Thanksgiving
My mother has two younger brothers, my uncles. They have two wives (between them, not respectively), my aunts. I'm not sure how it happened, but they got into a tradition after I left home of getting together for Thanksgiving. I've mostly missed out on this--the one notable exception was when I drove from Lansing, Michigan, to Columbia, Missouri for Thanksgiving under the mistaken impression that all those "M" states were close together--but the 'rents decided to fly me down since I won't be joining them and bro-sil-niece in the Dominican Republic for Christmas. (A long and not particularly angsty or tragic story.) To quote my mother after my usual visits, "Well! This went all right!" as if she's thrilled and dumbstruck that there's not blood on the floor after all. Actually, this trip went better than all right. I think we all had a great time, and didn't even have to tread too carefuly around politics with the one uncle who didn't vote for Obama because he was too liberal, or, later, when Uncle #2's son joined us, with the cousin who didn't vote for Obama because he was too conservative.
Of course, the main activity was eating, and then talking about food. These are bred-in-the-bone Mississippi cooks who give each other subscriptions to Gourmet and Saveur for Christmas presents. But this year was a little interesting in that various charities were having bake sales and the like back in the 'Sip, so we got lots of fancy home cooking that none of us had actually cooked ourselves, as well as the stuff we did. Then, to end it all, we went to the nearby Amish grocery and picked up even more baked goods. Here's the rundown for the weekend, as I remember it (I'm sure I'm leaving things out):
Snacks:
Toffee and chocolate-covered almonds.
Various roasted and salted nuts, following various recipes.
Toffee and oatmeal cookies.
Brie and crackers.
Smoked catfish pate.
Cinnamon bread.
Molasses cookies, served with mulled cider.
Breakfasts:
Baked French toast with garden blueberries.
Sausage/cheese balls.
Orange slices with cinnamon and pomegranate seeds.
Yeast waffles.
Coffee cake.
Thanksgiving Dinner:
Turkey (of course; nothing fancy, just well roasted)
Cornbread dressing.
Grated sweet potato and ginger gratin
Spinach Madeline, with jalapenos.
Cranberry-ginger sauce (I'm just realizing how much ginger we had this weekend.)
Pineapple casserole.
Pumpkin roll. (Think jelly roll or buche de noel.)
Pecan pie.
Other meals centered around leftovers, except for:
Split pea and ham soup.
Rosemary bread.
Sourdough bread.
Chicken vegetable soup.
Sweet cheese strudel.
Somehow I averted a major gastritis attack.
But we also made a point of telling family tales, which frequently doesn't happen because we talk so much about food. ("I think I'll use a little less ginger next time.") We got some of it on video tape, mostly talk about old family retainers. I still can't get over the fact that we HAD retainers not that long ago, but, as my mother points out, that's because nobody paid servants a living wage back then. Unfortunately, the snarking on the inequities of the system was led by people with their back to the camera, so posterity won't see the rolled eyes or get the sarcasm when they hear, "But we didn't need to pay them! They got our leftovers and old clothes, after all!"
Otherwise, the trip was uneventful. Until I left to come home.
We got to the Nashville airport and found my flight was delayed--not drastically, and because of weather, which nobody can do anything about, but delayed. Fine. But then the overhead fluorescent lights or something started to give me one of my ocular migraines, and I didn't have any pills. So I went to the shop and got some Excedrin, which helped a lot but didn't completely wipe it out. Flight was delayed again. Then they started asking for volunteers to give up our seats in return for a refund of the ticket price for getting from Nashville to BWI, a night at the Music City Sheraton, a $200 travel voucher, AND the next flight out in the morning. Seeing as how I was, by now, not going to get back to my apartment until about midnight, and I still had a headache and would much prefer spending the next few hours in a plush hotel room than negotiating plane, baggage check, bus, Metro, etc. fI took them up on it, and forgot to say I didn't really NEED the first flight, so they booked me to fly out at 6:45 a.m. Through Orlando.
Picked up a vegetable plate at the meat-and-three in the airport, and didn't go right to bed but ate, read in a comfy chair, etc. And then couldn't go to sleep, probably because of the caffeine in the Excedrin.
Was told I could get the 6:00 a.m. shuttle to the airport to catch my 6:45 flight. (Remember, I've already got my boarding passes in hand, and my suitcase is already at BWI. All I have to do is get through security and walk up to the gate.) I got there at 6:02 to find the shuttle had already left. Well, okay, it'll be pushing it, but I expect the next one will do. What time does it come? 6:30. Oh. I called a cab.
I had met somebody (never did get her name) who also got bumped the night before and we decided to share the cab. It arrived at the same time as the shuttle, but promised to be faster. Maybe it was; we never saw the shuttle again. Got there, she paid with a 20 and I made a mental note to pay her my half as soon as possible because I couldn't pay her right then, seeing as we were being paged for the last call for boarding and we needed to sprint. She was faster--I was in clogs, my "carry on" was actually a brown shopping bag with heavy Christmas present, I'm an old fart, etc.--but she told them I was on my way. I got on the plane and they locked the door behind me. As expected, all that was left was middle seats, including one on the first row. I ask, "Is this seat taken?" and am told, verbatim, "No, we've just spread our things over it to discourage people from sitting there." Well, tough, lady! I start to move in, with her sighing and muttering, "Be that way!" when the man points out that there's not seat in front to stow my shopping bag, and the nearby overhead bins are full. So I work my way back, to the LAST row, and snag a window seat next to a fat lady.
Everything's uneventful until I change my watch for the change in time zones and compare it to when my flight from Orlando to BWI is supposed to leave. I ask the flight attendant, "Excuse me, but if they know I'm on this flight, and they know I need to get on the flight to BWI, and they know this flight is coming in a few minutes late and no more...they'll hold the BWI flight until I can get on, right? Because you say we're getting into Orlando at 10:35 and my boarding pass says my flight to BWI is set to leave at 10:55." "That can't be right. Surely you read it wrong. They wouldn't do that to you." "No, here. Read." "WHAT? And you're in the LAST ROW?" Another mad dash. Luckily, the gates were very close to each other, and I was in the "B" boarding category. The "A" group was just starting to go on when I got there, and who do I see in front of me? An ex boyfriend. I don't think he noticed me. Got an aisle seat this time, and everything was fine until we started to land, when the winds made me really understand why they had the "fasten seatbelts" sign on. I'm not especially panicky about this kind of thing, but I was really concerned we were going to skid off the runway...if we made it to the runway.
Between getting the luggage that had gone before me--and that I had forgotten contained a pint of buttermilk (long story) that wound up sitting there overnight--and the bus and the Metro, I walked into my apartment at about 2:30 p.m.
But now I've got $407 in travel vouchers for Southwest, plus the five dollars I wound up not paying the woman from the cab. (I did look! I swear!) Wanna go someplace?
Of course, the main activity was eating, and then talking about food. These are bred-in-the-bone Mississippi cooks who give each other subscriptions to Gourmet and Saveur for Christmas presents. But this year was a little interesting in that various charities were having bake sales and the like back in the 'Sip, so we got lots of fancy home cooking that none of us had actually cooked ourselves, as well as the stuff we did. Then, to end it all, we went to the nearby Amish grocery and picked up even more baked goods. Here's the rundown for the weekend, as I remember it (I'm sure I'm leaving things out):
Snacks:
Toffee and chocolate-covered almonds.
Various roasted and salted nuts, following various recipes.
Toffee and oatmeal cookies.
Brie and crackers.
Smoked catfish pate.
Cinnamon bread.
Molasses cookies, served with mulled cider.
Breakfasts:
Baked French toast with garden blueberries.
Sausage/cheese balls.
Orange slices with cinnamon and pomegranate seeds.
Yeast waffles.
Coffee cake.
Thanksgiving Dinner:
Turkey (of course; nothing fancy, just well roasted)
Cornbread dressing.
Grated sweet potato and ginger gratin
Spinach Madeline, with jalapenos.
Cranberry-ginger sauce (I'm just realizing how much ginger we had this weekend.)
Pineapple casserole.
Pumpkin roll. (Think jelly roll or buche de noel.)
Pecan pie.
Other meals centered around leftovers, except for:
Split pea and ham soup.
Rosemary bread.
Sourdough bread.
Chicken vegetable soup.
Sweet cheese strudel.
Somehow I averted a major gastritis attack.
But we also made a point of telling family tales, which frequently doesn't happen because we talk so much about food. ("I think I'll use a little less ginger next time.") We got some of it on video tape, mostly talk about old family retainers. I still can't get over the fact that we HAD retainers not that long ago, but, as my mother points out, that's because nobody paid servants a living wage back then. Unfortunately, the snarking on the inequities of the system was led by people with their back to the camera, so posterity won't see the rolled eyes or get the sarcasm when they hear, "But we didn't need to pay them! They got our leftovers and old clothes, after all!"
Otherwise, the trip was uneventful. Until I left to come home.
We got to the Nashville airport and found my flight was delayed--not drastically, and because of weather, which nobody can do anything about, but delayed. Fine. But then the overhead fluorescent lights or something started to give me one of my ocular migraines, and I didn't have any pills. So I went to the shop and got some Excedrin, which helped a lot but didn't completely wipe it out. Flight was delayed again. Then they started asking for volunteers to give up our seats in return for a refund of the ticket price for getting from Nashville to BWI, a night at the Music City Sheraton, a $200 travel voucher, AND the next flight out in the morning. Seeing as how I was, by now, not going to get back to my apartment until about midnight, and I still had a headache and would much prefer spending the next few hours in a plush hotel room than negotiating plane, baggage check, bus, Metro, etc. fI took them up on it, and forgot to say I didn't really NEED the first flight, so they booked me to fly out at 6:45 a.m. Through Orlando.
Picked up a vegetable plate at the meat-and-three in the airport, and didn't go right to bed but ate, read in a comfy chair, etc. And then couldn't go to sleep, probably because of the caffeine in the Excedrin.
Was told I could get the 6:00 a.m. shuttle to the airport to catch my 6:45 flight. (Remember, I've already got my boarding passes in hand, and my suitcase is already at BWI. All I have to do is get through security and walk up to the gate.) I got there at 6:02 to find the shuttle had already left. Well, okay, it'll be pushing it, but I expect the next one will do. What time does it come? 6:30. Oh. I called a cab.
I had met somebody (never did get her name) who also got bumped the night before and we decided to share the cab. It arrived at the same time as the shuttle, but promised to be faster. Maybe it was; we never saw the shuttle again. Got there, she paid with a 20 and I made a mental note to pay her my half as soon as possible because I couldn't pay her right then, seeing as we were being paged for the last call for boarding and we needed to sprint. She was faster--I was in clogs, my "carry on" was actually a brown shopping bag with heavy Christmas present, I'm an old fart, etc.--but she told them I was on my way. I got on the plane and they locked the door behind me. As expected, all that was left was middle seats, including one on the first row. I ask, "Is this seat taken?" and am told, verbatim, "No, we've just spread our things over it to discourage people from sitting there." Well, tough, lady! I start to move in, with her sighing and muttering, "Be that way!" when the man points out that there's not seat in front to stow my shopping bag, and the nearby overhead bins are full. So I work my way back, to the LAST row, and snag a window seat next to a fat lady.
Everything's uneventful until I change my watch for the change in time zones and compare it to when my flight from Orlando to BWI is supposed to leave. I ask the flight attendant, "Excuse me, but if they know I'm on this flight, and they know I need to get on the flight to BWI, and they know this flight is coming in a few minutes late and no more...they'll hold the BWI flight until I can get on, right? Because you say we're getting into Orlando at 10:35 and my boarding pass says my flight to BWI is set to leave at 10:55." "That can't be right. Surely you read it wrong. They wouldn't do that to you." "No, here. Read." "WHAT? And you're in the LAST ROW?" Another mad dash. Luckily, the gates were very close to each other, and I was in the "B" boarding category. The "A" group was just starting to go on when I got there, and who do I see in front of me? An ex boyfriend. I don't think he noticed me. Got an aisle seat this time, and everything was fine until we started to land, when the winds made me really understand why they had the "fasten seatbelts" sign on. I'm not especially panicky about this kind of thing, but I was really concerned we were going to skid off the runway...if we made it to the runway.
Between getting the luggage that had gone before me--and that I had forgotten contained a pint of buttermilk (long story) that wound up sitting there overnight--and the bus and the Metro, I walked into my apartment at about 2:30 p.m.
But now I've got $407 in travel vouchers for Southwest, plus the five dollars I wound up not paying the woman from the cab. (I did look! I swear!) Wanna go someplace?