Jackie Wells-Fauth
Right now, everyone’s celebrating the holiday. That one we squeeze in between trick-or-treating and Christmas. This is the one where we give ourselves permission to stuff ourselves and then sit around afterward discussing key issues like, what’s for sale already for Black Friday and whether it’s okay to have the Christmas tree up while the Pilgrim statues are still decorating the mantle.
People may not realize it, but Thanksgiving is actually a very divisive holiday. It’s divided between those who can cook and those who believe that God invented TV dinners for a reason. It is on Thanksgiving that we separate the chefs from those of us who made a last-minute dash to the store for two-day old buns and a can of black olives to take to the annual event.
The day will come, I know, when I will not be able to accept someone’s generous invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, but I am not looking forward to that day because that is when I will sink irrevocably into that world where you “microwave on high for four minutes, stopping halfway through to stir the potatoes and turkey—separately.”
It’s not that no one tried to teach me to cook. But you have to have two things to learn to cook: a certain amount of aptitude and a great deal of willingness to do it—itude. I believe that from the start, I did not possess either. I would be content with a piece of toast and a fried egg for every meal…if only I could fry an egg. It’s sad, but when Roy wants a fried egg, he makes it himself, knowing that’s the only way it will not come out burned and slightly scrambled.
But back to Thanksgiving. You may think, as some do who have tried to encourage me, that I just don’t apply myself. But the truth is, I am highly intimidated by some of the cooks around me. And…yes, I don’t apply myself, either.
“Try some of the cranberry-apple resole, I made with fresh cranberries,” someone will say.
Fresh cranberries? I get my cranberries jellied in a can as nature intended. And I’m not trying anything whose name doesn’t appear in Webster’s standard dictionary. So, I missed out on the cranberry-apple thingy, but at least I kept my dignity, right?
As for stuffing, aside from the fact that I object to that much bread in one single sitting, I have a great deal of trouble with how it’s prepared. No, I do not wish to sample your great aunt Bessie’s stuffing, when it has to be shoveled out of a turkey’s butt to be served! And that is not just me being bitter because I can’t make a stuffing that anyone will eat, regardless of where it reposed during baking!
Obviously, the fact that I have failed this Thanksgiving test a great many times, causes people who do invite me for a meal to be less than enthusiastic for me to bring anything.
“I could bring a pumpkin pie,” I will offer, half-heartedly.
“Oh my, no,” the hostess will stammer, “I’d hate to have you go to that bother.”
“Are you sure? I think they are on sale at Kessler’s. Would be no trouble to go pick one up.”
Even if I’m bringing it from the store, most hostesses will turn it down. That’s fine, it saves me the trouble of shopping and it saves them the worry that I’ll take some wild notion in my head and make it myself. I have nightmares about making dinner rolls that turn out to be rocks or a macaroni salad loaded with mayonnaise-covered mystery lumps, and usually that’s enough to get me out of the notion of actually cooking.
So, I will continue to view Thanksgiving as the ultimate cooking test that I have failed and I will count myself on the side of those who are always asked to bring some paper cups or napkins but never Grandma’s homemade fudge! While it is a divisive thing, I think we will all survive it, especially after a good meal. And rest assured that my lack of cooking skills will continue to horrify others and be perfectly okay with me!
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