It’s funny how traditions start. Decades ago I started reprinting the classic 1897 editorial by Francis Pharcellus from the New York Sun, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Clause” in this column every December. I did it because after the second or third year I heard from folks every year saying how much they enjoyed it and hoped that I would keep printing annually. And so, a tradition was born.
I also printed it because it made me happy it and reminded me that the things that make life rich and wonderful like love, joy, hope and faith cannot be seen, only felt. I now also include memories to that list of life’s untouchable precious gems, especially memories of those most loved who are no longer with us.
My step-father David didn’t become part of my life until well after I graduated from college so ours was never quite the relationship of father-daughter, but it was special.
He taught me how to play tennis, and the first time I aced him with a serve to win the game, he called me a “snot-nosed little vixen” and roared with laughter. For days after our match, he’d brag to anybody that would listen – and I do mean anybody, the mailman, the clerk at the bank, friends, complete strangers – about how his student “trounced the coach.”
Once, when I was very ill and couldn’t lift my head from the pillow, David sat by my side day after day reading William Saroyan’s “The Human Comedy” to me cover to cover.
He introduced me to reggae playing Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff and Peter Tosh whenever I visited. While the music played, he’d regale me with stories of his time spent living in “the islands” and always, always took my hand to get me up for a dance.
But what we most enjoyed doing together was cooking, especially Thanksgiving dinner. Over the years, when getting on the court together was no longer possible, preparing this annual meal became our special time.
The last time I was with David was on March 1, 2015 and our roles were reversed. I sat at his bedside reading Saroyan’s “My Name Is Aram” taking breaks to listen Bob Marley and the Wailers. We didn’t dance, but I sang “One Love” as David smiled, gently tapping his finger against my palm to the beat as I held his hand. He passed away three days later.
It was six years after David’s death when, in November, I sat down to write this column and the memory of one my favorite Thanksgiving meal makings flowed from keyboard to screen. After publication, I was surprised by how many readers responded to both the memory and the recipe I included. So, in 2022 I reprinted the column and, again, readers responded and asked me if I could make it my annual Thanksgiving column.
And so, a tradition was born.
For all those who asked to hear the story again and for all those who may have missed it last year or the year before, this one’s for you.
Thanksgiving was a big production with my step-father, David. We always teamed up for this holiday meal. He cooked the turkey and three stuffings: herb, cornbread and oyster. I was in charge of side dishes including “smashed potatoes,” as my daughter called them; green beans with slivered almonds; butterleaf salad with paper thin sliced red onions, fresh mandarin orange segments, dried cranberries and toasted walnuts; and mini pumpkins baked and stuffed with a wild-rice pilaf – one for each guest.
It took days of preparation and hours of cooking to put the meal on the table but it was something we did together. I enjoyed the camaraderie as we deftly dodged around each other in the small kitchen at “The Ranch,” chopping, slicing, dicing, stirring, sauteing, peeling, boiling, mixing, blending and seasoning the food. Sometimes he’d put a little reggae on and we’d add some dancing to our dodging.
We’d laugh and talk about all manner of things interrupting ourselves with the occasional “taste this” and “what does it need?” and “more salt” and “what was that timer for?”
While David was the turkey chef, I was the turkey carver. He hated carving, and I enjoyed it, so it worked out well. And the turkeys were always enormous, well over 20 pounds. They were so big in fact and the kitchen was so small that when it came time to remove them from the oven everyone including me cleared out of the kitchen leaving David as the “last man standing.” Except one year, many, many, many years ago when we got our timing tangled.
I was getting the table cloth out of a drawer with my back to David. He was getting the turkey out of the oven with his back to me. We both turned around at the same time and I’m not sure who bumped who but the bump was big enough that David lost his balance and in trying to right himself jerked his arms upward.
The next thing I knew the stuffed, hot turkey was taking one last flight up, up and — I dove under it holding out the open table cloth. I managed to catch the bird like a baby in a table cloth hammock. David stayed on his feet but the weight of the fowl hit me like a 20-plus-pound hammer and down I went landing on my butt but with the turkey still safely wrapped in the table cloth.
There was a moment of stunned recovery silence before my very young daughter peeking around the corner raised both her arms in the air and yelled, “She scores!”
I was fine. David was fine. The table cloth was ruined but, most importantly, the bird survived its final flight and landing. We used a bed sheet as a table cloth and it was all good. No one really noticed.
I was also in charge of pies. And in addition to an apple pie, David always asked me to make maple pumpkin pie. I don’t know where the recipe originated as he gave it to me in the form of a very yellowed and brittle newspaper clipping with no source or date on it, but it is the best pumpkin pie I’ve ever made.
David passed away many years ago and I miss our Thanksgiving dinner preparation partnership. I don’t cook a turkey any more or stuff mini pumpkins but I do make the maple pumpkin pie and it always tastes like good memories.
David’s Maple Pumpkin Pie
Use 1 prepared 9-inch pie crust.
Filling ingredients:
• ¾ cup sugar
• ½ teaspoon cinnamon
• ½ teaspoon ginger
• 1/8 teaspoon allspice
• 1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
• ¼ teaspoon salt
• 16 ounce can pumpkin
• 1 cup evaporated milk
• ½ cup maple syrup
• 2 eggs, slightly beaten
Topping ingredients:
• 1 cup heavy whipping cream
• 2 tablespoons powdered sugar
• 1 tablespoon maple syrup
• ¼ teaspoon cinnamon
Directions: Heat oven to 425 degrees. Line pie pan with crust, set aside. In large bowl, combine all filling ingredients; blend well. Pour into crust-lined pan. Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes. Reduce temperature to 350 degrees and bake an additional 45 to 55 minutes or until center is set and knife comes out almost clean. For topping beat whipping cream in a small bowl until soft peaks form. Add powdered sugar, maple syrup and cinnamon; beat until stiff peaks form. Store pie and topping in refrigerator.
