I was a little bummed about the Thanksgiving this year. We were slated to have the smallest turnout ever—only six people. Just my husband, daughter, parents and brother. I have a large family, but my brother is the only sibling left in California, and my son and his family were having dinner at his mother-in-law’s. The only relative I have in Sacramento is my uncle, and he was going to spend it with his sister (my aunt) and her family up north.
As solace, I turned my attention to the meal. Steve deconstructed the turkey a la Julia Child, and we brined it with sea salt and buttermilk. I found an old fashioned recipe for stuffing that was close enough to what I normally make, but with a long forgotten ingredient—egg, and an old fashioned twist that I’ve never tried—Bell’s Seasoning. My family makes a big deal about my fruit salad, and I also made what my brother affectionately calls green shit. It’s lime Jell-O with pineapple and sour cream, good for my diabetic dad and brother. We all love it, and I get to dust off my Tupperware mold and pick out the topper, this year a star.
My mother passed the Thanksgiving cooking reins to me several years ago, and I do my best not to get too experimental. My sister made that mistake years ago, she really went out on a limb with the seasonings, and , my mom told me later. “Angela is a good cook. It was nice having something different, but next year let’s go back to doing things the usual way.”
Thanksgiving is a traditional meal, and I do my best to stick to the old stand bys. Six people made things easier. Still, Steve and I cooked the night before, and I was on my feet all morning. My daughter put away two of the dining room chairs and made a production out of the table settings. We sat down around 2, said grace, and dug into the food. The stuffing was really good. Kudos to Bell’s Seasoning. The turkey, too, was just right. One year we’d deconstructed and brined it, another year only deconstructed, and it turns out it needs both.
We were deep into eating, maybe about 10 minutes in, when I looked up and saw the surreal sight of my uncle loping up the driveway.
“Uncle Jerry’s here,” I said. Opening the door I saw he’d brought his dog, a Labrador. I only see my uncle at Christmas and Thanksgiving, and even then not every year.
There was a flurry of dragging in a chair, getting a plate and silverware for him, meeting his dog, Molly. Winston and Darcy were less than gracious. In fact, Darcy, in a funk on Danielle’s lap, nipped Molly on the nose. Jerry explained that Molly is strange for a Lab; she hates water, and it's hard to give her a bath. I can verify it had been a while.
As solace, I turned my attention to the meal. Steve deconstructed the turkey a la Julia Child, and we brined it with sea salt and buttermilk. I found an old fashioned recipe for stuffing that was close enough to what I normally make, but with a long forgotten ingredient—egg, and an old fashioned twist that I’ve never tried—Bell’s Seasoning. My family makes a big deal about my fruit salad, and I also made what my brother affectionately calls green shit. It’s lime Jell-O with pineapple and sour cream, good for my diabetic dad and brother. We all love it, and I get to dust off my Tupperware mold and pick out the topper, this year a star.
My mother passed the Thanksgiving cooking reins to me several years ago, and I do my best not to get too experimental. My sister made that mistake years ago, she really went out on a limb with the seasonings, and , my mom told me later. “Angela is a good cook. It was nice having something different, but next year let’s go back to doing things the usual way.”
Thanksgiving is a traditional meal, and I do my best to stick to the old stand bys. Six people made things easier. Still, Steve and I cooked the night before, and I was on my feet all morning. My daughter put away two of the dining room chairs and made a production out of the table settings. We sat down around 2, said grace, and dug into the food. The stuffing was really good. Kudos to Bell’s Seasoning. The turkey, too, was just right. One year we’d deconstructed and brined it, another year only deconstructed, and it turns out it needs both.
We were deep into eating, maybe about 10 minutes in, when I looked up and saw the surreal sight of my uncle loping up the driveway.
“Uncle Jerry’s here,” I said. Opening the door I saw he’d brought his dog, a Labrador. I only see my uncle at Christmas and Thanksgiving, and even then not every year.
There was a flurry of dragging in a chair, getting a plate and silverware for him, meeting his dog, Molly. Winston and Darcy were less than gracious. In fact, Darcy, in a funk on Danielle’s lap, nipped Molly on the nose. Jerry explained that Molly is strange for a Lab; she hates water, and it's hard to give her a bath. I can verify it had been a while.
Jerry has a killer metabolism and he likes my cooking, so he loaded up his plate and dug in. He did manage to break stride twice in the first few minutes to take two cell phone calls and a couple of texts. One call was from my aunt, and it was clear that she was waiting for him to arrive. They were at her daughter's, over 200 miles away. He told her he’d be over on Sunday instead. (I wasn't insulted when he stumpled over my name when explaining where he was.)
After dinner we hung around in the living room and looked through the piles of catalogues I’ve been putting aside, a long standing tradition. I am teased about the time I opened a Sears’ catalogue that my mom had been keeping in its brown wrapper as some kind of treasure because it was to be the last Sears' produced. I tease her back. My brother weighs in. We hold off on Christmas talk until Thanksgiving dinner, though not necessarily after the pumpkin pie. We draw names for our gift exchange. Jerry was out in the yard a lot with Molly and my husband or in the family room with my dad watching football.
I was roused again hearing my dad at the front door saying his goodbyes to my uncle. I bounded over and saw him at the end of the driveway with Molly heading to his car. “Bye, Uncle Jerry,” I called out. He looked embarrassed and gave me a salute.
The last time I’d seen him had been last Christmas, at my house. He’d brought his 5th wife (another surprise guest). He'd met at a 12-step meeting (her sobriety seemed pretty shaky), and a few days later she’d taken off with his car and some of his things. We’d heard she came back, and then left again, this time without slowing down to steal anything. Another year, the meal was served as a buffet and he’d kept circling around the table, eating enough to keep refilling, then he took a nap on the couch in my mom’s small living room and people couldn’t sit down. To me he is a eating legend: when he was a teenager, my brother and I’d watched him wolf down 12 hot dogs with buns.
But my favorite memory of Uncle Jerry is a Thanksgiving one, back when I was around seven, and he’d been once again relegated to the kids table. He didn't fit with the grown ups, but he didn't belong with us either. He was spacey, odd. Now I realize it was the drugs, but I didn’t get it back then, just thought he was weird. He never said much. Just sat and ate. And ate and ate and ate. Back then it was the munchies. (That should have cleared up by now: He’s been sober for over 25 years, but the man can still chow down.)
It was back in the finish your plate school of child rearing, and we’d had vegetables, Brussels sprouts. Anyway, we’d been chastised for not finishing and told that pie would not be forthcoming. Jerry saved the day for all of us, 7 or so kids, gobbling our vegetables. We’d handed over our plates, and he’s smiled a big, goofy, spacey smile and dug in; plate after plate made spotless.
He’s never really lost that spacey look, and he will still eat anything. At 62, he’s a marvel. Trim. He had liver cancer several years ago, beat that, and is still hanging tough.
It was nice to have an extra guest at the table. I hope he comes for Christmas.
Here’s my stuffing recipe:
1 package Pepperidge Farm stuffing
1 TBS olive oil
Turkey giblets, finely chopped
1 cup onion, chopped
1 cup celery chopped
1 clove garlic
2 cups chicken broth
1 tsp Bells Seasoning
2 Tbs parsley
½ tsp salt
½ tsp pepper
½ cup butter
1 egg
Sauté onion, celery and giblets in olive oil and 1 TBS butter for 5 minutes or until vegetables are soft. Add garlic and sauté 1 minuter. Add chicken broth, seasonings, and rest of butter. Sauté over low heat for 10 minutes. Stir stuffing cubes into broth quickly. Turn off heat. Let sit for 2-3 minutes. Stir in egg using a large wooden spoon, mixing quickly.
Bake in greased casserole dish (covered) at 350 for 45 minutes. Remove cover and cook for 15 more minutes.
After dinner we hung around in the living room and looked through the piles of catalogues I’ve been putting aside, a long standing tradition. I am teased about the time I opened a Sears’ catalogue that my mom had been keeping in its brown wrapper as some kind of treasure because it was to be the last Sears' produced. I tease her back. My brother weighs in. We hold off on Christmas talk until Thanksgiving dinner, though not necessarily after the pumpkin pie. We draw names for our gift exchange. Jerry was out in the yard a lot with Molly and my husband or in the family room with my dad watching football.
I was roused again hearing my dad at the front door saying his goodbyes to my uncle. I bounded over and saw him at the end of the driveway with Molly heading to his car. “Bye, Uncle Jerry,” I called out. He looked embarrassed and gave me a salute.
The last time I’d seen him had been last Christmas, at my house. He’d brought his 5th wife (another surprise guest). He'd met at a 12-step meeting (her sobriety seemed pretty shaky), and a few days later she’d taken off with his car and some of his things. We’d heard she came back, and then left again, this time without slowing down to steal anything. Another year, the meal was served as a buffet and he’d kept circling around the table, eating enough to keep refilling, then he took a nap on the couch in my mom’s small living room and people couldn’t sit down. To me he is a eating legend: when he was a teenager, my brother and I’d watched him wolf down 12 hot dogs with buns.
But my favorite memory of Uncle Jerry is a Thanksgiving one, back when I was around seven, and he’d been once again relegated to the kids table. He didn't fit with the grown ups, but he didn't belong with us either. He was spacey, odd. Now I realize it was the drugs, but I didn’t get it back then, just thought he was weird. He never said much. Just sat and ate. And ate and ate and ate. Back then it was the munchies. (That should have cleared up by now: He’s been sober for over 25 years, but the man can still chow down.)
It was back in the finish your plate school of child rearing, and we’d had vegetables, Brussels sprouts. Anyway, we’d been chastised for not finishing and told that pie would not be forthcoming. Jerry saved the day for all of us, 7 or so kids, gobbling our vegetables. We’d handed over our plates, and he’s smiled a big, goofy, spacey smile and dug in; plate after plate made spotless.
He’s never really lost that spacey look, and he will still eat anything. At 62, he’s a marvel. Trim. He had liver cancer several years ago, beat that, and is still hanging tough.
It was nice to have an extra guest at the table. I hope he comes for Christmas.
Here’s my stuffing recipe:
1 package Pepperidge Farm stuffing
1 TBS olive oil
Turkey giblets, finely chopped
1 cup onion, chopped
1 cup celery chopped
1 clove garlic
2 cups chicken broth
1 tsp Bells Seasoning
2 Tbs parsley
½ tsp salt
½ tsp pepper
½ cup butter
1 egg
Sauté onion, celery and giblets in olive oil and 1 TBS butter for 5 minutes or until vegetables are soft. Add garlic and sauté 1 minuter. Add chicken broth, seasonings, and rest of butter. Sauté over low heat for 10 minutes. Stir stuffing cubes into broth quickly. Turn off heat. Let sit for 2-3 minutes. Stir in egg using a large wooden spoon, mixing quickly.
Bake in greased casserole dish (covered) at 350 for 45 minutes. Remove cover and cook for 15 more minutes.
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