thanksgiving

Traditions at Thanksgiving

Posted on by tresswann

Traditions at Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is all about traditions. I’ve cooked essentially the same meal since 1988. It has been through 2 marriages, one partnership and all the in between times.

Time is a definite factor in this story.

I was traveling for business in Italy early November that year. It was not my first time traveling alone, I was in my 30s and had been traveling alone since my 20s. In fact, the very first time I traveled by myself I was only 17 and it was for a university visit. I traveled to Europe, Taiwan and South America for business by myself before this trip. The excitement was over. It was no longer a novelty nor a nod to my corporate capabilities. I remember feeling blue and out of sorts.

Those days were different. There were no cell phones or Internet. Faxing was expensive and cumbersome. There was a certain freedom to that travel because you could be truly away and no one could reach you. There might be messages for you at a vendor sometimes at the hotel but that was unusual. I was researching vendors on this trip, so I was remote. The main purpose of the trip was to attend the leather good exposition in Milan. However, the show was only a few days and the president of the company was cheap plus he believed in enriching his employees. For example, he gave me and his secretary the afternoon off when he found out we had never been to the South St. seaport. Another employee had a wife who worked at the special events department of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and he pressured him so that the secretary and I could go on company time to private viewing as a Van Gogh exhibition. He believed in us and wanted us to see the potential in the world. Therefore, I was going to be required to travel through Italy for the remainder of the week. I was to go to Florence, Venice and Rome. Travel was to be done by train.

I traveled with magazines. It was important that I know what was going on in the world, specifically anything that related to fashion. I subscribed and read 22 magazines. These would come to my parents’ house because it would have sent up a red flag on my illegal rental. They insisted that I give the mailman a huge tip every year because of the volume and weight of the paper. I read all kinds of magazines-women’s fashion, men’s fashion, beauty magazines, home decor, business magazines. It always amazed the men that I worked with that I could discuss business issues. I traveled light. In my early years, my mother had despaired because I traveled like a typical Jamaican-lots of bags, parcels tied up with bits of string. She kept at it until I could travel with the minimum amount of fuss and luggage. It also helps that I understood clothing. In later years when I did not have a responsibility for fashion I could travel for a week or two with just the carry-on barrel bag or if the company provided business class, the barrel bag plus a garment bag. However back in the day I will travel with lots of magazines. They would keep me company in the hotel at night because of course there was no Internet or streaming and it got wearing to listen to programs not in English. I was blessed that I could understand a little bit of other languages. Sometimes I just let the sound keep me company and roll over me. On a much later trip, I was thrilled to hear the voice of Harry Belafonte in Italy. I would only catch snippets of his voice before they cut to the translation, but it was still comforting to hear the sounds that I knew in a foreign place.

I would shed the magazines as I traveled. If there was a fashion reference, I needed for work I would shove it into a folder then ditch the rest of the magazine. I used to imagine the hotel maids enjoying what I had left behind. I was traveling probably between Milan and Florence or Florence and Venice when I came upon a recipe for a Thanksgiving menu in Better Homes and Gardens. It was one of the magazines that I used to understand trends. Clothing is not just clothing, it’s what also surrounds us. Also, it was always a joke, but it started at that time that I used to lose weight in Italy. I was used to dining alone and did so in New York and very comfortably in Paris but somehow it didn’t feel right Italy. I ate in sandwich shops. Particularly on this first trip, it had taken me some time to figure out how to order the food and I had a few rather hungry days. Food was definitely on my mind. Better Homes and Gardens not only had decor but also recipes. I looked at that menu and I could just imagine it. I ripped out the article with recipes and carried it with me until I came home.

My mother was not big on Thanksgiving as she always told us “I did not grow up in this country (she was Jamaican) so I did not have this holiday and I’m doing it strictly for you kids.” My father was the children of immigrants also that had grown up during the depression, so this was not so much in the tradition for him either. My mother had not known how to cook when she married my father and it was something that she did not particularly enjoy. No one really liked to eat turkey but went through the motions every year. I decided that I was going to make Thanksgiving that year and have it at my apartment. She did not argue. I realized I am so much luckier than my friends and now in laws because she readily gave it up.

The turkey recipe was somewhat revolutionary at that time. Now what I do with it is referred to as brining and is quite commonplace but back then it was just a marinade. The bird had to be marinated at least 24 hours in advance in a mixture of soy sauce, honey, white wine and spices. It was also cooked breast side down which makes an awful lot of sense. It was accompanied by angel biscuits (the recipe has since been lost) a gelatin mold starter which was never attempted, sweet potatoes with a sorghum butter and then an apple cornbread stuffing. There was some sort of pumpkin thing for dessert but I did not extend that far. We have made this sweet potato cake for about the past 20 years as our dessert. That was from another magazine but not one that I had to rip out and discard as I traveled.

I lived on Long Island which had moderate winters at that time and definitely not snow in November. Thanksgiving morning dawned with eight inches of snow! Totally unexpected. I lived just 6 miles away, but my father was not going to drive. I was cheerful and my mother threw a fit and they came. The meal was totally enjoyed. The turkey was moist and delicious. Apparently, this is not the case for most Thanksgiving events. The technique  I used were very advanced at that time.  

It was my job from that day forward to make Thanksgiving. I would add in different things over the years like the sweet potato cake. Some years there were appetizers and other years there were not. My first marriage broke up and there was a problem. I had moved home which had its own issues. However, I like to cook and they accepted that from me. My mother used to joke when I still lived at home and was out of work that she could easily gain 5 lbs because of all the food I made. It was going to be easier to do Thanksgiving in one way but not in another. My father was very finicky about his food and had very specific ideas. He claimed to detest garlic, but my mother always made spaghetti sauce with garlic in it which she did not know. Soy sauce was a no no for him. We used to laugh over his limitations because the only thing he would eat in a Chinese restaurant was pepper steak. It probably had soy sauce in it but as long as he didn’t know, it did no harm. My mother was sure that he would find out that the turkey was marinated in soy sauce and then decide that it didn’t taste any good. He never found out but WOULD right marvel each year on how delicious and how moist it was.

Eventually I moved out again-this time to a partner. Since they despised him and would not come over, it was my job to cater. I would cart it up and bring it over. My father never complained about the food, only about the man. That ended when I was back in my own apartment again, able to host again.

I met a new man, married and we continue with the turkey. The stuffing is now his job and he does it superbly. We no longer get a whole bird but rather a bone in breast. It looks disgusting but it’s still moist and delicious.

It’s hard to believe that the menu has stayed with me for so many years and made people happy at Thanksgiving. And I am always transported back to the time in my life with trains, travel and possibilities.

Thanksgiving Ghosts

Posted on by tresswann

Thanksgiving is upon us once again. Someone asked me what I was going to do. It’s only my husband and me for the last few years. We will do basically what we have done since 1988. Well, I should not say we as we have only been together for 21 years.

In 1988, I was working in my dream job. I was merchandiser for men’s accessories for a large firm. I traveled to Europe twice a year. It was in the days before technology was so advanced. Nothing was digital. Also, at that time I subscribed to 22 different magazines. Most were for work, some for pleasure and some were mixed-use. I love and need to read. Library books were too heavy and too risky to travel with. I used to take magazines with me and shed them across Europe. I was feeling particularly melancholy that year. I’d left behind both a new boyfriend and an old boyfriend. I missed the United States. I missed hearing my own language.

Another thing about Thanksgiving was that it wasn’t particularly big in my family. My mother as she frequently told us had not grown up in this country and only did Thanksgiving for “us kids”. She didn’t like to cook. She definitely did not like turkey. We had had several disastrous Thanksgiving so over the years. One year my father had gotten a turkey at work. It was the tradition at that time to give workers a turkey at Thanksgiving. It was huge, 22 pounds. There were only five of us. The Levittown stove is very small. In fact, if I remember correctly, it was a custom built. The only place you could buy it was at Jay’s Appliances on Hempstead Turnpike. Anyhow, the turkey was too big for the oven and broke the element. Another year, my brother was going to make biscuits. He was in one of the first classes of boys to take home Ec. He broke it that year. Another infamous year, we traveled to my great aunt’s in New York City. She lived in Peter Cooper village. Aunt Dorothy always said that she had a view of the river. You had to stand in her kitchen and peer through a tiny window to maybe catch a glimpse of water. I always lied and said I could see it although I never could. My father cursed the whole way on the Parkway. He didn’t like to drive in the best of times. Of course, there was tremendous traffic that was going to make us be late. My father was always manic about being on time or early. You could never tell him that you had a party starting at 8:00 PM because at 7:30, he would start telling you that you were going to be late. He didn’t understand that of course, you needed to be late. Anyway, we finally arrived at Dorothy’s. Now, she was supposed to be wealthy. Her sister, Matilda was also supposed to be wealthy. They competed. Aunt Dorothy was having all the cousins as well. We often did not get to see each other. One set of cousins were orthodox Jews. The males would never come to our house as it was considered unclean.    I glimpsed them so rarely that I could never tell you what they looked like.

It wasn’t a particularly large apartment nor was it small. I remember the dining table being set up as a buffet and scattered card tables around the room. My mother and grandmother were horrified as Aunt Dorothy had had it catered. I was impressed because the turkey had been pre sliced and put back together. It was also the first time that I tasted barley and I really liked it. The catering was not what upset my mother and grandmother nor the fact that the card tables were covered with paper clothes but it was the paper plates that really set them off. My grandmother and later on, I had a dish fetish. We can also be fairly formal people. My stepsons laugh at me because I always tell them, “the right tool for the job.” There is also the right dish for the meal. It wasn’t even the heavy duty paper plates but the cheap ones. There probably was real silverware. My mother was particularly incensed because Dorothy had a “girl” a few times a week. Dorothy would not even have to cope with the dishes. We never did that again and I am not sure if Dorothy ever did it again.

The caterer Thanksgiving debacle made an enormous impression on me. I was precocious junior high student. It annoyed me and still does that for most people Thanksgiving is it day of gluttony. I found it highly hypocritic. Growing up in my household, if you had anything to say you wrote it down. My father was famous for his letters to the editor. My parents did not protest. My father wrote letters. Therefore, I wrote a letter to the editor of the local paper expressing my thoughts on Thanksgiving. I was harassed at school and told I was a communist.

I hate to fly. One year, I traveled 20 weeks out of the year.  I used to be teased that if there was a train that went across the Atlantic, it would be my preferred method of travel. So, once I arrived in Europe, I always took the train in between countries and cities. I like to travel in between countries at night. It saved a hotel bill and was easier on me. I’ve always been able to dine on my own but this put less stress on me. It was a great opportunity to relax and catch up on some of my magazines. I would leave my magazines behind in hotel rooms and on the trains. I hoped that they would end up in hands that would appreciate them. I was on the train in Italy heading to France. Italy was never enjoyable for me. I found the people arrogant and it was expensive. I was glad to be leaving. I was reading Better homes and Garden on the train. This was one of the ones that I was reading just for me. It was outside my comfort zone. I am not known for decorating and at that time in my life did not have ready access to a garden. There was a Thanksgiving meal by Lee Bailey. It spoke to me. The weather had been unusually cold and damp. I could taste the recipes in my head. I tore them out and put them in my luggage.

I arrived home and announced my intention of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. My mother was very pleased. In addition, to it not being her holiday, my mother did not like to cook. She had grown up with a cook and when she met my father, she knew how to boil an egg and make a cup of tea. It gave her no pleasure. She had dutifully made Toll House chocolate chip cookies with me once because that’s what you did with little girls. However, she had encouraged me. This she had done despite several disasters. As Campfire Girls, we made a four layer cake in two layer pans and set the oven on fire. She took this rather calmly. I made gingerbread cookies in 7th grade that were really gingerbread men. They were enormous! My first sugar cookies broke my grandmother’s tooth. My best friend and I made the most disgusting chicken with apples for French class. I do not know how they let us serve it. Well, we are all alive today and we’re not poisoned miraculously. By this time, I was quite an accomplished cook. I’d been given all kinds of cooking magazines. My mother worked for Standard Brands and her boss used to send me recipes from their test kitchen. I had graduated into making cookies. I used to make around 1000 for Christmas giving. It had started when I was 14 and slowly morphed since then. I usually started what I termed “cookie production” on Thanksgiving weekend. This would definitely eat into my time.

I started the preparations. Now it is referred to has brining, then it was just marinating. The turkey is marinated in a mix of soy sauce, honey and white wine for 24 hours before. Cooking. This requires defrosting the turkey so that it can be marinated on Wednesday. I had to leave it out on the kitchen counter. There is a beautiful stuffing that is cooked separately from the turkey. This allows the turkey to be moist. It requires making a cornbread beforehand. There is a lot of chopping and preparation for the stuffing. The first year I also made Angel biscuits. My father and brother were finicky eaters so yams with marshmallows had never appealed to them. My mother and I were not fond of it either. I made simple baked sweet potatoes that year and mashed potatoes. We did the usual store bought pies. I cooked my guts out.

New York, especially in the 80s was very temperate. It almost never snowed, especially not in November. That particular Thanksgiving morning, there was unexpected snow. It had hit the whole East Coast. I lived just under 6 miles away from my parents. They lived on a main road. We had always laughed because we never knew how bad the weather was. A town Councilman lived a few blocks behind us so our street was always beautifully plowed. However, the way to my house was on main roads. I lived a few blocks off of Sunrise Highway so that too was plowed. My father always had a fear of driving and of snow. He announced that morning that he would not be coming. My mother read him the riot act and they showed up. The whole meal met with raves. From that day forward, Thanksgiving was my responsibility in addition to cookie production.

This went well for several years. Then I made the mistake of getting married. We rented a beautiful cottage. I even had double ovens! My parents and brother came over but my mother did not want to leave the cat at home by itself. We didn’t think it would be a problem has the cat loved turkey. In the years before I started making it, the cat would lie down in front of the stove for the entire cooking time. Plus, the cat truly loved me. Lo and behold, the cat was having no part of being at my house. We had a beautiful fireplace and the cat tried to climb up the chimney. My parents left with doggy bags.

The marriage did not last through the rest of the following year. However, I was still there for Thanksgiving. I cooked the turkey at my house and brought everything over to my parents. I moved back into my parents’ home shortly before Christmas. My mother complained about the smell of butter and sugar in the house as I still had to do cookie production.

The following year, I had to make the turkey at their house. Now, as I said before, my father was a very picky and finicky either. He had always maintained that he did not like soy sauce. If we went to a Chinese restaurant, he would only order pepper steak and never ever put soy sauce on anything. He didn’t like garlic either or so he thought. We would put garlic in things unbeknownst to him. The turkey marinade had cloves of garlic. I was the first in the family to use them. My mother used to season somethings with garlic powder. I actually used cloves. We knew if he found out what was in the turkey, he would not eat it. He would claim something smelled funny. We held our breath and I made the marinated night while he was watching TV. My mother complained about the smell of turkey in her house. It was much the same as it was with the cookies. She loved the results but didn’t want to deal with the operation aspects.

Unfortunately, I had to live there for several years before I moved out. I moved in with someone they did not approve of. They would not allow him in the house. I catered. They wouldn’t allow him in the house for Christmas either. It began to create a huge rift for us.

Miracle of miracles. One year, they finally let him come for Thanksgiving. As usual, I brought everything over. He and my father seemed to have a good time. My brother was excited thinking that everything was behind us and we could have a normal holiday season. This was not to be. They were even more adamant that he could not come to our home. So, that year my brother went out of state and I did not go over. It created great pain.

Now I am married to an active alcoholic. Thanksgiving rarely happens on Thanksgiving Day. And there are only the two of us. Today, it looks like it will happen. It is bittersweet. the ghost of Thanksgiving Day pass will definitely be at the table. There are so many things that I am grateful for. I’m grateful for the knowledge and insight I have gained over the last year. I am grateful for friends old and new. As always, I am grateful to be warm, safe and dry and have something to eat. It is not about the meal nor the memories but rather profound gratitude.