There is an insistence here, at this house, that Thanksgiving be celebrated as a day of doing just what the word implies—giving thanks. All of the thousands of circulars that arrive with today’s paper go unopened into the recycling bin. We place no Internet or telephone shopping orders. We do not purchase a Christmas tree, nor do we string lights or blow up tacky Santa balloons for our front yard. This is Thanksgiving Day—all day, twenty-four hours worth.
Without a doubt, this is my favorite holiday. It is a day for celebrating family and sharing a meal unique in its traditions. It is a day for reflecting on riches, few of which have anything to do with the amount of money in your pocket. It is a day for gratitude. It is a day for expressing love. Turkey and cornbread dressing, cranberry sauce, pickled beets, and pecan pie are the words we use.
This Thanksgiving was one that I will remember as an awakening. This is the year that I realized the real meaning of celebrating a harvest. I know it sounds strange that I would not have understood this, considering I’ve had more than six decades to figure it out. But this is the first year I have had a real harvest to celebrate. And because I had a harvest, it is also the first year I really understood that fruits and vegetables have seasons. These new understandings led me to decide that this Thanksgiving would be one celebrated with fruits and vegetables harvested in this season—in this place.
Until now, I did not know about seasons. Everything is in season all of the time at the grocery store. Why would I know that tomatoes are a warm weather crop, or that broccoli likes it cold? I can find them both in the produce section: summer, winter, fall, and spring. But this year—there was to be no going outside of the season or locale for Thanksgiving dinner. Greens were in (no surprise there), sweet potatoes, beets, and green beans had places at the table. Pecan pie, thank goodness, made it. Everything was going well until I realized that my self-imposed pronouncements were going to have to give consideration to a little red berry that grows far, far away.
Cranberry sauce wrestled with my conscience because it is such a must for a Thanksgiving table. At first, my thought was to eliminate it from the menu. Then I began thinking about how teachers (remember I was one) were telling my grandchildren what the Pilgrims ate, and I knew they would wonder why their Thanksgiving table was so poor as not to include cranberry sauce. Weakling that I am about anything that might scar the psyche of my grandchildren, I gave in to tradition with the caveat that there would have to be another fruit, both in season and of this place, that would sit on the serving board alongside the cranberry. A kumquat marmalade made its entry into the traditional holiday fare.
At the end of this day, I can look back and say that our feast was not only grand and delicious; it was memorable for the practice of discernment that went into the preparation of each dish. The vegetables I served were harvested from seeds I planted. The circle closed; the connection made. A celebration of the harvest was truly in order.
Thanksgiving Day Menu
Appetizers:
Bowl of Kumquats
*Kumquat and Satsuma Marmalade over Cream Cheese
Soup:
*Butternut Shrimp Bisque
Main Course:
Roasted Turkey and Gravy
Cornbread Dressing
*Cranberry Sauce
Chinese Cabbage, Turnips, and Scallions Mournay
Steamed Green Beans with Lemon Butter Pecan Sauce
Marshmallow Sweet Potatoes
*Pickled Beets
Dessert::
Pecan Pie
*Lemon Pie
*Look for recipes on the Cooking page--coming soon.
November 25, 2010
