I know Thanksgiving is a national holiday, but in my mind, it’s best done in the south. At least we have the best traditions, and when I say traditions I mostly mean the food, because honestly, food is really what we do best. Here in the south we are amazing at giving food. And we are pretty darn thankful for it too.
But beyond the food I love the traditions that come with each holiday. And just like any great family, mine has its own fair share. In fact, I think each person in my family has their own idea of what our tradition really is.
Sometimes those traditions revolve around food. For instance, my sister absolutely refuses to have Thanksgiving without sweet potato soufflé. And not just any sweet potato soufflé, it has to be the right kind too, with melted marshmallows and lots of cinnamon sugar. I insist on having broccoli rice casserole, and I’m not even sure I still like it; I just have to have it. I have always had it and without it… Thanksgiving just doesn’t seem right. But what’s wrapped inside all of these traditions is my family. Individual recipes that have been passed down generation-to-generation that make the food so special and unique. Or special memories of cooking a casserole or a pie with someone.
My grandmother on my dad’s side makes absolutely the best pies I have ever had and she makes them all from scratch. Any time we ever spent Thanksgiving with his side of the family she had at least five pies baking at one time and ten batches of cookies. There’s apple pie, pumpkin pie, cherry pie, rhubarb pie, pecan pie and sugar cookies, Italian wedding cookies, chocolate chip cookies, oatmeal raisen cookies and brownies. Once the festivities are over and we are on our way home we are undoubtedly sent back with at least a year’s supply of sweets. She made it seem effortless.
But when we don’t spend it with her, my dad has to replicate the pie fascination in her place. Usually he does a great job. And my sister is always there to help with some sort of Martha Stewart touch, like little cutout heart-shaped dough that decorates the pie lid. Once, however, the pie did not go so well. My dad added two parts salt and zero parts sugar to our apple pie, making one of the most savory pies we’ve ever experienced. That pie made us laugh harder than I ever thought a pie could and I will never forget that moment.
Every year we have to go around during the prayer and say out loud what it is we are most thankful for. Of course, pretty much everyone says family as we stand there surrounded by family. But it’s true. I have a great family, and I am most thankful for that.
One year we asked my grandmother on my Mom’s side to tell us about one of her old Thanksgiving traditions. She was born in 1914, so it was fascinating to hear how traditions might have changed over the many years. We all sat there, anxious, as she thought in silence.
“Well,” she said, “every year my Daddy and my uncle would go out and kill us a squirrel. That was my favorite part of the meal, eating that squirrel.”
We were shocked. A squirrel! I mean, I didn’t even know people ate squirrels. Much less my grandmother. And what a memory it must have been because she talked about it for the rest of the meal. We all sat there, trying to listen while trying not to listen at the same time.
But traditions are one thing that American’s can share, even if they happen to be different all over the country. This past year I spent my Thanksgiving in California with my aunt and uncle and about twenty of their friends and family. None of which were people I knew. I think I might have known the neighbors, but barely. So, being from the south, I of course prepared myself for a feast. I didn’t eat the entire day except for a small breakfast, trying to make room in my stomach for all the food I was about to devour. And I prepared my broccoli rice casserole, as my contribution.
Well, I was sadly mistaken. Apparently California does Thanksgiving a little differently. This time, instead of giving thanks to all the delicious food we were about to eat, we gave thanks to health. And that mostly meant not very much food. We had two salads; some interesting twist on stuffing (potato chunks baked in the oven), turkey, bread, and my broccoli rice casserole to go between twenty-plus people. It bore a slight resemblance to the two fish and five loaves situation, but there was no miracle to be made to fill our ready bellies. It was basically just another dinner, but with a lot of people and a fair share of wine. Not to say I didn’t appreciate the experience, or the new take on Thanksgiving dinner. I just had to go home and eat another meal.
And this year my mom, my sister and I are flying to Denver to spend Thanksgiving with my brother-in-law’s family. I am now prepared for the idea that it will likely introduce new and different traditions on this great American holiday. But that’s kind of what makes it exciting. Perhaps we will have some side dish of granola. Or maybe we will all wear fleece. Whatever it is, I’m ready and willing. It’s great to share this time with the rest of the country. It’s what makes America great. We might all have our own ideas on how it works, but at least we are all working on the same thing. This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for that. And, of course, there will be sweet potato soufflé and broccoli rice casserole. It just wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without it.
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EU Critic’s Choice Awards
