celebration days 281since the last ice age, whereas Old Europe was quite turkeyless. (That
fact alone scored them nearly enough votes to become our national bird,
but in the end, I guess, looks do matter.) Corn pudding may be the oldest
New World comfort food; pumpkins and cranberries, too, are exclusively
ours. It’s all American, the right stuff at the right time.
To this tasty native assembly add a cohort of female relatives sharing
work and gossip in the kitchen, kids flopped on the living room fl oor
watching behemoth cartoon characters float down a New York thorough-
fare on TV, and men out in the yard pretending they still have the upper-
body strength for lateral passes, and that is a perfect American day. If we
need a better excuse to focus a whole day on preparing one meal, eating
it, then groaning about it with smiles on our faces, just add a dash of hu-
mility and hallelujah. Praise the harvest. We made it through one more
turn of the seasons.
In modern times it’s mostly pageantry, of course, this rejoicing over har-
vest and having made it to winter’s doorstep with enough food. But at our
house this year, the harvest was real and the relief literal. Also, for the fi rst
time since we’d begun our local- food experiment, we approached a big
dining event for which the script was already written. Local turkey? We
had some whose lives began in the palms of our hands and ended twelve
steps from the back door. Pumpkin pies, mashed potatoes, corn pudding,
sweet potatoes, green beans, celery and chestnuts for the stuffi ng—how
could it be this easy? On our continent, this party plans itself.
I had no complaint about celebrating Thanksgiving twice, this time
carnivorously. Any excuse to spend a day with friends and my husband
and kids is good with me, and I’m partial to the traditional menu. I love
carving up Tom on the table, and then revisiting him throughout the fol-
lowing weeks in sandwiches, soups, and casseroles. I have such a fond-
ness for the stuffing, my post- Thanksgiving bliss in childhood was to make
stuffing sandwiches. (Dr. Atkins, roll over.) Our recipe starts with a skillet
full of sautéed onions, garlic, home-grown celery, and chestnuts from our
Chinese chestnut, tossed with a whole loaf of Steven’s wheat bread torn
to pieces, softened with stock, and spiced with loads of sage and thyme.
We started the evening before, baking several loaves of bread and
checking the progress of our thawing bird. I also hacked a Queensland