Turkey tales

How will Salon readers celebrate Thanksgiving? By jetting off to Paris, camping in the woods, tucking into buckets of KFC, and eating -- gulp -- tuna and cheese grits.

Nov 26, 2003 | Holiday lard

Dairy-free? Wheat-free? Tofurkey?

Here in the South, we believe firmly in one tradition: lard. Yes, politically incorrect as it may be these days, there will be no faux-pumpkin pie or sugar-free cranberry sauce. Oh, no, no -- that, my friends, is one of the worst kinds of sacrilege. Not only will white sugar be used heavily, but brown sugar, dark and light, will be used too. The gravy will be made from that morning's bacon drippings. And butter -- real, honest to god, sweet cream butter -- will be used for the yeast rolls fresh out of the oven. We will boil potatoes in chicken broth and whip them with more butter and heavy cream. What else? Oh! The whipped cream for the pumpkin pie -- stiff peaks formed out of heavy whipping cream and a bit of pure molasses.

Yes, indeedy. This year, I'll be giving thanks for good ol' fashioned Southern traditions.

-- Melissa

Turkey Day Down Under

Last year my entire Thanksgiving dinner consisted of a box of cornbread stovetop stuffing.

No, I'm not homeless: I live in Australia.

Because T-day falls in late spring here, the season is all wrong. The last time I cooked an entire turkey dinner, it was over 90 degrees. Imagine being alone in a stiflingly hot kitchen with no air conditioning. Imagine making a weekday feast for folks who will then sit around the table and complain about how selfish and stupid Americans are.

This has always bummed me out because, let's face it, T-day is the best holiday of them all. From my earliest days of childhood I've loved it because it was something we all enjoyed as our American birthright.

I'm an international immigration lawyer. I've met refugees at the airport in New York on Wednesday of the week before Thanksgiving, and by the following Thursday, they had prepared their turkey -- to be served with kasha or injera or mamaliga cu brinza. Thanksgiving is the superhighway into American-ness. For 364 days out of the year, you can be a stalwart of whatever national identity you wish, but on the last Thursday in November, you're automatically an American, simply by serving a turkey and some form of stuffing. Even a turkey TV dinner will do in a pinch, as it did more than once while I was in college.

So this year, despite a brand new baby and the accompanying exhaustion, forecast temperatures of over 85 degrees, and an almost fully non-American guest list, I'll be making my grandmother's pre-Civil War recipe for turkey, cornbread dressing, sweet potato pudding, and three kinds of potatoes. And for dessert, instead of pumpkin pie, I'll serve the most Australian of delicacies: a pavlova, a frilly summertime confection of a meringue base, topped with a layer of whipped cream, berries, kiwi and passion fruit spread all over. My friends and I may not agree on American politics, but we can all agree that a pav is always perfect.

-- Michelle Stein-Evers

Just add booze

We have this every year at my house. It's called Mélange o' Jive Turkeys.

Ingredients:

1 carnivorous, overeducated, anti-feminist father with ultra-conservative views.

1 confrontational radical feminist sister who eats only red meat, kale, and miso.

1 new boyfriend, vegetarian, who's recently participated in an anti-corporate protest.

1 ankle-biting, emotionally neglected cat.

1 distant cousin who has decided to use this Thanksgiving to meet his/her relatives.

1 mother who constantly finds things to do in the kitchen to take her away from the conversation at the table.

1 single family friend who shows up at family dinners at least once a week.

1 brother who makes more money than everyone at the table combined, in case you've forgotten.

1 Wagner, Philip Glass, or some equally painful music selection.

1 turkey, suddenly glad that it's dead.

1 self.

Douse liberally in scotch and red wine. Resist urge to set on fire. Serve cold.

-- Anonymous

Chicken or beef?

Airplane food.

That's what I'll be eating this Thanksgiving. My boyfriend of two years broke up with me a few Fridays ago, so the morning after I booked a cheap ticket to Paris. I fly out at 4:30 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day.

As I board the plane my family will be 200 miles away. My aunt will be cooking dinner this year, her first as a married woman. I will think of them drinking good red wine and eating great loads of great food as I sample Air Canada's version of "chicken-or-beef," trying to lose my troubles and looking for the twinkling lights of the Greenland coastline through the cloud cover.

Maybe that morning I'll make myself a breakfast of eggs and turkey hash, to celebrate the day.

-- Kate Hagerty

Gambling, gringos and a deep-fried dinner

My husband and I recently moved to New York and have decided to spend Thanksgiving with my mother and two brothers in Atlantic City, N.J. Yes, that's right -- casinos, campy shows, prostitutes, the whole nine yards.

My mother is what I call a "crazy Puerto Rican." No doubt, this Thanksgiving will be spent listening to salsa really loud, drinking rum on the rocks and trying to get my "gringo" husband to dance with my mom.

Our tummies will be full of deep-fried turkey, arroz con habichuelas (rice and beans, a Puerto Rican staple), fried plantains, and sauerkraut (a nod to my husband's Baltimore roots).

As much as I'm looking forward to baking the traditional pumpkin pie, I can't wait to tuck into a nice, large helping of homemade flan washed down with coquito (Puerto Rican coconut eggnog).

Some people have to leave their hometown, or even their home state to experience a taste of diversity. For my husband and my family it's right on the dining room table.

-- Anonymous

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