Happy weird Thanksgiving

Gratitude, grief, and Brussels sprouts

Thanksgiving has been a longtime favorite holiday of mine. It’s all about the food. Which is to say it’s all about texting back and forth with my mom about whether we should make her little creamed onions even though peeling all those onions is an epic pain in the ass. (The answer is always yes.)

It’s about spending time in her kitchen chopping a million Brussels sprouts for Brussels sprout and shallot hash with a lot of butter because it’s Thanksgiving after all. It’s about choosing stretchy pants. It’s about breathlessly greeting all the cousins because more cousins are pulling up in the driveway behind them. About going on a walk by the river before sunset, which is unreasonably early this time of year. About pumpkin bourbon cheesecake for dessert. About trying to wrangle everyone for a card game after dinner, but half the family not really understanding the rules. About my mom complaining about all the laundry that so many people staying over entails. About being sad to say goodbye. Walnut apple pie leftovers for breakfast. Turkey sandwiches for lunch.

The world is so different this year. I know many of us are feeling unmoored and sad. 

It will just be the five of us: my parents, me and my husband Tony and our seven month-old daughter Simone. Six with Ace, our maltipoo. I know plenty of people are alone for the holidays, and my heart aches for them. Even if it’s the safe, smart thing to do. (I know being alone and being lonely are not the same thing.) I will miss all the commotion and all the cousins.

It will be Simone’s first Thanksgiving. 

Two Thanksgivings ago, I had just returned from an amazing olive oil trip to Spain. I was newly married. I wrote this. Last year, I was just sharing the big news with my family: we were pregnant. I was thinking I’d be showing by Thanksgiving, but I only looked a little extra juicy as far as I could tell. My bump took forever to look bumpy! 

This year, we have a baby girl, Simone. We have a global pandemic. So much has changed. 

We’re still going to make a turkey and I’m rooting for those tiny little onions. They’re a specialty of my mom, and she only makes them once a year because they’re so annoying. But reader, they’re so good!! We’ll still go for a walk by the river. I’m still baking a pumpkin bourbon cheesecake with a pecan graham cracker crust. Simone will have some breast milk and some formula as she does every day, but also her first turkey and her first Brussels sprouts shallot hash with plenty of butter. She won’t remember the day, of course, but we will. 

We are grieving. We are grateful. 

PS We got my mom a fancy Komodo grill for her birthday. (It’s like a Big Green Egg but a different brand.) Please send your Komodo grill turkey recipes and tips. 

PPS We read this in the food writing class I teach last week. Some good insight into the dark roots of Thanksgiving and how we might celebrate the holiday differently.

What I’ve been writing: I’m mourning the loss of my friend and spectacular cheese man James Coogan. I wrote an obit for him at The Cheese Professor.

What I’ve been reading: The Butterfly Lampshade by Aimee Bender. It’s an introspective novel with gorgeous language from the voice of a kid who goes to live with her aunt after her mom is taken to a mental hospital after a psychotic episode. My mom recommended it, which is how I find most of the books on my reading list. It’s so beautiful and so sad.

Smiles from Simone have a way of making everything better.