully sassy sister. Budgets, circumstance, and responsibility are relegating her to the island of Manhattan this holiday season, and for the first time, our immediate family has had to make due with phone calls instead of face-to-face love.
Of course, split family time is something we’ve had to learn to make due with. In the year since my grandmother’s passing, my family has morphed into a strange version of its old self. With the glue that once held us all together gone, relationships have become strained, and some people’s worst habits have been allowed to fester and grow.
True, certain aspects of that extended family life have gone from bad to worse. But luckily, the bonds that were happy and healthy to begin with have managed to get better.
For that reason, in spite of the storm clouds of insanity that perpetually hang over some members of my family, this year’s Thanksgiving -where only my mother, father, my sister (via telephone) and beloved Nicholas were in attendance- managed to be my favorite to date.
Thanksgiving for Thanksgiving’s sake -and all that nonsensical pomp about pious pilgrims- was the last thing on my mind. Still, for whatever reason, I looked forward to this year’s Thanksgiving with a sort of serious devotion. In the days leading up to the holiday, I began to notice certain things about the people around me. My classmates, bogged down with stress and overloaded with work, were going to great lengths to make sure they were going to be with family or, at the very least, with a select group of close friends.
The streets were packed with people hustling to get out of town. The stores were jammed. The freeways were basically a vast, concrete constipation. Yet in spite of all this, I couldn’t help but feel a happy little glow beginning to grow inside.
Life may suck from time to time. I may have spotted one too many white hairs sprouting on my head. And I’m pretty sure all those trapped on the freeway along with me were feeling pretty much the same. But isn’t there’s something wonderfully reassuring about knowing that, in spite of all this nonsense, there is still pleasure to be gained by good food, good company, and a good after-dinner stroll along a tree lined path with your boo? I think there is. Suck it, stress. Take that, loopy family. White hairs, your days are numbered. I’m busy taking gloating over the fact that my happy belly will never be dominated.
(Pictured: top row-lemon garlic green beans, chicken and mushrooms tortellini; middle row-roasted chicken in orange and lemon marinade, jalapeño corn bread; bottom row-cinnamon cranberry sauce, apple and walnut stuffing)
