6160 A Diary of the Urban Gardener and Cook

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. A cooking extravaganza with all my favorite foods combined with an afternoon of nonstop football and family at hand, what's not to like? With family splashed across New York, as a child we would frequently go to visit them on Thanksgiving - which of course meant standing in the cold watching the Macy's Parade. It feels so long ago - at this point, it's more like a montage of photographic stills and sensations. I remember it was always difficult to get to the actual parade route; large numbers of street closures meant weaving through streets like gerbal tubes to get to our destination. And although there were years it was unseasonably warm, it never was on the years we went. So.... along the way, we would always stop at the same coffee shop year after year (there were no Starbucks back then...) so that my aunts, uncles, etc... could all get espressos and coffees; for me, it was always a hot chocolate (much less for drinking, more to keep my hands warm). As we would get closer, I always noted the trees of Central Park were so much like those in St Louis at this time of year, with many of the leaves already stripped and those that remained were fading fast.

Throngs of people were all about us, with the "white noise" of crowds like at a baseball game (but louder, closer, and continuous). And then in the distance we could here marching band music; softly at first, but notably the "white noise" of the crowd in the distance was escalating. And soon the pitch would increase in intensity, and within minutes Skyscraper-like balloons, marching bands, television celebrities and cheering crowds filled the morning. As Santa on his sleigh would close the parade, we would already have started walking back to my aunt & uncle's flat; "the women" would set to work in the Pullman kitchen (my first encounter with a Pullman kitchen - it would impact me greatly as it was a complete model of efficient cooking; 6160 has a strong Pullman kitchen affect), while "the men" went to the living room for the football marathon. The day long affair ended with pumpkin pie and german chocolate cake (we are German...), old black & white movies (for some reason Humphrey Bogart or Barbara Stanwyck movies always seemed to be on), and discussions of Christmas.

I always remember waking the next morning to big bands and swing music; my aunt and uncle were huge fans (as am I) and would have the old radio in the kitchen dialed in to a local station. Back on the farm in St Louis, every Saturday night while cleaning the chicken coop I always had KMOX tuned in to follow the hockey game, after which Charlie Menees would kick in with a Big Band and Swing show. This Saturday night routine, coupled with the fond memories of Thanksgiving in New York with my "cool" aunt and uncle, had a powerful influence on me and how I view the holiday. Unlike the Black Fridays of today's generation, the morning after Thanksgiving was more leisurely (or at least it seemed as much to me). With Ella Fitzgerald hitting notes in the kitchen with perfect pitch and a percolator coffee pot that looked like a space capsule bubbling away (an image only the 1970's could have delivered), my aunt would appear with croissants and one blueberry muffin (that was for me) from the bakery across the street. That blueberry muffin was actually one of the high points of the visit; I would think about it constantly throughout the year. Even in the sea of fresh baked croissants you could smell the blueberries and butter, and the taste was to die for; not crumbly, not dry, and not too rich. It was the best blueberry muffin I have ever had; sadly, the bakery has long since passed but the memory of their blueberry muffins will live with me forever.

And off we'd go.

My family was never one to pound out Christmas shopping the day after Thanksgiving. Friday was more focused on windowshopping while spending time together, my aunt and my mother catching up on the times and fashions. I of course was mesmerized just by the sheer number of people and the monstrous size of the buildings (let alone the constant noise). Salvation Army bell ringers and singers (they had singers back then too) were at street corners everywhere; I was always pestering my dad and uncle for change to drop in the bucket. After a morning filled with the sights and sounds New York could deliver (along with some fortunate as well as unfortunate smells), we'd end the excursion with a stop at Union Square to purchase Christmas trimmings as well as a quick pop back to the bakery across from their flat to secure loaves of crusty bread for turkey sandwiches. That night, as we ate leftovers, we'd decorate the flat for Christmas.

It was Saturday, as I recall, that the major shopping occurred, and what a sight that was. All the adults in my family, so jovial and connected as we'd leave the apartment, would literally scatter in opposite directions the moment we stepped foot from the building. My mother used to joke that our family on the Saturday after Thanksgiving in New York was like picking up a rock on the farm, when bugs and whatnot would run in all directions. Everyone would return at various times throughout the day, scurrying to their respective rooms with bags crinkling under their coats, desperate to hide their acquired treasures from prying eyes.

This year, Thanksgiving bore a great deal of resemblance to the Thanksgivings of my childhood. The day began cold, very cold; dark gray wintery skies and chill, moist air seemed to signal a surprise snow shower was about to hit (which is exactly what happened in 2010...). The Emperor One Japanese Maple literally looked like it was on fire in the garden thanks to the dark gray start to the day. The Macy's Parade, splashed across the flatscreen in the Living Room, was disappointing; it seems to have transitioned from massive balloons and marching bands to musicians I'm barely familiar with lip synching on floats alongside Broadyway vignettes from shows I've never heard of. Oh well. The night before, I'd shifted the new dining server from the Shed to the dining room. Sitting proudly in front of the bookshelves, the server was custom made by my contractor, who literally designed it with shelves to specifically fit the serving pieces in the old dining room cupboard. A linen tablecloth from Denmark (with Nestle advertising - of all things...) was spread across the table, with a french iron basket filled with white mini pumpkins as the centerpiece. Toile pitchers filled with savory herbs from the Orchard were brought in for the cooking marathon that lied ahead.

This year's menu:

Bacon-wrapped Scallops

Asparagus, Mushrooms, and Red Peppers seared in rosemary balsamic

Roast Turkey

Mushroom Gravy

Red Skin Buttermilk Mashed Potatoes

Fresh Cut Corn

Cranberry and Orange Zest Relish

Cranberry Orange Bread

Maple and Pumpkin Whoopie Pies

Pumpkin Pie

Wines were intriguing; I found myself yet again the only white drinker. So even though the ice bucket in the dining room dry sink was filled with crushed ice and chilled bottles Santa Margherita, the family instead worked its way through a variety of reds furnished by the Williams-Sonoma wine club.

The weather altered dramatically as the afternoon progressed; out of no where it suddenly became sunny and unusually warm (although you could tell by the chill and blustery wind that this anomoly was temporary at best). Dining together was a slow and happy affair; as the Packers whallopped the Lions, we channel surfed only to land on "Sixteen Candles", a movie that is about to turn 30 years old (good Lord... where have the years gone!). Family departed as the sun was setting, leaving time to put the house back in order after a long day entertaining.

True to form, Friday isn't all that Black at 6160. Just as in days gone by, the only retailer visited was the nursery down the street, where ropes of red cedar were purchased en masse and the annual haggling over a tree that needed to be "slightly larger than tabletop but not over four feet tall". Hollies in the front were trimmed (finally, if you were to ask some of the readers of this website!) and cuttings placed throughout the house. Antique silverplate and mercury glass were brought out, as were antique post cards from the late 19th century. Nearly the entire morning of Black Friday is dedicated to putting Christmas decorations into effect at 6160, whereas the afternoon entails putting the garden to bed for the winter. Herbs are brought inside to overwinter in the second floor sitting room, pots are emptied and stored in the Shed, and the kitchen is filled with cuttings of everything imaginable to cook with for the rest of the weekend (a final fling, if you will, with the garden).

Saturday, just like the days gone by in New York, is the magic day for finishing the Christmas shopping here at 6160. It's funny how you reach a point in your life where you don't really want to give "things", you want to give "experiences". Thus I often gift friends, family, and coworkers with giftcards, foods, and wines from the specialty stores on the Hill. Letting the people you enjoy being with experience the tastes, flavors, delicacies, and scents of some of the best foods and wines available - that's an experience that should be shared. Perhaps they will find something in one of those stores that remind them of trips they've taken to Italy (many have) or something to make special dinners with friends and family that much more special. Better still, perhaps they will find a food or foods that they themselves relish like the blueberry muffin from the New York bakery back in my childhood.