I love Thanksgiving. A simple holiday- all about friends, family, food, and gratitude.

Thoughts of a buttery, basted, bronzed turkey makes my mouth water. I can’t wait for my next delectable feast.

I remember spontaneous non-traditional turkey days.

One year I prepared for the November holiday ten days early.  I shopped, baked, and readied our home for our baby’s arrival on November 10th, 1965.

Finally,  on November 24, Thanksgiving Eve, after a three-mile hike up the hill to our home, it was time to go. We hurried to the hospital–to wait.

Next day…no baby. False Labor, called Braxton Hicks. The doctor wanted to keep me, just in case. I couldn’t imagine Thanksgiving dinner in bed, in a backless gown, on a plastic tray, with rubbery Jello and without wine! I convinced the staff to let me escape for a few hours, as long as I stayed close to the hospital.

Our favorite Italian café was open. However, they weren’t serving turkey. We knew Marco, the owner, who offered us the booth closest to the door.

He brought a complimentary carafe of Chianti Classico. I hadn’t enjoyed  a sip of wine for nearly nine moths. We each devoured a bountiful bowl of spaghetti and meatballs.

The next day I went home and prepared our traditional turkey dinner with all the tasty trimmings.

Two week later, close to Christmas, Matthew arrived quickly, before the doctor, born at ten months, and nearly ten pounds.

Years later when Matthew and daughter, Robin, were in college, I took Robin to Puerto Rico for college break. A few locals invited us to Thanksgiving dinner. When they asked how we liked our turkey, we said – stuffed, longing for the fragrant celery, onion, bread stuffing with… parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.

Arriving with hearty appetites, we detected a strange aroma. When our hosts proudly produced a turkey,  with several feathers attached. It was indeed fresh… caught in their yard that morning. And…stuffed…. stuffed to the gills… with fish. That year, we were grateful for an endless supply of rum.

One November, while living in cloudy, drizzly, London, my husband and I decided to travel to the sun at the last minute. Only flights to Egypt were available.

It was a few days after the Lu r massacre.
62 tourists were killed on November 17, 2007. The Egyptian travel industry suffered for years. We were the only Americans on the Nile cruise.

I skipped the Luxor ruins to explore an ancient village where families slept together on a dirt floor. The men were sitting around talking,  while women were cleaning, caring for children, and baking bread. Although we never spoke a word, they were honored and delighted to teach me the traditional bread making method.

Intoxicating aromas wafted from ancient ovens.

On a sun drenched Thanksgiving day we enjoyed a festive dinner on our boat deck, with a dish called Aish, which means life. We learned Aish was served to ancient Gods… a rich cornucopia of fresh vegetables and fruit, married to grilled spiced lamb, and served with a basket of hot, homemade bread.

Because Maralyn Hill and I wrote a culinary book, and were trained food judges, we were invited to the Turks and Caicos to be judges at the annual Conch Festival. The event was held on Thanksgiving day. Not a turkey wing in sight

We joined the judges panel to sample 82 bites of fresh conch, raw or cooked, in every way, gratefully washed down with endless mugs of local beer.

Another year Maralyn and I joined the owners of a popular tequila brand in promoting their new agave. We invited them to a custom made tequila Thanksgiving dinner, with a Mexican touch.

We began with Margaritas, followed by tequila brined, basted turkey, tequila orange-cranberry relish, tequila glazed sweet potatoes, and tequila gravy. We laced our fruit pies with more tequila. From what I remember…. the meal was delicious. While cooking we made a video of each culinary step, taking turns with the camera.

When we reviewed our promotional piece the next day, all we could see was a floor, our feet, a counter, pots and pans, and one shot of a lopsided turkey.

Thanksgiving. It isn’t important where I am or what is on the menu. What matters most is gratitude for friends and family…for loving what I have. I honor the spirit of giving thanks every day, with tequila turkey or fish fry, in November–or on the 30th of July.

 

Feature Photo by Megan Watson on Unsplash