Gather. Nurture. Feed. Repeat.
“This is the power of gathering: It inspires us, delightfully, to be more hopeful, more joyful, more thoughtful; in a word, more alive.” —Alice Waters
I celebrated my third Thanksgiving in America by traveling to Napa Valley. With no family in town and friends otherwise engaged, my English then-boyfriend and I had left the hustle and bustle of a hot and dusty Los Angeles in search of autumnal weather and holiday fare.
We arrived late on Wednesday afternoon, just as the sun was setting over the crimson and ochre patchwork carpet of trees and almost-dormant vineyards that blanketed the valley floor. Wisps of smoke curled up from chimneys, gossamer strands of mist drifted through the vines and the air smelled woodsy, earthy and slightly sweet. We stopped by the roadside to take in the view as we crested a rise. It was picture perfect, down to the gratifying crunch of walking in mounds of dried russet-hued leaves.
The hotel was equally charming. Our room had a fireplace where logs crackled and sighed satisfyingly in the hearth. I curled up in front of it with a good book and relaxed with a glass of an excellent local red wine in hand. This, I thought to myself, is what this holiday is all about.
On Thanksgiving Day, we went for a long walk bundled up in warm jackets and scarves as the crisp air turned the tips of our ears red. We worked up a hearty appetite for the meal to come. At the appointed hour, we walked up to the lavishly decorated dining room, festooned with vine leaves, gourds, horns of plenty and bushels of apples and pears. The maître d’ led the way, threading a meandering path around large tables where families had gathered en masse, to our lone table for two.
I looked around as we took our seats, taking in the multi-generational cacophony that surrounded us. I sensed a pitying glance from an elderly matron seated at the head of a nearby table of 16 and felt a slight uneasiness, but couldn’t quite put my finger on what was amiss.
The food arrived. It was excellent, as was the wine, yet that niggling disquiet that had emerged as we sat down grew throughout the meal. We both felt it and tried to ignore what became increasingly obvious. The clamor of laughing families and the familial banter echoing around the room made our two-top seem rather lonely and forlorn.
Although the setting was, in every sense, sublime, the one missing element, and the one which was most important, was sharing the occasion with those we cherished most. As we scuttled back to our cozy retreat, we mused on this. Our great escape had failed to provide the comfort we sought.
A brief review of the annals of seasonal gatherings throughout history quickly reveals that these occasions are more about those we share these events with than the food itself. In archeological digs around the world, researchers have found evidence of humans celebrating their harvests together for thousands of years.
We gather today to give thanks in November, and each family may have its favorite holiday dishes, but are they as good if we cannot make and share them with those we love?
I have been pondering this question as we head into the end of year festivities. From Thanksgiving to Hannukah, Kwanza and Christmas, to New Year’s Eve and beyond.
How do we celebrate if we cannot gather? Over the last seven months, with the arrival of all that is Covid, everyone has had to adapt to muted celebrations. We have gathered outdoors, shared socially distanced picnics and potlucks in the park.
However, with the arrival of more inclement weather, we will inevitably withdraw back into the nests that are our homes, but without the ability to bring our friends with us.
How then do we nurture each other?
Like many families, mine is scattered across different countries and many States, spanning a 12-hour time difference. It is unlikely that we will be together for the holidays. Faced with travel and quarantine restrictions we have been working on a solution, and also looking at the opportunity that cooking for fewer people presents.
Have you ever wanted to try a new dish but dismissed it because you were preparing food for 16? We are usually around that number for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. This year we may be four. This is the occasion to stretch one’s culinary boundaries and delve into something new!
Instead of turkey, why not try roasted duck or Cornish hens? What about an “everything but the turkey” feast, making all the side dishes the focal point? Have you wanted to try food from a different part of the world? Or maybe explore your family’s culinary heritage? This is one year where we will have the luxury of time.
Of course, certain dishes always have pride of place on most family’s festive dinner tables, usually accompanied by an amusing family tale as to how that dish came to be.
Much like those whose holiday traditions include a reading of “The Night Before Christmas,” at my good friends Alan and Harriet’s Thanksgiving the guests gather around the host for a ritual known as “The Drilling of the Mashed Potatoes.” I’ve not witnessed this firsthand, but understand that it is a melodramatic telling of Alan’s first “Chosen Family” Thanksgiving in Isla Vista decades ago and includes something about a missing potato masher, the ingenuity of friend Chuck Cail and a drill.
How then do we share the yearly telling of “that” story if we cannot be in the same room together? Enter modern technology and the now-familiar live streaming platform of your choice.
In our house, preparations for holiday meals begin early in the morning. We start by making stuffing and cranberry coulis. This year we plan on making them together via Zoom. The timing may have to change a little to accommodate different time zones, but with the same ingredients in hand we will still be able to cook together.
Our olfactory senses have long memories, and what better way to share a family tradition than by reawakening our taste buds. Our respective kitchens will be filled with the perfume of grated orange zest, the woodsy, sweet aroma of cinnamon, and simmering cranberries plop-popping little bursts of tart-citrusy sauce.
By cooking the same dishes together, we will be able to share the day, the simultaneous experience of preparing food and even sampling the same dish. Although our connection will be virtual, our physical senses will still have a shared experience. We can laugh together, give advice about a pie crust, avoiding soggy bottoms, and how to make sure the mashed spuds are well and truly mashed. We will pop in and out of view through our screens, be they via computer, tablet or phone, offering a real-time window of our steaming kitchens. The light filtering in will reflect an early morning and late afternoon; some may be in pajamas, others back from an afternoon walk; but most important of all is that we will be together.
Our festive season will be different this year. It is up to us to make the most of the opportunity. Bon appetit!
