I love the beginning of the holiday season. When the air starts to change and everyone (O.K. maybe only me) gets excited about donating coats and buying underpants for the needy. When the focus is on the Thanksgiving menu; just before the focus becomes how many gifts can we get under the tree, how big can we make the tree look, how much money can I spend, how much shit can we have, which of these things will make me look the most successful on social media.
I think Thanksgiving may actually be my favorite holiday. There really aren't any rules-no awkward gift exchanges-it's all about breaking bread and that feeling, I think, of a sense of community. At least it is for me- because I haven't spent Thanksgiving with a single blood relative since I was a teenager. (And this makes me less likely to become a holiday season suicide statistic.) I love that the house is warm and dark, and there's food in every room. I love the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade--when all those singers we've never heard of lip sync badly into microphones swaying with the movement of the float they're on, slapping their unknown little faces like unplugged electric dicks.
And I love to feed people. (I also secretly love aprons. Not kidding.) Chocolate pecan pie? I do that. From. Scratch. Dressing? From. Scratch.--including but not limited to homemade croutons--Green bean casserole? Not a can of anything in sight. OK, I don't make those little fried onions but c'mon... I will admit that it does skeeve me out to rub all over a dead turkey. And it does always make me a little sad the first time I see the carcass unwrapped and headless in the sink. But I cook on anyway. Because to feed people is to love them. (GROSS! who am I?!) I zest lemons, I toast pistachios. I caramelize sugar, I make roux. And every year I make a fancy dressing to toss into a leafy green of some kind.--This year it was pear and red pepper vinaigrette with mesclun.--And every year it never makes it to the table. Because no one is looking for the salad on Thanksgiving.
But I have a dark confession to make. All of the bread in my house is store bought. Even 'special occasion everything is homemade' dinner bread. Baking bread has always illuded me. I have only recently mastered biscuit making, after many years and countless fails. I just felt biscuits weren't quite refined enough for my elegant holiday buffet. So there I stood shoving Sister Schubert's frozen yeast rolls into the toaster oven. I think my guests doubted the talents of this enigmatic freezer section Jewish nun baking genius. But after a couple of passes of the "appetite stimulant" around the table, we were all singing the praises of Mama Eunice. Or Sister Celeste. Or whatever it is her name turned out to be.
And the next day there was just enough wine and pie left over for my 'I-don't-leave-my-pajamas-on-Black-Friday-much-less-my-house-so-I'm-gonna-snuggle-under-this-blanket-&-watch-embarrassing-chick-flicks-all-day-then-pretend-I-missed-my-wife-when-she-gets-home-from-work' movie marathon.
Thanksgiving success!! Thanks Sister Schubert!
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