My mother said there was no need to spend all day making a meal that we’d eat for just a few minutes, when we could just visit and enjoy the day together, instead. And this reasonable idea worked for everyone. Since I knew we were taking her to the Malaysian restaurant — now on the short list for a James Beard award, by the way — and I saw that they were offering a Thanksgiving carryout dinner, we thought we’d give it a try. It was a good choice.
Our takeaway Thanksgiving dinner was tasty this evening. The only thing that went wrong were the re-heating directions, which underestimated the amount of time a de-boned, stuffed duck needed to reach the appropriate temperature after sitting overnight at 38 degrees. But we managed. And this version of the classic Chinese Eight Treasure Duck was tasty. The leek and herb stuffing made the whole thing. I would enjoy this again.
We also had a kale with pomegranate tahini dressing, Wagyu fat mashed potatoes with duck gravy, and a surprisingly tasty root vegetable tart.
For dessert, my lovely bride made a peach crumble, from our own peach tree.
Even in our small group of three, we enjoyed a family continuity. We sat at the dining room table that my grandparents bought for my mother, which has since been handed down to me. Above us there was a picture of my great-grandparents’ home, framed from some of the wood salvaged from that old place. Behind me sat some of the other small lived things that have made up the memories of our lives. Not just mine, or even my mother’s, but also some of the items that have come to The Yankee over the years.
This weekend we’ll mark 18 months in our new home, which means, for me, 18 months of introspection about the details of homes and the lives lived in them. This is our second Thanksgiving here. Last year we hosted my in-laws. And so now we’re having our second Thanksgiving guest. Two successful Thanksgivings. And this, repetition and pleasant memories, are how traditions form.
I think about that a lot in this house, which raised a family of five for two decades before the previous owners’ children flew from the nest. They’re everywhere in this house, of course, and they should be. And now, slowly, then suddenly, so are we.
I have no idea, of course, about how that family marks Thanksgiving. Being sentimental, I wish I did know. Incorporation is how traditions grow. But whatever those people do, I hope they’ve had a fine time doing it this week, as well. And I hope you have had a fine time in keeping your traditions, as well.
Even when the menu changes, when the locations move, or the guest list is altered, traditions can continue. Traditions are intentional. Traditions are in the spirit of things.
