My sister, Roberta, created a fun family cookbook of recipes and stories a decade ago. She recently resent her “intro” to me and I love it. She talks of how our five senses link us to those wonderful memories from our past. I urge you to give this a read and I guarantee it will make you smile.
The words are strictly Roberta’s. I’m just sharing them.
Continue reading “Finding Happiness”
For Thanksgiving this year, we are in Lousã, Portugal heading to the Douro Valley. No turkey. No dressing or mashed potatoes. No oyster stuffing. No cranberries. No pun’kin or pecan pie. When I look back at our lives, there have been many different Thanksgivings, often not at home.
Continue reading “Thanksgiving on the Road”
Thanksgiving, that truly American holiday, is approaching and started me to thinking about Dad and his Cranberry Sauce. It’s a great recipe filled with bourbon, cranberries, shallots, orange zest and memories. I love the fact that I get to spend a little time with Dad whenever I make it.
Growing up in the Hall house in Ottawa, Illinois, Thanksgiving and Christmas were nearly identical meals – turkey, dressing, oyster dressing, mashed potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, corn and green bean casserole. The desserts – pumpkin pie, mincemeat pie and if we were lucky, strawberry-rhubarb pie, were all made by my Aunt Marge, a wonderful baker. Sometimes we would have a cherry pie from Aunt Diane – the cherries were from a tree in her yard. For snacks ahead of time, there were black olives and pickles (when young, my sisters put the olives on the ends of their fingers and then ate them off). There was cranberry sauce served as well – sliced out of the can.
I remember both meals as large loud affairs – Grandma, uncle Don and aunt Diane and their kids would be there. Various uncles or aunts stopping by for a slice of pie and cup of coffee after their own meals. Roberta and Tanya’s friend Marsali would inevitably stop over. Later when we were older my buddies Howard and Tim stopped in for a drink (to settle the stomach) after their own dinners.
Both meals were delicious and mostly made by mom. The kitchen was her domain. She often joked she actually spent more money on the oysters for the oyster dressing than she did on the turkey, and that’s saying something. I never thought to ask why we had exactly the same meal for both occasions and was somewhat shocked when I later learned other families served steaks or some other non-turkey meal for Christmas.
Everything for both Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner was homemade – except for the cranberry sauce. Growing up in the midwest, I think that was fairly typical – canned cranberry sauce, sliced into equal, perfectly round slices.
That changed one year, probably around 1984 or so when Dad retired from work. After he retired from the railroad, mom continued to work another seven years until she reached retirement age. As a result, Dad took over much of the cooking at home.
Cath and I were home for Christmas that year and dad had a surprise for us – homemade cranberry sauce! We all oohed and ahhhed over those cranberries and how good they were. Now mind you, mom was still making the entire rest of the meal (with help from my sisters by this point in time), but Dad now had his contribution as well. I think it came from a Bon Appétit recipe he tweaked slightly.
And so, Cranberries à la Dad became a part of the tradition for both Christmas and Thanksgiving.
It’s carried on at Cath’s and my home for Thanksgiving as well, although these days, we are having Thanksgiving with friends at their homes as often as not. The recipe is easy to follow, and cooks quickly. Still, I enjoy the few minutes it allows me to spend with Dad. As I smell the bourbon reducing and hear the snapping and popping sound of the cranberries opening, I reminisce and think about the good times we enjoyed with Dad over the years. It’s not a bad way to spend a half hour or 45 minutes.
Here’s the recipe. You have plenty of time before the big day to buy the ingredients. I usually make it the day before Thanksgiving while sipping on a small glass of bourbon, but the morning of works as well, if there’s room for you in the kitchen. For a chunkier look, don’t let all of the cranberries burst. Cranberries, bourbon, shallots, orange zest and memories – it’s a recipe that works.
Addendum:
This is a different kind of Thanksgiving story. How often do you give thanks to the owner of a septic system company on Thanksgiving Day?
In 2001, we had a family gathering at our farm for Thanksgiving. It was only two months after 9-11, and while people were still nervous about travel, many also had a strong urge to spend time with family. We didn’t realize the gathering would precipitate problems with our septic system on the day before Thanksgiving.
Mom Snow came from Alabama, along with Cathy’s aunt Bonnie from Missouri. Cathy’s sister Bonnie (Aunt Bonnie’s namesake) and husband Don flew in from California, along with Don’s folks, Shan and Daddy Don. Counting Cathy and I, there were eight of us in the house, with all bedrooms and the office occupied. We were full.
People arrived the weekend before Thanksgiving, and everyone got along remarkably well. We have a nice sized house, but with eight people, and two and a half bathrooms, there could be a bit of congestion in the mornings and evenings. You might even say the bathrooms were working overtime. With the excess food and alcohol consumption that typically happens at family gatherings, and with four of our guests over 70, my observation in retrospect was there were no “regularity issues” among the group at our home.
At this juncture, it’s worth pointing out we live on a small farm in the country. The house was built in 1976. There are no city water or sewage hookups. For water, we are on a well that’s 264 feet deep and serves both the house, and the barn. For waste disposal, we have a septic system. When we bought the house in 1999, both were inspected by the county and deemed operational.
Thanksgiving week progressed and Cathy noticed a small pool of water had formed near the barn. There were recent rains, so she didn’t think anything about it. The next day, the water was still there and she mentioned it to me. Hmmmm. My first thought was perhaps a pipe from the well to the barn was leaking and the water had surfaced. We checked the water pressure in the barn, and the pump seemed fine, with plenty of pressure. To be honest, that was about the extent of my plumbing expertise at the time, and so I decided to call a plumber.
This was the day before Thanksgiving, so naturally every plumber we called was either busy, or didn’t answer the phone. As I was sitting there grumbling, Daddy Don walked by and asked what the issue was. I explained the pool of water and said I was afraid we might have a busted pipe. He asked “Where’s your septic field?” I pointed vaguely to the back yard and said “Over there.” He answered, “Well the pool of water is just below your field, maybe you have a septic problem.”
What?! Jeez, eight people in the house. I certainly hoped that wasn’t the problem. Erring on the side of caution, I thought it was worth checking out. I looked in the phone book, and found All Star Septic, in the village of Hume just a few miles away. I gave them a call and they answered. Even more miraculously, they could have someone out in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I advised everyone to stay away from the small pool of water, in case it was contaminated.
An hour or so later, a septic truck pulled up, and a man climbed out. It was Chris, the Owner of All Star Septic. We shook hands, and I explained to him what the issue was. He just kind of nodded his head, then said “Where’s the pool of water?” I told him it was by the barn, and we walked over there. Chris looked around a bit and then squatted down next to the pool. He dipped a finger into the water, and held it up to his nose. He then matter of factly said,
“Uhh yep, that’s shit water”.
And with that declaration, we found out we had a septic problem.
I laughed internally to myself about all the cautions I’d taken with the water, and here was Chris dipping his finger in it. I also had the thought I probably wouldn’t shake his hand goodbye.
I mentioned to Chris about eight people at the house for the next several days through the weekend. He answered back that probably explained part of the problem. The house typically only had two people using the septic system and was now overloaded. Chris then said he couldn’t fix the problem right then (it was the day before Thanksgiving afterall), but he could pump out our tank(s) and that should help in the short term.
I thanked him profusely and he proceeded to pump out the two tanks. He commented the tanks looked fine and the problem was something “downstream” and we could tackle that a bit later.
Chris was right, and pumping the tanks removed the immediate issue. On Thanksgiving Day, much like Arlo Guthrie in Alice’s Restaurant, “We had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat, went to sleep, and didn’t get up until the next morning.” Unlike Arlo, for us, the rest of the week passed without incident and the pool of water disappeared. Chris had provided us with a temporary solution that worked, and held for the week everyone was there.
When I think back over the years about Thanksgiving, it is the celebrations that were different that I remember – the Thanksgivings in Germany when we had bachelor Lieutenants over, because they had no where else to go; serving Thanksgiving in the mess hall to the troops; celebrating in Vienna, Austria one year; the time I flew home on Thanksgiving Day itself, due to work delays; and yes, the year Chris, from All Star Septic, saved the day.
My guess is with Covid, Thanksgiving 2020 will also be special, or different if you prefer, and is one all of us will remember for a long time. I hope you make the most of the day, and give thanks for family, friends, and the things in your life that are important to you now, and always. Peace be with you.
Addendum:
Live Life Exuberantly 