A Perfectly Imperfect Thanksgiving
Can a real-food evangelist make peace with his marshmallow-loving wife?
“I can’t believe you’re making that casserole,” John said. “It’s an insult to me. An affront to everything I’m trying to accomplish.”
“We’ve already talked about this.” Jennie kept her focus on the task in front of her. “You know this casserole is not about you. It’s about me and my family traditions and I am not prepared to give it up.”
John stormed out of the kitchen.
Jennie took a calming breath and methodically added mini marshmallows to the sweet potato casserole she’d par-baked that morning. Thanksgiving was two days away, and while she was only responsible for cooking this one dish, there was still plenty she needed to do to prepare.
One hour later, John returned from his walk. Jennie’s hopes that the exercise would have calmed her husband were dashed with his first words.
“It’s an abomination.” He said it definitively. As if that settled the matter.
“Abomination is a strong word,” Jennie said, taking care to keep her tone even.
“What will my viewers think?” John’s voice verged on a wail.
Jennie and the kids had been surprised by John’s newfound passion for organic and minimally processed foods, but they went along with it as best as they could. The kids grumbled when he replaced their Tostitos with homemade kale chips, and Jennie had swallowed hard when he swapped her nightly Ben & Jerry’s with avocado ice cream, but everyone’s taste buds were slowly adjusting. And who could argue with a former tech geek who’d managed to parlay his zeal for whole foods into first one cookbook, then another, and now a local TV show on the verge of going national?
While Jennie was happy to support John, she wasn’t about to let his job interfere with their long-held family Thanksgiving traditions–specifically, her grandmother’s recipe for sweet potato casserole that she’d eaten every Thanksgiving for as far back as she could remember. With her grandmother long gone, and more recently, both of her parents, this casserole and the marshmallows that adorned it felt like one of the few remaining tethers to her past. Couldn’t he let her have this one thing?
“Your viewers will understand that real families can be messy. I’d say there’s no better topic for your Thanksgiving special,” Jennie responded.
But John wouldn’t let it go. The next day, he continued to press his case.
Jennie was in the dining room, flattening the folds of the crisp linen tablecloth that had belonged to her mother. Stacks of silver flatware, wedding china, and cut-crystal wine glasses stood waiting to be laid on the holiday table. “Taste this,” he said, raising a spoon to Jennie’s mouth.
Jennie held back a sigh and took a bite. No question, it was delicious, and she told John so. His eyes brightened. “I know, right? It’s a combination of dehydrated and mashed sweet potatoes. I added the merest hint of butter and salt. It’s the purest expression of a sweet potato.” He grinned, triumphant, as though the matter of which sweet potatoes to serve for Thanksgiving was now resolved.
Jennie placed her hand on John’s arm. “John. You know that my mother ate this casserole every Thanksgiving, just as I did as a kid and now our kids. I’m not striving for the perfect expression of a sweet potato. What I’m going for here is the perfect expression of love.”
John turned away, disappointment on his face.
This meal was the kick-off to his holiday cooking series, where he would be demonstrating how easy and delicious it was to prepare foods in their purest forms. That he would be creating these meals from his home kitchen was the hook the publicists were using to drum up even more interest in the show. Promos for John’s “Real Thanksgiving in Vermont” TV special had been airing on television and radio all month. A friend said she’d spotted an ad for the show plastered on a bus in Burlington. A half-page ad was scheduled to appear in the Valley Reporter and other local newspapers on Thanksgiving Day. When Jennie tried to placate John by proposing he serve both the family casserole and John’s “new and improved” version, she was taken aback by the ferocity of his rejection.
“Absolutely not,” he exclaimed. “The whole point of the show—of my very career,” he said pointedly—“is to show how real food can so easily be part of everyday life. Real food, Jennie,” he said again for emphasis, as if she didn’t know the low esteem in which he held her beloved mini marshmallows.
“Have you ever looked at the ingredient list for marshmallows?” John continued. He grabbed the half-empty bag from the pantry and began to read the ingredients, spitting out “corn syrup” and “dextrose” before his tongue tripped over “tetrasodium pyrophosphate.” “By no definition can this be considered food. There is nothing in nature that is ‘jet-puffed!’ I’m going to be a laughingstock.”
For the second time in two days, John stormed out of the room.
Jennie knew that John was anxious about the upcoming show and did her best to stay out of his way. She spent the remainder of the day arranging the flowers, setting the table, and making sure the house was ready for the extended family who would be arriving Thanksgiving afternoon. Their dining room wasn’t big, and the dining table, extended to its full length, made it feel smaller still. But if everybody agreed to keep their elbows tucked in, all twelve of them could just fit.
* * *
Thanksgiving morning, John was up early and in the kitchen with the camera crew. He was mincing scallops, dicing onions, and prepping the turkey all while keeping up a running commentary for the cameras. This was when he felt most in his element, when he was in the flow of creation, master of performing the alchemy that took simple and pure ingredients and transformed them into something delightful for the palate. It was a far cry from his previous career debugging software for a Fortune100 computer company. Yes, the pay and benefits had been great, but there’d been no color in his days back then, no spice. He hoped that in time Jennie would come to realize that this new venture wasn’t a detour, but rather a long-overdue course correction. He knew in his very being that he was doing what he was put on this earth to do. But with Jennie insisting on serving that ridiculous casserole of hers, everything he’d worked so hard for could come crashing down. Couldn’t she let him have this one thing?
His thoughts were interrupted by his producer. “Why don’t you tell the viewers a bit about your holiday traditions, John.”
John straightened up to his full 6-foot height and re-tied his apron, smiling as he launched into stories of the Slater family traditions.
“So are you saying that the food you’re preparing this Thanksgiving is not actually part of your family traditions, but rather inspired by them,” the producer asked.
John nodded and proceeded to explain how he’d taken familiar recipes and revised them to allow the natural flavorings of the foods to shine. But as he spoke, smiling for the cameras while slicing carrots, he had a dawning awareness that he had never actually asked his family if they preferred the food he made–in his excitement he had just assumed they did. Was it possible he was asking too much of them?
He thought of Jennie and the expression on her face as she had lovingly laid the marshmallows atop the casserole. That casserole was about love for her, and about family. Who was he to ask her to give that up, and in service to a TV show no less. He began to hatch a plan that he hoped would resonate with his viewers and, more importantly, with his family.
* * *
Early in the afternoon, John gave Jennie a thumbs up that the meal was good to go. Everyone gathered in the dining room and exclaimed over the riot of colors from the dishes that crowded the table and the intoxicating aromas that filled the air. Warm herb biscuits nestled in cloth-covered baskets awaited a thick smear of Ploughgate butter. The turkey steamed on the sideboard, while gravy, carrots, mashed potatoes, and creamed onions encircled an empty pedestal at the center of the table. Everyone was waiting to take their seats. Jennie hesitated. Where’s John?
Unsure what to do, and with the television cameras rolling and the guests awaiting her cue, Jennie plastered an unsure smile on her face and took her place at the head of the table.
Just as the silence began to stretch into the uncomfortable, John rushed in. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “Had to do some last-minute touch-up under the broiler.” He wore hot pad holders on his hands and held a large, covered baking dish. He set it atop the pedestal and, with a wink that only Jennie could see, whipped off the cover with a flourish. His producer gasped, the kids clapped, and Jennie’s eyes filled with tears. There, pride of place at the center of the table, was her grandmother’s sweet potato casserole, the marshmallow topping a uniform golden brown.
John walked around the table to stand behind Jennie. He placed both hands on her shoulders, leaned over to kiss her cheek, and whispered in her ear: “I’m sorry. I lost my head there for a bit.” Jennie’s heart lurched, and she reached up to cover John’s hands with her own. She didn’t relish that such an intimate moment was being recorded for all the world to see, but the camera crew would not be denied its shot. She closed her eyes to give herself at least an illusion of privacy.
John grabbed Jennie’s salad plate, leaned across the table, and served himself a hearty portion of the sweet potato casserole. He raised the plate and looked into the camera to address his audience.
“As you can see, our Thanksgiving feast is a bit of a hodge-podge, reflecting new traditions and old. Just like our family, our holiday meal is perfectly imperfect, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. From my whole-food and not-so-whole-food family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving!”
* * *
“Abomination” Sweet Potato and Marshmallow Casserole
3 lbs. sweet potatoes
2 large eggs
½ cup brown sugar, divided
¼ cup butter, melted
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp cinnamon
Up to ½ cup fresh-squeezed orange juice
½ bag of mini marshmallows (jet puffed!)
With an electric mixer, beat the sweet potatoes in a large bowl until smooth. Add the eggs, one half of the brown sugar, melted butter, salt and cinnamon. Gradually beat in the orange juice until the mixture is fluffy. Add more orange juice and cinnamon to taste.
With a spatula, scrape the mixture into a 3-quart casserole. Smooth the top. Sprinkle with the remaining brown sugar and drizzle the remaining melted butter. Bake at 375 degrees for 25-30 minutes until the top bubbles. Once cooled, add a topping of marshmallows, packing the marshmallows tight to cover the entire surface. Cover with foil and place in refrigerator until ready to reheat.
To reheat: Remove foil and place casserole in the lower half of a 325-degree oven for 30 minutes. Watch that the marshmallows don’t burn. To finish, move casserole to the middle of the oven and broil on low for 1-2 minutes. Watch throughout the broiling and if necessary, turn the casserole to ensure even browning. Remove when the marshmallows are delightfully gooey and golden brown.
Enjoy!
Photo credit: The Seasoned Mom