Cookbook inscribed by my flat mate.    

Found Family for Thanksgiving  

My first “Friendsgiving” was one memorable potluck feast with a group of American students sharing a house during their study abroad semester in England.

I didn’t expect to celebrate my favorite holiday away from home. For the last 21 years, I’d spent Thanksgiving with my parents and brother. We hosted relatives who drove for days, happy to be among family. My parents also invited guests whom we affectionately called “strays,” because they didn’t have family nearby. We welcomed these individuals, who were my mother’s students, my father’s colleagues, or our friends from church.

Our traditional meal centered on roasted turkey. Garden vegetables, sweet potatoes, dressing, canned cranberry sauce, rolls, and pumpkin pie with Cool Whip completed the feast. We had plenty of servings of food and gratitude to go around.     

***

I was grateful for the chance to study abroad, a privilege bestowed by my parents. As a communications major, I was thrilled to meet people who produced radio and television programs for the British Broadcasting Corporation. I divided my time between studying and exploring Oxford by bicycle. The town was bustling with students on bikes. The river rippled with scullers.   

***

I kept busy writing essays and writing letters back home. Overseas phone calls were expensive back then, and reserved for emergencies. As Thanksgiving neared, so did my desire for familiar settings, food, and unconditional love.

Mary Houser, my Oxford roommate and new friend, also suffered from a similar bout of homesickness. Neither of us had been away from our families at Thanksgiving. But Mary wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity. And that’s what I adored about her.

She hosted Thanksgiving at our flat. Mary always lifted my spirits. I used to tease her by singing “Oh, it’s a jolly holiday with Mary,” from the Mary Poppins’ movie.

Mary negotiated with everyone so we wouldn’t have too many green bean casseroles. Everyone agreed to bring a different dish and contribute toward the turkey. I made apple pies and set off the smoke detector in the process. Our house mates, hearing the alarm, quickly came to check on Mary and me. 

Bad news: Our flat smelled of smoke that clung in the air all afternoon. Good news: I didn't burn the pies! 

We had a spectacular celebration that Thanksgiving, grateful for our blossoming friendships, belonging, and bounty of food.   

How does Giving Tuesday inspire you?

I feel overwhelmed, choosing among all the charities vying for donations during the holidays. My strategy is to choose charities that reflect my values and interests. 

I enjoy giving to local arts, museums, and my ala mater which have enriched my life. Primarily I support organizations that help feed families, promote literacy, and protect nature. But hundreds of groups fit into these broad categories of food, books, and animals. 

Every day, I receive a plea from worthy groups to “be the change,” “save the bees,” “feed my neighbors,” “protect the Chesapeake Bay.” The messages are urgent, compelling, and often heartbreaking. Many requests come with gifts of notepads, cards, address labels, and bookmarks, reminding me to act on their behalf.  

Many of my friends and family members practice planned giving. Every year, they donate to the same charities because they believe in the organization’s mission. I admire their ongoing steadfast commitment. They embrace giving throughout the year, not just at Thanksgiving or after a natural disaster. They serve as role models and advisors for me to invest wisely.  

How can I best invest in the community where I live and work? That’s a critical question for me. Investing includes giving time and is a meaningful gift. Early in my career, I volunteered more because I had the time but earned little money. I joined the KC Jazz Ambassadors, an enthusiastic group of jazz lovers. This nonprofit is dedicated to preserving jazz, from supporting student scholarships to fundraising for jazz musicians who had fallen on hard times. I met many Kansas City musicians working for the group and writing for their monthly magazine, which still exists.

Nonprofits operate thanks to dedicated volunteers. However, they survive only if well-run and well-funded. Today, I proudly volunteer at a nonprofit community bookstore Hilltop Books whose proceeds benefit the library.

But back to Giving Tuesday. I will donate to groups that reflect my values. I will give to charities both in honor and in memory of those people whom I value.

 

Cranberry Conundrum

What will I do with six cans of cranberry sauce? A surplus of sauce stems from my fear of running out of cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving dinner. Our menu must feature certain colorful sweet sides – yams and cranberries. What makes the feast festive –family, friends, food – and cranberry of course.

Now that the holiday is over, and leftovers are vanishing, what happens to the regal ridged ready to slice and serve canned cranberry? Fear not friends, we will eat the cranberry.

Before going on, I’d like to note I have bought and cooked fresh cranberries. Oh, what fun to watch the berries bubble and hear them sputter and pop, Pop, POP.  Once cooked, the berries become a thick red gloppy, glorious sauce to garnish the turkey and the table.

I’ve also made cranberry chutney with raw berries, mandarin oranges, sugar, and chopped nuts. Neither recipe was asked back for encores on our menu. Despite being delicious, they were unwelcome at our family table because these versions couldn’t compare to the jellied side, which slips and slides from the can into the bowl and onto the plate. We learned new recipes can’t compete with long-standing tradition.

Tradition matters more than taste.

Well, sometimes taste is key too. When my sister-in-law’s mother brought a pecan pie with chocolate for Thanksgiving, she even complained that the pie tasted off. The next year, she showed up with plain pecan pie.

Plain isn’t always welcome though. My mom always baked yams topped with gooey browned marshmallows because my dad loved them. Anyone who did not want or like melted marshmallows with their vegetables simply scooped out naked [gasp!] yams.  

To add or subtract a dish is risky and bold. Yet sometimes it works. My canned pumpkin curry soup was a surprise hit. But speaking from experience in our house: People want what they’ve always had for Thanksgiving dinner. And that’s alright with me.

Now, back to the cans of cranberry, here is my list:

1)     Dollop in oatmeal or on toast.

2)     Slice it up and serve it on any sandwiches.

3)     Bake someone happy with cranberry muffins.

4)     Melt the cranberry over brie for an appetizer.

5)     Try lovely looking lemon cranberry bars featured in the NY Times cooking website.

6)     Eat it out of the can, straight.   

7)     Save a can until next year in case there’s a shortage. I checked the expiration date and thank goodness, the canned cranberry is good until 2025. Yay! The pressure is off.

In closing, I’m grateful for family, friends and sharing a meal together with or without the cranberry sauce. Turns out the cranberry sauce is thankful for being served.