No place like home
Turkey dinners evoke warm memories of chaotic, festive times with my family, everyone talking over each other in an effort to be heard, cheap wine making us all the more animated, the occasional dinner roll being thrown either to make a point, or out of sheer laziness.
I come from a big family; so when I think of these festive dinners, activity and hustle and bustle comes to mind, not bucolic dining rooms with classical music playing softly in the background amid discussions of politics and vacation plans. It’s more like feast or famine: eat quickly or else the gravy boat will be empty, there is no time for such engaging conversations.
But let’s talk turkey. No one – not even Jamie, Nigella or Martha – can make gravy like my mom. Try as I might, I cannot come close to the creamy, thick consistency that she delivers. Her stuffing – an innovative bread and potato blend, by the way – is the perfect compliment, not overpowering but tasty in its own right. And then my personal favorite: her cranberry sauce: just lumpy enough to taste the goodness of the berries, sweet enough to be delightful yet not taste like dessert, beautifully presented in her special round crystal bowl. Sigh. There is nothing like my mom’s turkey dinner.
Yet I am 6000 miles away, and now very sad (we Canadians are not celebrating Thanksgiving today, but are inundated with stories of our neighbors to the south, who are; so one can’t help but think about these things). It is understandable why thousands of Americans go to the magnanimous trouble to travel home for this holiday. If their mother’s can cook anything like mine, it is well worth the time and money. In case you haven’t heard, there’s no place like home.