Thanksgiving not always tranquil

For most folks, including us, Thanksgiving is a favorite. Nothing is expected of us if we’re invited to be with family or friends, except to gorge on a feast of traditional food and lend a hand with the clean-up.

And when dinner is over, its remains cut up and divided to be stored in freezer or fridge as leftovers, I get to relish the thought that there is enough for cranberry bread, casseroles, and even my famous turkey-corn soup.

Time to sit down and contemplate what just happened.

Thanksgiving is the penultimate American holiday. No hot topics like the traditions of others. I love making our old standbys and welcome new side dishes. No one needs to worry about Uncle Jim-Bob being a vegetarian or Cousin Dahlia’s allergy to nuts. There is enough for everyone.

So maybe today is the day to toss out some memories and let in new. This is the first Thanksgiving for which we’re going to a local eatery for dinner. Our Virginia family would need two SUVs to make a 700-mile trip for only two days here. Nor can the German contingent afford such an excursion.

And the cadre of friends with whom we often partake married off some children and have plans to reunite with them for Thanksgiving. In Arizona.

No doubt the new generation is angling for some steady hands to stuff and roast the featherless guest of honor. I think her first Thanksgiving is a rite of passage for young brides. A friend told me the story of hosting her first holiday.

She must have looked every inch a new bride because the fellow behind the meat counter thought she needed advice.

“Take some spices and rub them into the turkey’s skin,” he said, passing a small bottle to her. “When those are rubbed in, do some more. They’ll help tenderize the bird too.”

She did just that. When the timer said the bird should be done, she pulled it out of the oven. The turkey was hard and pink and not tender anywhere except perhaps in the wings where the meat was thin. She could still hear her mother reminding her that there should be absolutely no pinkness or translucence in the bird’s interior, and the meat should fall off the bones.

Another hour of cooking and the bird was now looking better. A carving knife easily penetrated the breast. But there was still that pinkness, revealed by a deep cut into the breast. Poor bride is almost in tears as she gets ready to slide the pan back into the oven again.

That’s when somebody in the dinner party asked her what spices she had used. She handed over the bottle and the mystery was solved. About half of the bottle’s contents was paprika, enough to turn almost any turkey pink clear through.

Our first Thanksgiving was similar, except that the darn turkey simply never would get tender. I swore I followed the directions to the millimeter and Dave still insists I didn’t leave it in long enough. Lesson learned: Use roasting directions with much discretion. With poultry especially, temperatures are usually just suggestions.

A young woman who went to school with one of my girls has her story. She was a sweet girl, about 9 on this Thanksgiving, very much what some call a “parent pleaser.” I think the expression “Goody Two Shoes” applies.

It was Thanksgiving Day and the women in the family had stuffed and spiced, stirred and simmered, and the turkey was out on the counter “resting,” Someone said, “Let’s take a break.” Everyone agreed, jackets were donned, and they went for a short walk.

Except our little darling, who said, “I’ll clean up the kitchen.” And so she did, cleaned it like it had never been cleaned before.

When the women returned, they were stunned by the pristine kitchen, every surface gleaming. But one stopped and gasped, “Where is the roasting pan? I left it right there, ready to make gravy,” and she pointed to an empty spot on the counter.

“Oh, I washed it and put it away too,” says our little darling.

She didn’t touch the turkey on a platter, waiting to be carved. But the roasting pan full of broth soaking loose brown bits of skin and meat for gravy? Gone.

The kitchen really did look great.

* * *

I was going to tell you all sorts of interesting things about Thanksgiving, but it’s almost yesterday. I’ll save some stuff for next year.

But I do have a quick quiz for you today.

We picture the Pilgrims sitting around tables full of foods gathered from their fields and maybe presume that they discovered them in the New World.

Here’s the challenge: Name seven food-plants indigenous to Southeastern North America. I think you’ll be surprised.

And my apologies to those of you who couldn’t find the answer to the question a couple of weeks ago: Who was the first president to travel to all 50 states while in office? You couldn’t find the answer because it got lost in editing. The answer: Richard Nixon.