spookyevilone: (Default)
It's Thanksgiving in Canada today, and in honour, I am posting the most recent spate of stupidity that's come my way.

"What does a vegetarian eat for Thanksgiving?!"
"Whatever the hell she wants!"
I was informed last year that it has now become an Ancient and Honorable Tradition* to have squash risotto for Thanksgiving. Last year, iirc, we had risotto, spiced chunked multicoloured potatoes, bread, and salad. So we had starch with our starch and some starch on the side, and weeds. And it was fantastic!

"Ohh, you're Native American. That means you can't have pumpkin!"
"You can't digest it. I read that somewhere."
I most certainly can eat pumpkin, and you can take my pumpkin pie away when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers! And even then, I am more likely to come back to life and seek your brains because there is some shit up with which I will not put, and taking away my pie is one of them. This is particularly dumb since pumpkins are a new world food and us injuns were most certainly eating them long before those white people in funny hats showed up in a leaking boat on the East Coast. Besides pie, my favourite pumpkin recipe is sliced pumpkin basted with rosemary-infused olive oil, dusted with sage and sea salt, and baked into "fries". You know.. just the way my ancestors ate it.

"How do you thank someone for a bountiful feast in Cherokee?"
".. Wa'do." (Literally: thanks)
"No, I mean, isn't there a phrase for it? I mean, like in the Thanksgiving plays?"
"You mean the Pilgrim plays, written by white folk for kids?"
We did one of these plays when I was in first grade. I asked my grandmother about it afterward, because I was confused about that whole "Thank you for inviting us to your bountiful feast" thing, and she snorted and said, "You want to thank a Cherokee woman for a bountiful feast? Get in the kitchen and do the dishes afterward for her so she can rest." In all honesty, I've never seen anyone say more than "Thank you", because it's more often said with actions. People would gather, and most of them would show up with food or beverage. Not necessarily pot-luck style, just "We had extra and thought you might like some." The men would go outside to help with some chore - usually chopping wood, because there's always a need for more chopped wood, or hauling hay/straw. The women would congregate in the kitchen and dining room and help set up, help finish cooking, or just chat. Children were put to work or sent outside to keep them out from underfoot. At the appropriate time, everyone would come inside and eat, and then they would sit around telling stories or jokes, or singing, or other pastoral things that are so homely that it makes my pancreas want to curl up and die just thinking about it.

I've had "feminists" tell me this is "completely sexist". One of my regrets is that I never got to see anyone say that to my grandmother's face. If you were in her kitchen, you made yourself useful or you GTFO. There was definitely sexism going on: My grandmother's view was that men were completely useless in the kitchen. My grandfather and uncles and cousins could cook, but she claimed they couldn't cook properly.

"Your people must be so thankful that the Europeans showed up and brought civilization and culture to them!"
"Yeah, only we called it 'uh yu gi'."
"What's that mean?"

"Happy Columbus Day!"
"Happy Thanksgiving!"
"It's not Thanksgiving!"
"It is in Canada."
"Well, I'm not Canadian."
"Well, I'm not related to a Spaniard who got lost."
"Half of you must be. I mean, you're white."
"Yeah..my mother came to the States in 1956. From Canada."

And it's only Monday..

* Ancient and Honorable Tradition = SCA speak for "We've done it this way for two years, so it is now retroactively the way we have ALWAYS done it and is now the way we must ALWAYS do it!" Though, in this instance, it is more a matter of That Guy being a huge fan of this risotto recipe and claiming it at least once a year.
spookyevilone: (Default)
The risotto was tres yum, the ginger salad dressing also, the stuffing lacked salt, and because That Guy is an enabler, the starchy feast was made more so by the presence of bread.

If left to my own devices, I will cheerfully eat an entire loaf of fresh bread with butter. Even when I was so full I couldn't finish the rest of the food on my plate, I managed to find room for another slice of bread.

There was jellied cranberry sauce from a can, sliced into circles, because that's the only proper way to serve it. As it's no longer Thanksgiving, I'm thinking about trying out the leftovers on a pb&j sandwich. Or freezing it to see if it turns into sherbet. Or feeding it to the cat. There's most of the can left, you see, and unlike bread, I can only eat so much of this stuff before I don't want to look at it for another 364 days.

The food was good, the movies were amusing, the company was lovely. It was a good Thanksgiving. Hope all you out there in LJ-land had an equally nice holiday.


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February 2014

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