Our family will spend a quiet Thanksgiving this year that with only the five of us around our table. We are, however, all lovers of ritual and tradition and will be creating our usual menu of "must-haves" with a few substitutions. Craig must have a turkey stuffed with oyster dressing and after a few stops around town for ingredients he will get his desire. The kids, of course, don't eat oyster dressing and must have a secondary dressing, usually one made with crawfish. Alas, New Englanders do not share a fondness for the mud bugs. and our move cut us off from the trafficking routes of family members delivering such goods. The children will have to settle for shrimp or crab stuffing.
Lise must have her sweet potato balls, certainly worth the lengthy preparation if anyone would eat them. Miren must have chocolate. Collectively, the group requires brown and serve rolls and can cranberry sauce to counter balance the butternut squash and apple salad and whatever other side dish I will prepare that will get snubbed without the benefit of guests to defend. I must have enough food to carry us through the entire week-end. And so, I purchased the 22 pound turkey, I will make the two different dressings and I will re-serve those sweet potato balls until, tired of turkey-cranberry sandwiches, my crew eventually consumes a dinner that we won't want to be reminded of again until next year.
We are in New England for Thanksgiving and I thought we should introduce a regional dish to our table.
"What about Indian pudding? I asked the children.
"Absolutely not," one daughter retorted. "No one would eat that."
"What about fluff?" the other daughter asked. "Everyone eats fluff here. Practically my whole class eats fluff sandwiches for lunch."
As far as I can tell, fluff is another name for marshmallow creme that enables you to eat it at will rather than just as an ingredient for fudge. Jars of fluff line the shelves everywhere, even at the convenient store in the yard. People must hate to run out of the stuff.
"I think we'll just stick with what we have," I tell them and start divvying up kitchen chores.
"I lick the spoons," Rem shouts. He is forever shouting as though his voice only works at one volume setting.
"You can lick spoons," I tell him distractedly.
"I lick spoons until they're shiny. You don't even have to wash them. I am the dishwasher." (Mental note: Rem will be returning dirty utensils to the drawers.)
"I need you guys to come up with a nice blessing," I tell the children. "This has been quite the year for us and we have a great deal to be thankful for. And come up with something to fill the two hours between when Papa tells us the turkey will be done and when it actually comes out of the oven." Luckily, Rem serves as their puppet on such occasions and the three of them always entertain. Happily, we await the holiday.
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