Post Thanksgiving

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. The traditional Thanksgiving meal is probably my least favorite holiday meal. Turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, it just bores me. This must be why I got the opportunity to have two Thanksgiving meals this year.

Thanksgiving Thursday I spent with some friends and their family.  A mostly traditional meal was served which included some extras from the ethnic backgrounds of those present to spice things up a bit.  In addition to the usual meal we also had spanakopita and some curried cauliflower.  Yeah!

On Sunday, my second meal was completely traditional, but was spent with family. I have an aunt and uncle that live here in town.  Their son moved from Arizona to New York about a year or so before I got here. He is the cousin that is closest in age to me, but we only lived near each other for about five years or so when growing up. In recent years our visits home never seemed to put us in the same state at the same time.  It had been about 20 years since I last saw him and this was the first time I got to meet his now teen-aged son. Wow how time flies.

Earlier this week I read an essay by Michael Chabon that was published in the October 2012 issue of Bon Appetit. Like the author I have bounced around celebrating Thanksgiving in many different homes  over the years. While I have yet to spend the holiday in an old hunting lodge I am thankful for all of the families that have invited me into their homes since I left my own over twenty years ago.

I hope you all had a happy Thanksgiving.

Sunday Dinner

It's been a rough couple of weeks around here. Saturday at lunch my mind wandered to my father. There was a little boy at Rubio's that slopped some salsa on his shirt while scooping some into the little serving cups they provide. After uh ohing he ran over to his father and said I have to change my shirt when I get home while showing off the salsa splash. For some reason this made my mind wander to something that happened several years ago.  I was a coffee shop working and there was a guy with his little boy.  Dad (for some reason) was giving him airplane rides complete with sound effects. Of course the kid was just loving every second of it. Why I asked, "can I have a turn?" I'll never know. I can see why the dad was weirded out by that.  I don't remember getting airplane rides from my father but today I was reminded of the way my father used to tickle my belly with his beard stubble.  It was tickly and scratchy at the same time.  I really liked when he did this.  To feel safe and not have a care in the world again...I'd really like that right about now.

Before my thoughts turned this way I decided I wanted to make a batch of sauce, the Sunday Gravy kind.  I can't make mine taste like my mother's used to.  I've tried on my own. I've tried with her on the phone with me.  It doesn't work so I improvise.  Mom's sauce always has sausage links and meatballs.  When I was young mom always used strained tomatoes (passata; the pictures here bring back memories!).  Every fall we would spend a Saturday passing  a bushel or so of tomatoes through our hand-cranked Victorio Strainer. It was a grind (can I get a rim shot?) but I look back on it fondly.  After passing the tomatoes and then the pulp through the strainer, the juice would get cooked and put into jars with salt and sugar before processing them.  I may remember wrong but I swear we must have made 30-40 quarts at a time, enough to last until next fall. There was a local pizza place-now closed-that used an automatic Victorio Strainer to start their pizza sauce.  I saw that and thought "Lazy!"

For my sauce I didn't make meatballs. I did use sausage though I took it out of its casing rather than leaving it as links. The sauce also had onion, garlic, dried oregano, basil, red pepper flakes, salt, tomato paste, and the strained tomatoes. I added a salad to complete my Sunday dinner. Now if only I had some Trusello's bread to go with it. Though I could go for some of their pizza...