The War Years, Part 1

When I was growing up we had a big Thanksgiving dinner every fourth Thursday in November. I don’t remember any in particular. I don’t remember special guests, though I’m certain several graced our table over the years. I don’t recall a memorable event that occurred during Turkey day. No birds were dropped on the floor; no one got too drunk because no one drank that I remember. There were no fights, no extra funny performances, no sad or tragic happenings. We just sat down to a really big dinner.

The whole turkey, nicely browned and perfectly picturesque did not grace our table. The model for Norman Rockwell’s American Thanksgiving was not found in our home. The bird was transformed before it left the kitchen and its appearance was in an unrecognizable form. The poor bird had been dissected, and its parts waited to be forked and dragged to nearby plates.

The fare was traditional, and seldom varied. The most nutritious part of the spud was its peel, but custom required them to be peeled. The potatoes were mashed, and the peels discarded. It was similar to the practice of refining flour to pure white. White bread was nearly the only choices one had in a store. There was sweet potatoes or yams, green beans, cranberry sauce, giblet gravy, and oyster dressing. The recipe for oyster dressing was a contribution from Grandma Frank’s side of the family. I grew up thinking that every turkey in America came stuffed with oyster dressing, just as I assumed that everyone ate buckwheat pancakes for breakfast. I didn’t learn of the existence of buttermilk pancakes until I was thirteen, and they seemed so bland. Grandma was born to poor dirt farmers in the hills of Kentucky. It was a mystery that she should even know about oysters, but oysters were shipped to the Midwest as early as the 1830’s, and became fashionable even in the homes of poor dirt farmers - thus oyster dressing on our Thanksgiving table. Pumpkin and mincemeat pie was served after we were allowed time to digest and assimilate the meaning of Thanksgiving and its turkey. The first Thanksgiving I remember was during World War II.

GO TO: Part 2