Being Thankful
Amid the pandemic, we plan a meal for two and hope for better days
When I try to conjure up memories of Thanksgivings from childhood, my mind’s a blank. No Norman Rockwell images of loving parents, happy families, and mega-turkeys. My parents were immigrants, and Thanksgiving, the quintessential American holiday, wasn’t really in my Scottish mother’s wheelhouse. Nor were turkey and all the trimmings. Roast beef and leg of lamb were more her style.
Yet, in the recipe notebook I inherited from her, there are clippings for cooking times for “holiday birds,” including an admonition to “never, never defrost a frozen stuffed turkey.” Another entry for stuffing calls for sautéing two chopped onions in half a pound of oleo and mixing it with a large box of crushed cornflakes. I can’t ever recall eating such a stuffing.
My most vivid Thanksgiving memories date from adulthood, specifically the many celebrations we’ve spent with my mother-in-law, Judy and her boyfriend, Mike, along with family and friends, usually at their rustic home in the Hollywood Hills, and, more recently, downsized celebrations by the beach. It’s Judy’s holiday since her birthday arrives close to or on that Thursday, providing the perfect excuse for a celebration.
In 2020, the pandemic year, Thanksgiving, like everything else, won’t be the same—at least when it comes to who’s coming. It will likely be just my husband Jeff and me staring at each other over the turkey—and then a zoom call calibrated across time zones from Los Angeles to Japan.
Of course everyone else I know is in the same boat. Most are planning small gatherings with immediate family. Some are alone and say they’re okay with it—or, if they’re not, they’re not telling me. Many are ordering takeout Thanksgiving feasts for two, four or eight—a wise decision, given the plight of restaurants, struggling to keep their doors open amid recurring lockdowns and the whiplash of changing regulations.
When I ask Jeff what he wants to eat for Thanksgiving, he tells me grilled cheese, with a side of Pillsbury chocolate frosting—a nod to his favorite childhood foods.
“Why don’t we just order from Good Stuff?” he suggests when I reject this idea (okay, maybe I’ll make grilled cheese for lunch this week—but nix on the frosting) and start obsessing about what to serve. He sends me the restaurant's Thanksgiving menu, which offers a takeout dinner for four for $75 with nine items. Sounds like a good deal.
But no, I’m determined to have a traditional meal, even if it’s just us—especially if it’s just us. And I want to cook—maybe need to cook. It’s my safe space in these abnormal times.
So, what to make for two that’s celebratory yet not so over the top that my frosting-loving husband won’t eat it? It might be wiser to make my usual roast chicken or perhaps a stuffed turkey breast or Cornish game hen. Why be tied to a food tradition I didn’t grow up with anyway? Maybe grilled cheese isn’t such a bad idea after all.
I still want that big bird. Somehow, after so many years of celebrating with my in-laws, this has become my holiday too—and turkey’s what we always serve, even though my mother-in-law no longer eats it; she’s a newly minted pescatarian—salmon, yes; turkey, no.
Unfortunately, I can’t remember the last time I made a whole turkey. It’s Mike’s specialty—and usually it’s delicious and perfectly cooked, though I have a vague memory of a faulty oven one year, a bird that seemed to never get done, and company that spent a long time than usual enjoying wine and hors d’oeuvres.
But no matter. I got myself the smallest turkey I could find at the local Gelson’s, a nine-pound organic Diestel “petite turkey,” somewhat reasonable using a 20% off coupon. I’m planning to follow the instructions for roasting a whole bird on their website. Hopefully my oven won’t fail me.
As for stuffing, though I’ve got bags of leftover ends of sourdough, challah, and rye in my freezer, I got lazy and bought a box of focaccia stuffing mix from Williams Sonoma. I’m going to do the usual, adding chopped celery, onion, mushrooms, apple, roasted nuts, maybe a leek and some fennel, along with broth, some melted butter, and white wine, and serve it as a side dish. There are those in my family that would definitely forego the turkey in favor of the stuffing.
If the day is warm, perhaps my in-laws will show up for an early Thanksgiving meal in a sliver of sunshine in our breezeway. If it’s too cold, they’ll take the meal to go.
Pie is high on their list of essential foods. There’s one I can’t seem to get out of my head—my friend Patricia Rose’s Chocolate Caramel Hazelnut Pie. Perhaps it’ll take Jeff’s mind off the chocolate frosting!
Another one of Patricia’s pie recipes that looks like a winner is Sweet Potato Pie. My friend Susie (you can check out my story about her here) tells me she much prefers sweet potato to pumpkin pie. Meanwhile, I made David Lebovitz’s delicious Sweet Potato and Apricot Cake. He serves it with cream cheese frosting, but I thought cranberry sauce seemed more in tune with the holiday.
Speaking of cranberries—making that essential Thanksgiving condiment is a family tradition that goes back a long way. Until he left for Japan almost four years ago, my mother-in-law would make it with my son Sam, her grandson. I’ve asked her for the recipe several times, but never manage to remember it, although it couldn’t be more simple—or delicious.
“I just follow the directions on the back of the package,” she tells me again. That would be the Oceanspray recipe for Fresh Cranberry Sauce that calls for one cup water, one cup sugar, a 12-ounce package of cranberries, and about 10 minutes of cooking in a saucepan on top of the stove. Easy-peasy. Judy’s twist is to substitute grape juice for the water, leave out the sugar, add some berries—usually raspberries or blueberries— or some chopped apple, plus a squeeze of lemon. It’s tart and delicious—a perfect complement to the rest of the meal.
This year, I followed her recipe, using raspberries (I’d recommend about 6 ounces or so for 12 ounces of cranberries), plus about a third of a cup of dried fruit—a combo of cranberries, cherries and blueberries—some orange zest and juice, a cinnamon stick, and about three to four tablespoons of sugar as I thought the mixture was a bit too tart. The finished product was so tasty I was ready to spoon it directly into my mouth—no turkey required.
I heard an NPR commentator say this week that Thanksgiving 2020 should be all about the thanks and the giving, and not about what or who is missing. I agree. Although it’s easier to see the half-empty glass these days, there’s always the flip side.
I’m grateful for the love of family and friends; for my health and theirs (knock on wood); for the likelihood that vaccines will be widely available next year and make it possible to gather, travel, hug and live again; and for saner politics and leaders (I hope).
As for the giving part, it involves gratitude too. I’m fortunate enough to have the wherewithal to give to others—whether food, money, time or experience. It’s what makes me happy and gives me hope.
Do you have something to be thankful for this holiday? I hope you do and that the spirit of giving will animate us all. There is so much need and hearbreak in this world—but also hope that 2021 will be a better year.
Happy Thanksgiving!
