HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

Growing up in an Italian American house, the tradition was an important part of my life. Certain holidays such as Easter and Christmas, and of course Christmas Eve with the seven fishes were all so important to me.

When it came to Thanksgiving, it had a different shine on it, one filled with icons and an Italian flavor.

Mom had a certain roasting pan and cover for the turkey that she took out once a year. When the pan came out, it was Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving only. It was a heavy cast iron pan with a cover, black handle on the cover and boat-shaped.

Ben Franklin wanted it as the national bird, and a lot has been written about it. It floats by Macy’s in the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade, and it is used as a derogatory name for some bad thing or idea. Yet, turkey is the one thing most people are sure to have at the end of November.

 It supposedly looks up in the sky with its mouth open when it rains and drowns doing so, (a fallacy), and it is considered stupid as birds or animals go.

Back in the day, Thanksgiving was a special day. The grownups got dressed in ties and jackets and fancy dresses, and that was just the men, and the kids too were well-groomed for the day. You would see cousins and aunts and uncles. In my family, the aunts were particularly troublesome, as they walked into the house, got one look at me after a year since the last visit, squeeze my cheeks (facial cheeks, wise-guy) and say, ”MY how you have grown!” This was followed by a spittle bath, as she slobbered all over my face like a friendly dog! My uncles would always ask questions as a form of self-introduction. “Hey, you got any scotch for your uncle?” OR “You playing little league?” or “Whose kid are you, anyway?”

Every now and then on Thanksgiving Day, we would all sit at the table, and someone would decide we needed to say grace. Now we were good people that didn’t pray all that much since we were busy arguing or yelling at each other. My father and uncles would squirm and feel uncomfortable even as they discarded their jackets and sat in their shirtsleeves with my mother and aunts watching for one of the men to say something embarrassing. “Eh, Tess, passer the polpette!” or “Who’s a gotta the stuffin?” or “Eh, Tony, passer the vino down a here already.” Followed the collective Amen.

Conversations always had one radical in the mix, usually someone who married into the family and not of the same persuasion when it came to politics. “Whadda you somer kinda oo Communista?” This was followed by a wave of the arm, and “AH! You no wanna to hearer the truth.”


The day after Thanksgiving was not considered just a Friday or Black Friday, but an extension of the day before. It was my favorite part of the holiday when the turkey sandwiches with leftover Italian sausage stuffing and wine came out. There was no work that day and a lot of the relatives were still lingering around, like a morning after the fish you made the night before. We would chat and laugh and eat like the menu was a whole new one!

Me, I never really cared for turkey, and neither did my grandmother, who would make a turkey for everyone else on Thanksgiving Day, and a capon for herself. Grandma Frances was one of a kind. After the pasta, the gravy meat: Braciola, both pork and beef, meatballs with raisins and pine nuts, and sausage: both hot and mild, then came the turkey, along with the Italian stuffing and the usual mushrooms. After which, we had a salad, finoccio, pastries, nuts and fruit, and fennel, all accompanied by homemade wine and demitasse cups filled with rich black Medaglia d’Oro coffee. If you wanted “sauce” you got out the Italian liquors. If you looked to cover your pasta, it was gravy. If you sat at the table and said: Pass the sauce” while holding up your plate of pasta, everyone took a turn slapping you silly. (Hey, it was a holiday. We were all in good cheer.) If you added: “Please” we made you eat in the garden with the squirrels.
 Grandma had three rules on that day:

 1. Bevuta: drink
 2. Mangia: eat e’
 3. Non fart

 But you can have your turkey as for me give me the Italian stuffing. Grandma and Mom and now my wonderful wife all made it for me. The sausage, diced or chopped mushrooms, pine nuts, raisins, eggs, and mushed Italian bread in milk all came together and I was then and still am now, in Il Cielo Italiano. If I don’t get it on Thanksgiving, I’d go into a room and close myself off and sob.

Usually whoever didn’t make it on Thanksgiving Day, such as distant relatives and friends, showed up the day after apologetic, stating they missed everyone and promising not to do that again next year.

 HAPPY THANKSGIVING FROM TLW (THE LITTLE WOMAN) AND ME!

 P.S. The day after Thanksgiving is the day I asked TLW to marry me, over 49-years ago! (Poor girl!)

So, have a Happy Thanksgiving, eat a lot, including dessert, drink as much as you like, just don’t burp out loud or cut the cheese.