Days of Thanks - Recap

Controversy surrounds the particular day of the year covered in this post. From a mainstream cultural perspective it does make sense that we call it Thanksgiving rather than say Smallpoxgiving or Slaverygiving, or even Slaughtergiving. And though it refers to a disturbing time in history, it remains a favorite day for many of us, myself included, if only because I ignore the past, spend time with my family, and eat myself into a minor coma.

I have celebrated every single Thanksgiving of my life in Mendocino and all but one of them in my cousins' home. This is a great thing because my cousin Lance can cook. Like really cook, the way real cooks do.

You might be wondering why I care about Thanksgiving since it is a meal that highlights meat. I mean look at that handsome thing, the very face - roasted body - of the holiday:

True, I don't do the bird, nor the stuffing, nor the gravy and then what are we really talking about? Cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, a green vegetable?....Here's the thing, like many of the women in my family, I loooooove mashed potatoes. Not casually, I would marry them and it's a love that will last a lifetime. Thanksgiving may as well just be a tribute meal to potatoes and that would be ok with me. But I admit, the situation is dramatically enhanced by a protein. And here's where tradition steps through the door. Each year, my cousin procures abalone for me. He pounds that little animal, breads it, and fries it. I have been eating abalone on Thanksgiving for several years now and it goes without saying that it continues to be a total highlight. If you've never had fried abalone it's best described as glorified chicken tenders, except I don't like those, and I love these. What can I say, I'm a classy gal and I like classy stuff.

Another notable accoutrement to our meal included sauteed chantrelles(before and after glamour shots):



And like all exceptional Turkey Day fests, we ended this one with pie. Not surprisingly, I was entirely too full to eat as much as I wanted. There was pumpkin, apple and pecan pie with fresh made whipped cream. And by our calculations the eight of us needed to make it through 1.5 pies each to finish the job. It was an intense moment physically and mentally. I had done the wise move of trying to nap between the main meal and dessert. Unfortunately, I hadn't quite achieved the level of stomach room I was hoping to. The pecan pie was especially inspiring since the pecans were hand carried from Louisianna and were grown by one of the state's more notable pecan farmers. Look at this thing, those pecans are as big as cockroaches!

Next year I may try to opt in to a friend's tradition of eating Thanksgiving pie the night before actual Thanksgiving. Now that is brilliant and makes PERFECT sense. For starters, it eliminates the highly unAmerican need to "pace yourself" or "exercise control" in order to make it to the Thanksgiving finish line and instead you can inflict total pain on your body twice. But it also gives your digestive tract a bit of a dry-run in advance - an extra thorough stretching, if you will...and I might, next year.

It took days to recover from this and the massive family brunch two days later was a total set-back. That being said, I'm already excited for abalone next year.