Gobble, Gobble, Gobble! The Pilgrim Equivalent of Bah, Humbug?

“Do they have Thanksgiving in England?”

Somebody asks me that every year. Usually a firm, “don’t waste my time you nitwit” stare is enough to jolt their brain cells to life, but occasionally it takes a further prod.

“Well, let’s see now,” I say, “what is Thanksgiving a celebration of?”

“It’s when the Indians and Pilgrims…Ah.”

It’s only one step above those people who ask me if we celebrate the Fourth of July over there. I mean, really.

So, Thanksgiving is a relatively new experience for me. It has no long-held traditions, no “well this is how my mother used to do it”, in fact, no real appeal for me at all—except for the turkey. But it’s such a giant hassle. Even though it’s still more than a month away, the question has been going around for weeks now.

“What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?”

There’s always the family obligation, my husband’s, not mine, but that means facing the freeways and my sister-in-law’s cooking. There’s the annual invitation to my friend’s house. The food will be better, but there’s three times the freeway to get there, and really who wants to face traffic on that day of the year? We had an interesting invitation this year to go for sushi. Trouble is, our friend has yet to find a place that’s open (and I secretly hope she doesn’t for the sake of the poor stiffs who would have to work.)

Of course, there’s always the option to host Thanksgiving here. I love to cook, but it’s a week-long endeavor involving piles of magazines and cookbooks and hard (or sometimes impossible) to find ingredients, like plum jam, chipotle chilies, or barley. Every pot and dish in the house is called into service and the dish washing—my husband’s duty—takes another week to finish. Add to that the fact that my in-laws are Hispanic. When I did Christmas last year, every one of them came late. I was expecting it, of course. After three years together, I know better than to think and event will actually happen on time. What I didn’t plan for was them arriving in a trickle between 3:00 and 7:00. We had dinner—the dinner I’d spent three days making—in three separate shifts, which meant I was cooking, serving and cleaning up pretty much all day.

My first Thanksgiving in this country involved tamales and enchiladas before going to a movie on my own—hardly traditional, but perhaps my best one yet. I had my first true Thanksgiving the following year. I looked forward to the turkey, but couldn’t believe my ears when I was asked to make the green bean casserole. “You want me to do what?” Two cans of anemic green beans and two cans of gray mushroom soup, sprinkled with a tub of deep-fried onion flavored…? What are those things made from anyway? Then the hostess took a perfectly delicious vegetable like a yam--delicious slow baked or steamed with a sprinkle of salt and a blob of butter--and what do she do? Mixes it with its weight in sugar and butter and bakes it with marshmallows!! Marshmallows!! I ask you! Fortunately for me, a relatively healthy eater, my hostess that year included beets on the menu. I didn’t think beets went especially well with turkey, but I do like them, so I took a couple of slices. Well, they weren’t beets were they? No, apparently cranberry sauce, that delicious salsa of soft, tart berries, comes in jelly form, canned and sliceable! Who knew?

So, it’s easy to see why I have little enthusiasm for this particular holiday. Between you and me, I’d rather spend the four days in bed, with a good book, a good man and a cheese and pickle sandwich.

Happy Turkey Day to you all!