Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. No presents. No angst over who sits next to who or what cruel words separate people no matter how long ago they were uttered when forced to sit in the same room with the ones they injured. Aside from my sister who works in a supermarket on Staten Island and who works every Thanksgiving so other people can get that last minute whatever that will make their holiday complete, I have no family, my parents having died long enough ago to be counted in decades. Years ago-I began cooking for people who come in ones and twos. People like me who don't have a large supply of blood relatives, or who live too far from their home fires. There is a core group- folks who come every year and always- new ones. Travelling students, actors between shows, people whose countries do not celebrate this particular feast. The table is not always stable but its always interesting. There is something delightful about showing people from Australia marshmallow covered sweet potatoes- I remember my friend Bridget from Melbourne when upon seeing that particular dish in the oven shrieked and ran for her camera insisting on taking photos ("Back home we thought this was a JOKE" she said in her gorgeous accent, as exotic to me as this Thanksgiving staple was to her)
So the crowd at the table over the years fluctuates- there have been as many as 30 people and as few as 2. No matter how many people come to dinner- until at least 3:00 it's just me. I don't know exactly why- I have never said to anyone don't come earlier- dinner is at 6, and I tell them so but until at least late afternoon its just me. But I am never alone.
I do the stuffing first. While I am chopping and sauteeing onions I feel my dad at the stove. Up and chopping the giblets and putting them in a pot to simmer for broth. And when I sneak a fingerful of just-mixed stuffing I feel him there.
I make the cranberry apple pie and catch myself peeling the apple in one long peel, the way my grandmother did. And as I slide a slice of apple into my mouth I remember the sweetness of an apple coated in cinnamon and sugar that she slipped into my mouth, admonishing me to keep my hands out of the bowl. I never listened.
I stuff the turkey and remember the first year my dad took my sister and I to my soon-to-be stepmother's house for Thanksgiving and seeing her grandmother's stuffing- pinkish and the consistency of oatmeal, oozing from the cavity of a paprika coated bird. I whispered to my dad and he looked back and me and whispered fiercely that NO ONE threw up in the turkey and could I PLEASE behave. I behaved, but I would not touch the stuffing.
I slide the turkey into the oven and after about 2 hours the smell of turkey begins so scent the air. It is then I remember my friend Robin. I cooked my first on my own turkey at Robin's house. My surrogate father he both made my wedding dress and escorted me down the aisle. It was at his house I learned about wine glasses and chargers and cloth napkins. That food made a meal but the ambience- that made it a dinner, and a party. In the years since he passed I have always strived to create the magic he did- cloth napkins, candlelight- its good- but still after all these years I finally come to realize that there are some people who dress a table by their presence at it and the glasses and plates twinkle with their charm and grace- I do what I can. No paper napkins. But I miss playing Scrabble with him and losing while he cheated shamelessly every time I got up to baste.
And there are people who have their obligations- to family, to work or my friend Carola, whose favorite thing to bring to dinner is Tupperware. She e-mailed me that she is in Scotland. I was surprised she did not ask me to save a plate. I will miss her fringey wonderfulness and keep fingers crossed they feed her well wherever she is. I hope it's not Haggis... some things should just not be stuffed, ANY time of year.
And the phone rings- with serious concerns like "I baked a pumpkin pie yesterday- does it need to go in the refrigerator?" Nope Miriam- tastes better without the fridge- just don't tell your mom. Or VLH who has been teasing me mercilessly because he is attempting to debunk the myth that my DELICIOUS cranberry sauce takes LOTS AND LOTS of work (truth be told its just 2 bags of berries, a can of frozen OJ and some spices and sugar and the pizza resistance- star anise plopped on the stove- in a pot- to cook til the berries pop) OK its not hard work but it's ALL MINE. VLH likes the kind of cranberry sauce that still has the ridges from the can on it- I want to be snobby about it but I actually think it's kinda cute. And then when I am getting a bit behind myself Kiwi will call to let me know he has the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV, muted, so he can listen to Alice's Restaurant. This has been my ritual for years and was discovered 3 years ago by Kiwi as the thing that was missing from his Thanksgiving. This, along with a traditionnay- near RELIGION shared by the folks closest to me- the post holiday leftover sandwich which includes everything from the meal including gravy-which has been refrigerated and therefore can be SPREAD and the addition of mayonnaise and some kind of very white bread (my choice this year? Onion Naan. I believe it will be a high water mark in the pantheon of post turkey day leftover sandwiches- toasted- in case you want to try this at home)
So this year- at least as of 11 am there are seven of us. (OK its 1:22 and we are at 8) That can change and as I cook enough for twenty (just in case) is never a problem. Two years ago the last minute guest was a woman relocated to New York because of Hurricane Katrina, I hope she has found her way home. Last year it was Kate- a co-worker who was trekking her way across the globe and spending her first American Thanksgiving at my house. She took before and after photos of her plate to send to folks at home. Too long ago to remember there was a pack of jazz musicians, Germany, Switzerland, Canada, Sweden and Denmark were all represented and 30 people consumed 14 bottles of wine, BEFORE dinner. Afterwards we all watched Alice's Restaurant and kept pausing the video (it was that long ago) to explain dialog and idiomatic phrases unintelligible to European ears. The movie was followed by an hours long jam session which had my neighbors growling at me for months after. It was worth it.
As I finish reading this over I guess the statement that I am alone is not completely true- people often get a sad look on their faces when I mention the no parents thing- or no close blood family. I hear a great deal from people who say that the holidays depress them- and list what they do not have that makes them so. But I have never been alone on the holidays. I think the recipe is put out as much love as you can- it comes right back, stays with you ever after and multiplies. For my family. For my friends. For all the love and all the great surprises life has brought to me- you know who you are.You are all here with me, and always will be. I give thanks. :) X
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