Posts Tagged Thanksgiving

What’s an Irish Thanksgiving, you ask?  It’s when you’re forty-nine years old and the husband asks what you want to do for your fiftieth and you casually say something like, “We should go to Ireland.”  Then you forget about it because you have three children to attend to, among other obligations, and approaching the half-century of your life doesn’t seem like an actual event because you’re still seventeen, immature and oblivious to the process known as aging, even though it may explain the inordinate length of time it takes your mind and body to wake up in the morning, the reading glasses you’re now required to use all the time, and the occasional conversations you have about the inner workings of your digestive system.  It might also clarify the AARP card you received in the mail the other day, compliments of the sister-in-law who insisted you have one.  The husband brings it up again – Ireland – asking when you should go.  “In the summer or closer to your birthday?”  You mumble something; he mumbles something back like “It’s cheaper in the fall,” and then you find yourself on a plane with your three daughters and said husband heading to Dublin right after you actually turn fifty and right before the fourth Thursday in November, also known as Thanksgiving in the great country of America.

We arrived at 5am Dublin time on Wednesday and no one in this fair land wakes that early.  In fact, they sleep quite late – like 8am – which was about the time we finished breakfast in Navan, just a few miles from our morning destination, the Hill of Tara.  For years now, those who don’t personally know me, and even some who do, refer to my youngest daughter as Miss T because that’s what I dubbed her when I started this here Daily Cup.  (Somewhere, I got the idea that using my children’s real names wasn’t appropriate.)  If you knew her, you’d know that ‘Miss T’ fits Tara to a T.  And not only is her mother Irish-American (that’s me), but her father loves all things from the Emerald Isle, so much so that he thought it wise to marry a lass.  When it came time to naming the kids, it was easy.  Our oldest Erin (to you, ‘Goldie’) would have been Kevin if she’d been a boy.  Kerry (‘Bun Bun’ – the middle one) would have been Sean.  Instead, we were gifted with three daughters and each has a place in Ireland.  The country is Erin.  The county is Kerry.  The hill is Tara.

Naturally, we fit in here.  Our American accents give us away the moment we open our mouths, but to look at us, especially after the cold has turned our cheeks and noses red, we look like the ruddy natives.  Fair skin, fair hair, we embrace the clouds and rain with open arms.  It suits us, this place.  We’ve been here less than 48 hours and already, the husband and I know our way around Dublin.  The girls have seen that Hill of Tara and the ruins at Glendalough.  We’ve crossed the River Liffey and toured Trinity College, Dublin Castle, and Christ Church.  We’ve tasted scones the way they’re supposed to taste (and look, like doorstops) and are even beginning to understand more than half of what people are saying.  (Who knew the accent was so strong?)  By tomorrow morning, before heading down to Kenmare, it’s likely that we’ll officially be on “Irish” time, eight hours ahead of Los Angeles.

Tonight, we didn’t try to find a turkey dinner or even a piece of pumpkin pie.  Instead, we dined with our California friend Clem, a student at Trinity College, and listened to her regale us with stories of her ‘lads’, the history and politics that she studies, and her Irish friends whose names I can’t pronounce.  I had pork wrapped in bacon (Clem’s dad would approve) because, well, wouldn’t you?

Turning fifty, so far, has been perfect if a little busier than I’d imagined.  I’m here in Ireland, inspired and grateful.  So ‘thank you’ to the husband who makes wishes come true, and to all my friends, my family, and my readers – sláinte!  An Irish toast – to health!  And Happy Thanksgiving!

I was over at MomsLA.com today with a post about Gabrielle Giffords and the purpose of life.  You’ll laugh, you’ll cry.  Head on over there and read it, comment at will.  I’ll wait.

Back so soon?  All righty then, I have a few thoughts on Christmas:

It’s thirty-eight days away.  Before then, there’s another national holiday we’ll call, hmmm…let’s see…how ‘bout THANKSGIVING.  Thanksgiving is seven days away and I feel strongly that we should all put the damn breaks on that other holiday – turn off the carols, hide the red and green, delay the making of lists and checking them twice – until we have given great thanks for all we can and gorged ourselves on all things pumpkin, with a little turkey and mashed potatoes on the side.

Trust me, there’s no bah humbug in my heart.  I love the holiday season as much as the next person.  I just also happen to love Thanksgiving and every year, I protest that it isn’t given its due.

It’s the perfect holiday.  There’s no gift giving to be anxious about, no hundreds or thousands of dollars to spend on presents (which is fun if you have it, and stressful if you don’t), no mistletoe to find yourself under with the wrong person, no hideous Santa sweaters, no dreadful Christmas letters to read, no obligatory parties – just one on the fourth Thursday of November every year.  It’s inclusive and non-religious, and the opportunity for conspicuous consumption is limited to a free-range turkey prepared by a hired chef.  Charles Shulz even knew that Charlie Brown could sit down for popcorn and toast with Peppermint Patty before he rescued a sad little tree.  Before you turn on Vince Guaraldi’s classic “Linus and Lucy” ditty, listen to his Thanksgiving theme while watching the show yourself.  (It airs Tuesday on ABC, and then again on Thanksgiving evening.  Check your local listings.)

Shall I go on?  Sure, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade ends with Santa, but not before those fantastic floats.  We can usually get a glimpse of fall colors in Central Park, because Thanksgiving is in autumn and that other holiday is not.  There’s football – Dallas and Detroit – and usually, a home that smells cozier and more delicious than any other day of the year.  Need a recipe?  I’ve got ‘em all: garlic mashed potatoes, yams with marshmallows, fancy breads, a green bean casserole, and sweet Sister Mary Ignatius, DO NOT cook your turkey before brining it first.

There’s a chance of rain here in Los Angeles next Thursday, so make a fire, relax, and listen to George Winston’s “Thanksgiving”, all the while knowing that those December holidays will come soon enough, but not just yet.

ON THE SEVENTH DAY OF THANKSGIVING, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME: SEVEN YAMS A-SWEETENING, 6 cups of green beans, 5 decorative gourds, 4 colanders, 3 fancy breads, 2 turkeys brining, and a pork shoulder of carnitas

My mother is a very practical woman, so I was aghast and conversely pleased when I discovered that her marshmallow yams were made with the real thing – peeled, boiled and smooshed. No canned yams for my mom, oh no, not her. The dish is as much for the kids to get their potassium, fiber, and A/B/C vitamins (you could put marshmallows on chicken liver and kids would eat it), as it is to add great color to your feast.

I know. I know. It’s the night before Thanksgiving and if you don’t have your groceries by now, you’re thinking about eliminating certain dishes because you’re exhausted and Turkey Day resentments have begun to set in. Well, buck up, tuck the kids in, and head to your local Ralph’s, which is open 24 hours and is still well stocked with whatever you need, which for my Mom’s Marshmallow Yams, is the following: 

(This will feed about 20, so adjust accordingly.)
7 medium size yams
2 cans crushed pineapple (in juice, not syrup – and yes, CANS, because you’re running out of time)
½ stick butter, melted 
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1 bag miniature marshmallows

Peel and boil yams; strain and place in mixing bowl. Add pineapple (I drain most of the juice first), butter, ginger and nutmeg. Mix well and pour into 13×9 baking dish. 
Heat oven to 350°. Place marshmallows in one layer over yam mixture. Bake for approximately 25 minutes or until marshmallows are golden. Serve immediately.

There is scientific evidence* that exercise before the Thanksgiving meal makes it taste, on average, seven times better than normal – or you could visit your local marijuana dispensary for the same result but you’d be hard pressed to find one open tomorrow. (They’re everywhere! Moratorium, schmoratorium.) So, think about a morning run, walk or hike before, during or after the Macy’s parade and you won’t feel so guilty tomorrow when you consume more calories in a meal than many of us do in a week. (It’s L.A. We’re mostly vain and mostly fit.)

*somewhere, I’m sure

ON THE SIXTH DAY OF THANKSGIVING, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME: SIX CUPS OF GREEN BEANS, 5 decorative gourds, 4 colanders, 3 fancy breads, 2 brining turkeys, and a pork shoulder of carnitas.

Let’s be honest. There’s a reason why all of those Betty Crocker-type/back-of-the-box/side-of-the-can recipes stick around year after year. They taste really good. Each Thanksgiving at my sister’s house, I always go back for a second helping of the broccoli-cheese casserole. The Ritz crackers proudly lay crumbled on top, the previously frozen broccoli spears swim happily around in the canned mushroom soup. Delicious. Thankfully, my cousin and not I, is responsible for providing this dish because I’m a bit of a snob when it comes to cooking. I’d insist on using fresh ingredients and mess the whole thing up. I have a need (sometimes) to make things from scratch. In doing so, I get a sense of accomplishment and then timely gratification that, when mothering my children, is mostly non-existent. So when given the time and opportunity, I make my own soups, tomato sauce, croutons, salad dressings, etc. Please don’t judge me. I use canned pumpkin, and the Trader Joe’s mac ‘n cheese in a box is a staple in my pantry. 

All that said, Emeril Lagasse created a green bean casserole recipe that’s a twist on the old classic. I simplified it because, well, I may be a little snobbish but I’m not crazy and I don’t have all day.

Relatively Simple Emerilized Green Bean Casserole
Ingredients:
3 tablespoons butter
Vegetable oil for deep frying
1 medium onion, thinly sliced into rings and 1 cup chopped onion
¼ cup Crystal hot sauce (because it’s full of flavor but not spicy like Tabasco)
about 1 cup of flour
¾ teaspoon Creole or Cajun seasoning
¼ cup celery, chopped
1 ½ teaspoon garlic, minced
½ pound mushrooms, cleaned with ends trimmed and sliced
¼ teaspoon salt
¾ cup chicken broth
¼ cup heavy cream
6 cups green beans, fresh with ends trimmed (this is supposed to be about 1 pound but that didn’t fit in with the “8 days of Thanksgiving”)
1/3 lb. Fontina cheese, rind removed, cubed 

Preheat oven to 350° and grease, with butter, an 8×8 casserole or other baking dish about that size.
Blanch (steam) the green beans in salted water and drain.
Heat about 2” of vegetable oil in a large saucepan or deep fryer. Separate the onion slices into individual rings and toss with the hot sauce. Then dredge in flour and cook in hot oil until just golden, working in batches. Transfer to paper towel.
Melt the butter in a large saucepan and sauté the celery, onions and garlic. Add the mushrooms, Creole seasoning and salt and cook until the mushrooms are soft. Sprinkle with about 1 ½ tablespoons flour and stir to combine, about 2 minutes. Add the chicken broth and heavy cream and continue cooking until mixture is thick and creamy.
In a large bowl, combine the green beans, mushroom sauce, and cubed Fontina cheese. Transfer to the casserole dish and top with the fried onions. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until hot and bubbly.
Serves 6-8, so double the recipe if needed.

I was going to recommend visiting your local Starbucks for the seasonal Thanksgiving blend which I’m drinking right now. It’s dark, nutty and a little herbal – but guess what? The day before Turkey Day, this coffee is nowhere to be found. You can ask the manager if they have any in the back, but my Starbucks already looks as if it threw up Christmas. Pity.

Next: 7 yams a-sweetening

(This is not an endorsement nor admonishment for either company, but I switched from AT&T to Time Warner Cable today and my internet has been down during the install – hence, this late post. I know you’ve been on the edge of your seats about the 5th day so…)

ON THE FIFTH DAY OF THANKSGIVING, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME: FIVE DECORATIVE GOURDS…4 collanders, 3 fancy breads, 2 turkeys brining and a pork shoulder of carnitas.

You have to respect gourds. They’re the elephant man of the plant family and yet we find them so attractive, they’ve become essential for decorating a Thanksgiving feast. What the heck is a gourd anyway? It’s a squash-like member of the cucurbitaceae genus. Do you really want to know more? Their shells are so hard that, in addition to decorating with them, they can become unique musical instruments and/or serving vessels. However, I have bowls from Target and a purple Hannah Montana guitar in the corner of my living room so I’ll just be putting the gourds on the table alongside a few dried Indian corn things, a tiny pumpkin and some fallen leaves I found lying on the sidewalk around the corner from my house.

Between the various sights and smells drifting through a Thanksgiving home, including a fire in the fireplace (who cares if it’s 75° and sunny outside?!), there’s a reason why so many of us dote on this holiday. Play some relaxing music* on the stereo/iPod and turn on the football game (Green Bay at Detroit and Oakland at Dallas) in the other room and you and your guests won’t be so eager to see it end and the frenzied holiday season to begin. 

*I’m sending you to Lala.com to listen to some George Winston. (Listen and then buy.) His Autumncollection is so peaceful, and his song “Thanksgiving” from the December CD is a must, not just for the obvious name but because it will soothe your soul and make you want to hit your knees in gratitude for whatever you’re particularly thankful for this year. Listening to this song and thinking about my three healthy children makes me tear up. Mothers everywhere know that crying is therapeutic.

Next: six cups of green beans