I know that Thanksgiving has nothing to do with sardines, buddy. Sardines. They were the number one thing on my list that I would never be able to serve you. No amount of convincing or cajoling would do it. You said to me one day that it would be okay if I ate them whenever you were far, far away, say, visiting your family in Colorado. Then I could eat them to my heart's content. Goodness. How bad could a sardine be to a gal who would smear mayonaise on perfectly fine grilled salmon?
From what I can remember we never seemed to have a food disagreement other than that. Nothing that elicited "ewws" or anything like that. But I know you were challenged right away with the idea of sweet potato casserole. It was something that you couldn't quite wrap you head around. It seemed too wild, too strange. Not too much unlike my life at the time. I didn't mind your reaction, though. I knew once you tried it would be okay.
You weren't going to be sampling that dish at my Thanksgiving table, though. My table was going to be shared, rather, I would be sharing my table with friends on the other side of the county. I think you had family, friends, church folks coming over to your house that year. Was it your house? It all seems so far and away these days. All I know is that I got lost on the way to dinner. I headed west instead of east and ended up at the Sound and ended up missing supper. Thank goodness for leftovers and kind hostesses. It was a fine evening all the same.
One thing about Thanksgiving is that I tend to make the full dinner one way or the other. Have me over your house on the big day and know that I'll be making turkey the next day at mine. I had company over this last weekend and I made turkey, but that was as close as I would get to the traditional dinner in my house this year. Curried pumpkin soup, oven baked asparagus, turkey roasted with a rub to die for. Peanut butter pie, a wonderful white cheese macaroni dish. Apple slices, cold brut, a pesto galette. Non traditional all the way around. Who says that turkey has to be eaten with mash and cranberries all the time?
But I did turn that bird into a shepherd's pie. And made a very aromatic soup with the bones. And pulled off a very interesting gravy with the drippings. But I still haven't yet made my signature sweet potato dish. I suppose it would help if I ran out and bought some sweet potatoes first.
Potatoes. I know that we shopped at Safeway the night before Thanksgiving. Buy one, get one free on turkeys that night. It was fun but a strange scene all the same. We were too close to home to play house. We were already pulling and tugging, ebbing and flowing, like tides and the phases of the moon. It wasn't as apparent as it is now, with you so noticiably absent from my life. But back in those days I could always tell when you felt the ping and crush of guilt from the outside. Big crowds, major events, long trips..any and all of those things would pull you out of one fold and into the other. We played house alot then, dreamed and whispered and pretended that we, too, could find a way to do holidays together. I know because of those restrictions that regular holiday celebrations were never going to happen for us. So we became felons, my dear, we stole seasons.
So, what did I do to bring you into my own celebratory orbit? I made supper for you knowing that you would be working the Saturday shit after Thanksgiving at the branch down the street from the house. All day. A one hour guaranteed lunch. Lunch at my house. Oh joy.
I hit the kitchen at dawn and never stopped: roasted turkey, gravy, mash. Stuffing with apples and waterchestnuts. Fresh berry pie with berries picked at the end of summer. Fresh bread. Steamed broccoli or some such thing. And a heaping bowl of sweet potatoes.
What was the big deal about them, I had to wonder. Two types of sweet potatoes, boiled until soft. Mashed with plenty of butter and a healthy dash of salt. Brown and white sugar to taste. Sweetened condensed milk for body. Cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice. Pineapple mixed throughout. Baked for an hour, the last fifteen minutes topped with marshmallows, baked until golden. Seemed, in the end, like dessert to me. Nice counterpoint to all the heavy starches on the plate. Golden, aromatic, heady.
I think that, in the end, you thought so, too. Just maybe.
But the thing was that you tried it. We took that to be our hallmark. "Let's try it out". Why say no when "okay" was so much better?
That's where we were the strongest. We may pretended well about all our future dealings, but in that department we were just the best. "Okay" "Let's give it a try". You can't get any better than that.
You were never again as brave as you were that day, M, the day you tried my Sweet Potato Casserole. This year I'll be taking them along with me to a big family gathering. Know with that first bite I'll be thinking of you.
Your WHMB
From what I can remember we never seemed to have a food disagreement other than that. Nothing that elicited "ewws" or anything like that. But I know you were challenged right away with the idea of sweet potato casserole. It was something that you couldn't quite wrap you head around. It seemed too wild, too strange. Not too much unlike my life at the time. I didn't mind your reaction, though. I knew once you tried it would be okay.
You weren't going to be sampling that dish at my Thanksgiving table, though. My table was going to be shared, rather, I would be sharing my table with friends on the other side of the county. I think you had family, friends, church folks coming over to your house that year. Was it your house? It all seems so far and away these days. All I know is that I got lost on the way to dinner. I headed west instead of east and ended up at the Sound and ended up missing supper. Thank goodness for leftovers and kind hostesses. It was a fine evening all the same.
One thing about Thanksgiving is that I tend to make the full dinner one way or the other. Have me over your house on the big day and know that I'll be making turkey the next day at mine. I had company over this last weekend and I made turkey, but that was as close as I would get to the traditional dinner in my house this year. Curried pumpkin soup, oven baked asparagus, turkey roasted with a rub to die for. Peanut butter pie, a wonderful white cheese macaroni dish. Apple slices, cold brut, a pesto galette. Non traditional all the way around. Who says that turkey has to be eaten with mash and cranberries all the time?
But I did turn that bird into a shepherd's pie. And made a very aromatic soup with the bones. And pulled off a very interesting gravy with the drippings. But I still haven't yet made my signature sweet potato dish. I suppose it would help if I ran out and bought some sweet potatoes first.
Potatoes. I know that we shopped at Safeway the night before Thanksgiving. Buy one, get one free on turkeys that night. It was fun but a strange scene all the same. We were too close to home to play house. We were already pulling and tugging, ebbing and flowing, like tides and the phases of the moon. It wasn't as apparent as it is now, with you so noticiably absent from my life. But back in those days I could always tell when you felt the ping and crush of guilt from the outside. Big crowds, major events, long trips..any and all of those things would pull you out of one fold and into the other. We played house alot then, dreamed and whispered and pretended that we, too, could find a way to do holidays together. I know because of those restrictions that regular holiday celebrations were never going to happen for us. So we became felons, my dear, we stole seasons.
So, what did I do to bring you into my own celebratory orbit? I made supper for you knowing that you would be working the Saturday shit after Thanksgiving at the branch down the street from the house. All day. A one hour guaranteed lunch. Lunch at my house. Oh joy.
I hit the kitchen at dawn and never stopped: roasted turkey, gravy, mash. Stuffing with apples and waterchestnuts. Fresh berry pie with berries picked at the end of summer. Fresh bread. Steamed broccoli or some such thing. And a heaping bowl of sweet potatoes.
What was the big deal about them, I had to wonder. Two types of sweet potatoes, boiled until soft. Mashed with plenty of butter and a healthy dash of salt. Brown and white sugar to taste. Sweetened condensed milk for body. Cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, allspice. Pineapple mixed throughout. Baked for an hour, the last fifteen minutes topped with marshmallows, baked until golden. Seemed, in the end, like dessert to me. Nice counterpoint to all the heavy starches on the plate. Golden, aromatic, heady.
I think that, in the end, you thought so, too. Just maybe.
But the thing was that you tried it. We took that to be our hallmark. "Let's try it out". Why say no when "okay" was so much better?
That's where we were the strongest. We may pretended well about all our future dealings, but in that department we were just the best. "Okay" "Let's give it a try". You can't get any better than that.
You were never again as brave as you were that day, M, the day you tried my Sweet Potato Casserole. This year I'll be taking them along with me to a big family gathering. Know with that first bite I'll be thinking of you.
Your WHMB
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