I sincerely apologize to anyone who hoped to make a Thanksgiving dish featuring cream cheese and could not locate any at nearby grocery stores.
It was all at my house.
The thousands of cream cheese-driven calories I consumed was a not-so-new Thanksgiving tradition but this year it was the result of turning nearly all of the holiday meal details over to my 18-year-old daughter, taking a gap year from college due to the pandemic and discovery her affinity for cooking in the process. An athlete, she has a knack for inserting healthy ingredients into her concoctions – “Hey Dad, try these double fudge brownies. They’re made with avocadoes and chick peas!” – but health took a back seat this Thanksgiving. Her older sister added to the menu with a succulent buffalo wing dip, made with cream cheese, naturally. Luckily, she bought her own, eliminating the possibility of a sibling quarrel that would have been perfectly normal ten years ago.
This year, like so many other holiday tables, ours contained only immediate family – myself, my wife and two daughters. No parents, in-laws, siblings or out of town guests. Which meant no carpeting to frantically vacuum in anticipation of their arrival; no last-minute wine run and no “dinner’s over; NOW what are we supposed to do?” stares from around the table.
It was, well, it was kind of nice. And obviously different. None of us could remember a Thanksgiving where we weren’t surrounded by a crew. That lead to experimentation, something that is always easier when one doesn’t have a large audience to please. For the first time, I decided to pierce our bird with a rotisserie spit and prepare it on a grill. Yes, I was left to shiver outside, alone, for an hour but I wiled away the time by observing how others were handling a socially distanced Thanksgiving. I saw more dogs being walked, more kids playing outside and, as darkness fell, more homes bedazzled with Christmas lights.
I asked my Facebook friend community if they were experiencing their own “firsts” and how it felt. The responses ranged from somber to hilarious:
“After an adult lifetime of telling myself I really don’t enjoy the holidays too much – too much meal prep and cooking – I found I did miss the ritual of it all,” said Jean Anne, who saw her grandkids from the driveway this year and visited with other relatives via Zoom.
“Ate left over steak, two chicken legs and asparagus, ten chocolate chip cookies and milk. Cleaned up dog poop,” said Mark.
“Sitting down to eat in front of a mirror, drinking too much and arguing politics with yourself,” said David, when asked how he planned to spend the holiday. I neglected to check on his well-being the following day. Ditto for Kara, who said, “Thinking of letting the kids cook this Thanksgiving…trying to lose a few pounds and I figure a wee bit of salmonella may speed that process up.”
Many were proud of the new delicasies they produced or the traditions they started. A bacon-wrapped turkey breast from Beverly; apple pie bread pudding from Arlene and meat lasagna with bacon from Ted. Carla let her three kids shun the traditional side dishes and choose something they enjoy eating year-round.
“Bye bye green beans and pumpkin pie,” she said. “Hello Caesar salad and key lime pie.”
Ellen and her family purchased an organic turkey from a farm for the first time and plan to do so again.
“It was ridiculously expensive (but) we were able to pet goats at the pick up,” she said.
As for me, I realized cooking turkey on a grill means the house doesn’t smell heavenly of the holidays at 9 a.m.; that masks don’t hinder the Rockettes when they perform their classic Christmas choreography during the Macy’s parade; that macaroni and cheese can be an appetizer or a side dish if my daughter is in charge of the menu and the hours between five and seven p.m. will always be reservied for napping, even if an empty house means you can change your holiday bedtime to eight.
When the pandemic finally releases its grip on the world, we will look back and marvel at how it expanded our imaginations. How it jump started our creativity. How it made us embrace what we found cumbersome before March 2020.
And how it reinforced our affinity for cream cheese.
