Thanksgiving

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE. Even though my family is far away, I seldom spend the holidays alone. Most years, I will have a few friends over. Occasionally, I celebrate with friends and their families. This year, I will share it with some neighbors and their friends.

I knew about this American holiday and some of its traditions before coming here. Eating turkey also wasn’t a totally strange experience for me. Often, mom would ask our relatives in the country to bring a free-range turkey up for Chinese New Year. Not that mom had any special liking to the birds. Nor did she have any special recipes for them. For her, it was simply a practical matter: In those days, the market would close for almost two weeks for New Year. So, having a large bird would guarantee that we wouldn’t be short of supplies. Taiwanese turkeys weren’t as huge as their American counterparts. Mom would roast them as if they were oversized chickens. I was quite indifferent to eating them.

I spent my first Thanksgiving in Cleveland with my roommate at her aunt’s house. Their families have immigrated to Ohio some years back and established roots. Her aunt prepared a feast. Yet, instead of a turkey, there was a duck—a common practice in many Chinese American families.

Back then, all stores were closed on Thanksgiving. Even McDonald’s were not open. So, international students often planned a big get-together on Thanksgiving Day. Sometimes, there might be a turkey. But no one really knew what to do with it. Some years my American friends would invite me to their house. There, I learned the history of the holiday and the traditional dishes.

After returning from Italy, I moved to Champaign-Urbana to work on my dissertation and to study with John Wustman. Although I met many new friends, I really didn’t belong to any group. I wasn’t bound to any fixed schedule and didn’t have to worry about final projects or exams. For the first time I considered making my own Thanksgiving meal.

What would a geek who lived in the library and tied to the computer screens do about preparing her first turkey? SEARCH THE LIBRARY CATALOGUE, of course. It was the pre-Google Era. Illinois was all about farming. My search resulted in a few government documents—Agricultural Department/USDA type. With my bookstack privilege, I went deeply into the jungle of books and documents, coming out with a booklet in hand.

It started with “How to Buy Your Bird: And What to Look for On the Label”—Fresh or Frozen? . . .Buying the Right Size Turkey. It taught me how to thaw a frozen turkey (thawing time by the weight). The instructions (and warnings) on stuffing a turkey followed. Ready to cook the bird now? The booklet had a timetable for roasting fresh or fully thawed turkey, and another one for roasting an unstuffed frozen bird. Additional cooking methods included: using oven bags, MICROWAVE cooking, barbecue and using a rotisserie. (It said NOTHING about deep-frying the bird.) “How to Carve a Turkey” section came with step by step illustrations. Leftovers? Just read ahead. You would know when to take the items off the table and into the refrigerator. You would know why you should divide large quantities into smaller portions. You would know whether to keep the items in the refrigerator or the freezer. . ..

Knowing that a bird alone would not a good Thanksgiving dinner make, I went to the “periodical” section, flipping through the Thanksgiving issues of Bon Appètit and Gourmet in previous years. I chose recipes for cornbread, stuffing and cranberry. The menu for my first Thanksgiving meal was set.

I must have followed the instructions word for word, because no one got sick and nothing was burnt. I don’t have any recollections of how anything tasted. Nor do I remember who joined me at the table: With the limited capacity of my refrigerator, I must have had guests. What I still have are photocopies of the pamphlet and the recipes.

Gradually, I became quite comfortable preparing a Thanksgiving feast. After trying many types of marinades, rubs, and brine, I realized the freshness of the herbs and spices was the key to good flavors. My best turkey was a 32-pounder. Busy schedule forced me to run to the store at the very last minute. By that time, all the smaller turkeys were gone. With no time for thawing, my only choice was a fresh organic bird. Chopped fresh herbs, Dijon mustard, honey and citrus juice and melted butter made perfect marinade. It came out of the oven much earlier than I expected and right at the moment when my guests arrived. I haven’t had the same luck since then.

While rotating various side dishes, I make the same cranberry preserves every year. I prefer biscuits to breads. I have a favorite apple-cranberry pie recipe. Some friends know what to expect at my Thanksgiving table.

I count my blessing on this special day and every day. I am thankful to the people that taught me everything about Thanksgiving. I give thanks to the people that make my daily life possible: subway conductors, bus drivers, mailmen, delivery guys and sanitation workers. I give thanks to my friends who stand by me: They listen to me; they appreciate my thoughts; they help me getting through dark times; they push me forward. I give thanks to my family and relatives who allow me the opportunity to live a creative life.

Here are my favorite recipes:
Cheddar Cheese Biscuits
Cranberry Orange Preserves
Colonial Times Apple-Cranberry Pie with Cornmeal Crust

In the name of progress

Amazon is coming to town!  Since the tech giant announced its plan to establish a new headquarter in Long Island City, local politicians have been busy making their opinions known on the news media.  How will this effect local job market?  How about housing, public transportation and schools?  For better or for worse, clearly, things will not be the same.

My first brush with “progress” happened in early 1970s.  The two-lane street in front of my house was widened into a four-lane road, with paved sidewalks on both sides.  Changes were made mostly on our side of the road.  Shops on the nearby block closed.  The small compound of white-collar-worker housing separating our house from the street was leveled.  The residents relocated.  I was too young to understand the full impact on the people.  What changed in my life was discernible.

Our garden was dug up.  Even the persimmon tree was cut down.  Our casual bamboo fence was replaced by a new brick wall, only a few yards from the front windows.  The front porch became a cover for the new front gate.  Our secluded surrounding was replaced by the hustle-bustle of a busy street.  A residential neighborhood became commercialized overnight.

Since the garden was a big part of my young life, I felt insecure and empty without it.  Although, with the house facing the street, mom was able to open a small business.  For years, I wished that there was a way for me—for us—to save the garden and our tranquil life.  I suspected that dad might have felt the same way I did.

I am very curious of what the Amazon effect will be for Queens residents.