As Thanksgiving approaches, there are some family traditions that we miss and others that faded away and made us even more thankful. We spent almost every holiday in the car, traveling to Cleveland to spend time with the relatives, which was great, but holiday traffic and bad weather will not be missed. Grandma Evelyn was not a fancy cook, but she had mastered the art of putting on a delicious holiday meal, with one notable exception- the turkey. Gram lived in fear of a holiday urban legend that someone had once poisoned their entire family by undercooking the turkey. She was not going to let that become her legacy. She had one of those specialty electric turkey roasters as a permanent resident in the corner of her dining room. It was white enamel, on its own wheeled stand, with a glass window in the lid. A few times each year the black enameled pan inside held the remains of a turkey. Not in the traditional sense of the remains but it would be more accurately described as a turkey dehydrator. Grams idea of safe Thanksgiving day fare was turkey-jerky. Each year, our Mom, Janet Preisel, would try to convince her mother not to overcook the turkey, but Gram would not take the risk of serving up food-poisoning to her beloved family. Gram would get up in the middle of the night- dinner was at 2 PM so starting it at maximum heat at 2 AM should do the trick. After twelve hours, there was never any shortage of liquid in the roaster for gravy. In fact, it was a bit like turkey soup. Gram had given up on the dubious stuffing in the bird cavity since most of it floated away. Each year, Dad had to try to carve the breast meat, without getting White Lung from inhaling the dust, but never fear, the dark meat was moist, as it was submerged for most of the cooking. One year, Gram was so excited that there was a plastic indicator right in the turkey that popped out when it had reached temperature and was safe to eat. Mom was truly concerned about the safety of the food that year, since Gram had melted the plastic indicator long after it popped out, just to be extra safe. (Toxic melted plastic being the lesser of Grandmas concerns.) Grandma Hull did not scrimp on her sides. There was dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, carrots, corn, green beans, broccoli/cauliflower mix and Grams Sweet Potatoes. Those were the best- cubed raw, then slow-cooked in butter and brown sugar until it caramelized. That lovely orange sauce could glaze a piece of the white meat on your plate and make it almost moist again. Grandmas two personal favorite parts of the turkey were the the two ends. She loved the neck meat and what she, surprisingly for the President of the Catholic Ladies Guild, referred to as The Popes Nose- the tail. Mom wanted us to all look nice as we planned our wardrobe every year. Dad was comfortable in a suit from his years of travel. However, we tried to arrive looking fashionable, but often ended up in T-shirts on Grams unheated sun porch. Her base house temperature was about 90. Add in the Roaster dehydrating the turkey for 12 hours- and the multitude of sides. It smelled divine, but we were all at serious risk of heat stroke. If we had little plastic indicators, they would have melted as well. I have been trained that at a meal, no matter how obscenely big, and no matter how full everyone is, it is not complete until dessert is served. I blame Grandma Evelyn for this, although it might very well be due to my innate love of sweets. Gram had few rules for her family but one was that no one leaves her table prior to dessert. It was done in a most lovingly passive-aggressive grandma way. Is everyone ready for dessert? she would ask sweetly. If anyone protested that they were too full, she would say, Thats okay. We will just sit here and wait then. On Thanksgiving it was just gastric torture, but on Christmas, we were not excused from the table to open the piles of presents under the tree until after dessert. So everyone quickly learned to make a mental note not to overeat and to always leave room for at least a sliver of dessert. If someone suggested we let our meal digest a bit and come back to the table later for dessert, she would agree we should wait a bit, but no one was excused. She acted as if she did not hear the last part at all. In exchange for the dessert torture, being stuck at the table did give us all ringside seats for the yearly Pie Fight. I dont mean an actual food-throwing pie fight, but we sometimes wondered if it would indeed come to that eventually. Every year, Grandma Evies older sister, Aunt Mae would make a homemade pumpkin pie. It was delicious and Gram appreciated her siblings help. The problem was that Aunt Mae did not like the aerosol can Reddi-Whip topping. She preferred Cool Whip and she liked it chilled on the room temperature pie. Every year, Grandma would ask her if she took her Cool Whip out of the freezer the night before, and every year her sister would lie to her face and insist she had, even though she was seen pulling it out of the freezer with a conspiratorial wink when we picked her up shortly before dinner. Grandma had us all prisoner at the table, and when we finally caved in to her dessert demands, she wanted to act quickly. Now we had to wait for each slice of pie to be served, as the topping thawed with the speed of a glacier. Poor Mom, diplomatically trying to keep the peace, would frequently bend a serving spoon, scooping from the slightly softened edges and trying to avoid the ice block center. The fight was inevitable, however. Grandma would begin muttering obscenities under her breath. Aunt Mae would smile sweetly but her backbone was made of steel as they sparred about the pie topping. Grandma would suggest we have the pie plain. Aunt Mae countered that would ruin all her hard work on the pie. Grandma would acknowledge that everyone was very eager to taste the delicious pie but we now had to wait for the topping to thaw. Aunt Mae pooh-poohed her concerns by asking what was the hurry? Grandma would say I would like to finish Thanksgiving before Christmas arrives. Aunt Mae ignored that and extolled the wonders of room temperature pie with chilled Cool Whip on top. At each blow, they each attempted to draw us in and get us to take sides, but we all had siblings of our own. We also knew that the only safe course was to maintain the balance between the two mega-powers facing off over the dinner table. If either one gained advantage, there would be Holiday Armageddon. Grandma always technically won the debate, but due to her sister being hard of hearing, Aunt Mae didnt notice. Grandma would eventually lose her cool and suggest a way to thaw the entire container of Cool Whip with her sister playing the part of a Thanksgiving turkey. There were variations on the theme, but each holiday dinner ended in the Pie Fight. One year, Grandma valiantly tried buying Reddi-Whip and her sister said that if anyone wanted to ruin her pie by putting that on it- go ahead. With Aunt Maes tone of voice, not even Grandma stood up to her challenge. We secretly squirted it directly into our mouths while doing dishes later, so it was not a total loss. Another year, we thought Grandma had finally won in a surprise move as she victoriously produced a completely thawed and perfectly chilled container of Cool Whip from her own refrigerator. Even with all her criteria met, Aunt Mae was not going to concede one little bit. Without a moment of appearing flustered, she opened it, gave it a sniff, and said it had spoiled as she dropped it upside down in the garbage on top of the turkey bones. She said it was a good thing she had brought her own Cool Whip to save dessert. Grams hair flamed a little redder that day, but she had to admire such an undaunted opponent. The Pie Fight remained a draw. The more you saw them interact, the more obvious it was that the multitude of inconsequential things they disagreed upon was rooted in some longstanding feud started in childhood. They were fiercely loyal to each other, but they had become worthy adversaries. Each complained about the other, but like two different but equally matched boxers, there was a brutal artistry once the bell rang. Many families have fights at the holidays. Ours were safely predictable and never uncivilized, just part of dinner and a show.
Posted on: Thu, 27 Nov 2014 01:36:14 +0000
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