Adapting tradition for a new age...

I’m not sure how it happened, or when, but Thanksgiving has definitely become my holiday. I faintly recall motivation on my part, probably around 1991, to host both sides of our family at my place. My thinking went like this: cooking a large feast for twenty or more people had to be less hassle than traveling across several counties with rambunctious twin sons.

I was right. Since then, I perfected the turkey, streamlined the menu, timed appetizers and dessert around backyard football and, hopefully, gave all my guests a holiday gathering they would want to participate in again and again. Through the years, the dishes have changed, new faces have emerged, some we have lost, but always we gather around turkey and stuffing and wine and pie – together – and we are nourished simply because we are together. This is why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

This year, our tradition is being rewritten. First, our twenty-plus crowd has dwindled to ten this year as the cousins are grown and off to places east, like Madison and Michigan and Virginia and China. (Any further east and they’d be west!). We also have changed kitchens this year, requiring our guests to put in a bit of travel time to reach our table. We’re grateful they accepted.

Finally, and most drastically, I’m turning over control of the meal to our budding chef. I have every confidence that he’ll cook magnificently for us; he’s already shared with me his plans to braise the turkey rather than roast it. He explained it all to me in great detail and his description simply made me hungry. I’ll be on hand in the kitchen to observe, of course. It’s not often this old dog gets a front row seat to new cooking techniques. Parents are supposed to stay involved in their children’s education!

But I admit this change of kitchen control, this passing of the baton — or, more appropriately — the baster, will be hard for me. It’s not that I want to be top chef forever, mind you. It’s just that we have house rules that dictate the cook never has to wash the dishes. It always seemed like a good rule, as long as I was the one who was cooking.