My mother was never a turkey fan.
This stems from her mother being Italian and not having a single good way to roast a bird in her repertoire. GRIN That's not true. Grandma did know how to cook a turkey, but her crowning AMERICAN family get together dish was the noodles and gravy.
To get the gravy, she perforated that poor goobler until it was dry as a desert.
Those noodles ROCKED!
And the exact formulation is lost because Grandma was a competitive cooker and her recipes are all secret to keep others from making them successfully. The secret went with her to the grave.
At any rate, there's hardly a member of the Nattitucci extended clan that makes a turkey for any holiday.
We tend towards ham. Being Iowans ham is a natural substitute and its super cheap around thanksgiving because the focus is on turkey.
So, today, on Hanukkah, we are making a ham. It's OK: I'm an atheist, The Lovely Harvey is an animist and The Boy has no defined belief.
Our strange Thanksgiving tradition is the ceremonial can of cranberry sauce.
The contents are reverently dropped out of the can with the expected sucking noise to a small saucer. Said contents remain untouched until the dishes are to be done, whereupon the flaccid cylinder of bitter fruit puree is discarded.
This stems from her mother being Italian and not having a single good way to roast a bird in her repertoire. GRIN That's not true. Grandma did know how to cook a turkey, but her crowning AMERICAN family get together dish was the noodles and gravy.
To get the gravy, she perforated that poor goobler until it was dry as a desert.
Those noodles ROCKED!
And the exact formulation is lost because Grandma was a competitive cooker and her recipes are all secret to keep others from making them successfully. The secret went with her to the grave.
At any rate, there's hardly a member of the Nattitucci extended clan that makes a turkey for any holiday.
We tend towards ham. Being Iowans ham is a natural substitute and its super cheap around thanksgiving because the focus is on turkey.
So, today, on Hanukkah, we are making a ham. It's OK: I'm an atheist, The Lovely Harvey is an animist and The Boy has no defined belief.
Our strange Thanksgiving tradition is the ceremonial can of cranberry sauce.
The contents are reverently dropped out of the can with the expected sucking noise to a small saucer. Said contents remain untouched until the dishes are to be done, whereupon the flaccid cylinder of bitter fruit puree is discarded.