It's My Thanksgiving, You're Just Invited

At the first Thanksgiving I celebrated with my future husband-to-be, my future in-laws whom I love dearly served turkey, mashed potatoes, and corn. And maybe rolls.

That's it.

And I said, "That's not Thanksgiving. That's just Thursday."

Where were the exotic, calorie-laden dishes that only appear once a year? The puzzling mincemeat pie, the savory dressing, the sweets like cookies and chocolates and pastries?

That's more like it.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Perhaps it's an unconventional choice, but one that makes sense given that I grew up playing jump-rope with the poverty line. My family didn't host or attend cook-outs on Labor Day or Memorial Day, and never bought fireworks on Fourth of July. Christmastime was often excitement tinged with disappointment and forced merriment I didn't enjoy. But Thanksgiving Days were full of delicious once-a-year foods, thanks to community pantry donations that made our food stamps go farther. 

Leading up to Thanksgiving dinner, I remember playing outside as the cold wind bit my nose and fingertips, turning them numb, then heading into the house as warm as a hug. The scent of things grown from the ground would envelop me - sage and onions and celery, cinnamon and pumpkin. Even now, decades and several tax brackets later, the little girl inside me sighs contentedly when I walk into my home that smells of warmth and something delicious cooking in the kitchen. 

My parents, who grew up on different sides of Ohio, cooked up northern versions of harvest treats - candied yams cut in quarters and drizzled with sweet syrup, soft bread-based stuffing cooked inside the turkey. Each year my mom prepared a batch of homemade fudge, which was the best part of the Thanksgiving Day - and also weeks after, while we continued to nibble on it.

But once I began eating hot school lunches regularly as a child in Texas, I was introduced to Southern versions of the Thanksgiving feast - firm cornbread dressing, smooth sweet potato casserole, and sweet pecan pie. These are the foods I came to love and associate with my favorite day of the year.

When I moved to Ohio, the family I married into had very different - and very plain - ideas of Thanksgiving dinner. My husband comes from a meat-and-potatoes family, with a matriarch born in England whose recipes often reflect a simpler palate. Nobody in his family liked much of anything else, so she stuck to the basics, and that was perfect for them. But it wasn't enough for me.

After I was married, my collection of in-laws were required to at least taste my offerings out of obligation. So I began bringing my own dishes to Thanksgiving. 

First, I brought my mother's fudge, which no one can resist. It quickly became a favorite requested at every Thanksgiving (and Christmas, too).

A year or two later I began bringing fudge plus a sweet potato casserole. Made from a recipe from the family who informally adopted me after the foster house, it features cooked yams mixed with butter and a dash of cinnamon, spread into a 9x13 pan, smothered with mini marshmallows baked brown and crisp. It's more like a dessert than a vegetable. Initial reviews were tentative and polite. But each year, my new family ate bigger helpings than the year before until there were almost no leftovers.

A few Thanksgivings later, I scoured the internet for a cornbread dressing recipe to sit on the table beside the boxed Stove Top stuffing. Most of my in-laws preferred mashed potatoes to stuffing, so my mother-in-law didn't need to put a lot of effort into providing it. But I feel the opposite: give me cornbread dressing over potatoes any day. That's how Paula Deen entered my Thanksgiving repertoire in addition to the fudge and the sweet potatoes. It's so delicious, I'm glad to keep the leftovers.  

At that point I think I was bringing the majority of the holiday meal, which in truth I was making mostly for myself. 

About six years ago, my husband and I began hosting Thanksgiving dinner at our home, where I have full control of all the dishes I love. So I also added a (store-bought) pumpkin pie to my holiday canon. If nobody else ate it, that meant more for me. 

So, really, it's my Thanksgiving. But you're invited.