Thanksgiving Day (or as it was known in our house, The Day When Some One Cries or Mommy Takes Pills Because You Ask Questions Day) is now upon us and you either have or soon will eat a meal certain to equal or surpass the annual nutritional intake of a good sized Bengali village. I have not returned to my ancestral lands for today’s annual celebration of all things caloric but instead will be spending the day with partner and friends (everyone bringing a dish) as is my usual practice. It was during a discussion of this ad hoc gathering that I came to realize that while the components of the traditional Thanksgiving meal are fairly standard, turkey, stuffing (or “dressing” if your dad wore a tie to work), sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and the obligatory vegetables the composition of said components varies greatly and opinions regarding this composition occupy a space in the holder’s heart somewhere between religious belief and the love of a first born child.
While strong opinion abounds concerning almost every aspect of our annual feed the greatest controversies swarm not a around the preparation of turkey (be it roasted, brined or even deep fried) but in the stuffing and sweet potato arenas. Crime statistics indicate that domestic disturbance calls almost double over the holidays and while exact numbers are hard to come by many experts attribute up to third of this increase to” stuffing disputes” . In the interest of full disclosure I am a stuffing purest. Stuffing for me is a simple dish of dried bread cubes, a few herbs, maybe an onion and some chicken stock. The preceding items are mixed in appropriate proportions, put into an oven-safe pan and baked so that the top gets all warm and crunchy. That’s it. Now I know that many Americans have a deep love for Grammy’s sausage and sage stuffing, which they associate with feelings of warmth, security and familial love. This is simply wrong. I also know that some people even go so far as to prepare stuffing with chestnuts or in some extreme cases oysters. This is also simply not right and in the case of oysters, dis-gust-ing.
Sweet potatoes are also a highly contentious area beginning with what to even call them. To all those in the yam camp ( you know who you are) unless you live in Sub Saharan Africa, the Caribbean or come from one of the many diverse and vibrant cultures associated with those places you have in all probability never eaten a yam, so stop calling them yams and start calling them sweet potatoes so that those of us who have always called them sweet potatoes can stop hating you and eat. Sweet potatoes again are a very simple dish but one easily destroyed by those wild eyed tuber terrorists who insist upon beating, whipping , mashing and marsh mellowing something that should be peeled, cutting in quarters, covered in butter and brown sugar and baked until mushy sweet and delicious. I don’t care what you mother did, your grandmother did or what recipe your culinary profit received on golden tablets from a sweet potato angel.
While I know I’ve just opened a big ol can ‘o worms and surely ruined Thanksgiving for everybody I’m also pretty sure I won’t be getting any invitation for Thanksgiving dinner next year either.
And to those who in the spirit of the holidays ask “Can’t we all just get along?”
No we can’t.
Happy Thanksgiving
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