THANKSGIVING

I love my mother’s cooking, especially her crabmeat dressing.  Every Thanksgiving, as a child, I looked forward to eating it alongside collard greens, Mac n’ cheese, candied yams, and turkey (I stopped eating pork in college.  So, everybody devoured the ham and told me what I was missing.  A cruel and loving reminder.).  My plate looked like a tiny version of Mt. Kilimanjaro with food tumbling down. And every time I would conquer it. Dinner would give way to 7up cake and sweet potato pie and Blue Bell ice cream.  Diabetes lurked in the shadows.

Eventually people sprawled out on couches or the carpeted floor with pillows, stomachs tight, and mouths open as sleep took over.  A chorus of snores. As preparation was made for another round of good eating.

My dad has been so spoiled by momma’s cooking that he is reluctant to eat other people’s food.  With his typical southern charm and frankness, he would say something like, “I don’t know how clean these people are.”  That much may be true, and my dad is certainly not alone, especially among Black folk, in his suspicion of the state of other people’s kitchens, but his reluctance really boils down to the fact that he prefers my momma’s cooking.

I was blessed to grow up with my great grandmother and grandmothers.  And all of them could cook.  My great grandmother was known for her beans—any kind of bean really. My grandmother would make red beans and yellow rice with barbecue turkey necks and fried cornbread or hot water bread. (My mouth watered as I wrote those sentences.) But both of them deferred to my mother when it came to dressing. 

Something about the addition of the crabmeat transformed the recipe. Hers was moist, but not too “soupy,” and the amount of sage was just right.  Among a family of cooks, momma’s dish stood out.

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On those occasions when I can’t get back home for the holidays, I try to make her crabmeat dressing. And, like my brother and sister, I call her and she guides me. And you can’t really ask for specifics. How much sage, momma?  What about the poultry seasoning? Or Accent? When do I put in the butter and the eggs?  My mother only measures stuff when she bakes.  As she says about most other things she cooks, with a slight smile and the patience of Job, just season to taste.

Well, it’s Thanksgiving and I plan to make her dressing again. I will call her. She will probably be on the phone with my sister or brother, toggling back and forth as we ask her for advice or reminders of how to make the dressing and, eventually, complain that we can’t quite get it to taste like hers.  I can hear the delight in her voice. And that’s what I want to hear, what I need to hear in this particular season. Something to block out the noise of our politics and the mean-spirited cries of those who have lost sight of love.

I long for the days when, as a child, we would eat and laugh, and eat and watch football, and eat and fall asleep, and eat again.  No concern about the origins of the holidays.  No reminder needed of what “white folks” have done.  No need to perform virtue. Just sharing in the love of each other and the love for our momma’s cooking.  

This week let us cast politics aside for a moment.  Forget about the chaos and the nonsense of Trump, and the obvious brokenness of many of the people who revel in his election.  Pull your people close.  Hang on to the rituals that made and make you laugh and love deeply.  Smack your stomachs, because you can.  Knowing that many can’t; their’s ache with hunger. So don’t be callous in your joy, be mindful of grace.

And if Thanksgiving day traditionally brings on a wave of sadness for you, fortify your spirit with the things that bring you joy, with the people who make you smile, and breathe deeply because tomorrow will soon be here.

I just made my list for the crabmeat dressing.  I need some sage, poultry seasoning, Accent, salt and pepper, bell pepper, celery, onion, chicken stock, eggs, butter, Martha White cornbread mix (not Jiffy; its too sweet); Pepperidge Farm Classic Stuffing (we are going to mix this with the homemade cornbread) and, of course, some lump crabmeat. But, most of all, I need to call my momma and get some of her love to make it alright.

Happy Thanksgiving.