In the States, Thanksgiving always connotes the notions of tradition.

And what isn’t more American or traditional than baseball in November (or calling it a “World Series” 😉 )?  What Cubs fan isn’t giving thanks this season?!

Aside from traditions passed from generation to generation from a storied team like the Cubs– for most of us– traditions evolve within periods in our lives.  There isn’t a hard and fast science to judge how much time must pass for a tradition to be established.  The Digital age, blended families,  aging.. all contribute to evolutions. In our family, aging defines our changes— and I’m seeing three distinct periods, or “main acts”emerging:

First Act

Growing up, our Thanksgiving was spent at my paternal Grandmother’s, who always made it an elegant, somewhat exotic affair albeit in her modest house.

Going to her house was always an adventure, too, as we sang the old Peanuts song, “Over the River and Through the Woods,” as we trekked our way.

In actuality, it was more like, “over the driveway and across the street,” since Grandma only lived a few blocks away, but *across* a very busy street; and hey, Charlie B’s gramma lived in a a condo.  😉 )

So what did I mean by “elegant”?  As a kid not exposed to much- seeing Grandma’s fancy crystal bowl set my mouth watering. It was always filled with different delicacies like Brach’s Jelly Nougats, Spearmint Leaves or Orange Slices, or– spice gum drops– we’re talking high class here.

Or– if I were really lucky, I’d get a piece of Jaja’s black licorice, which he kept special in a cedar chest where his cartons of Philip Morris were stashed. I hate what tobacco consumption did to my Jaj, but I can’t erase the precious memory of the flavors of cedar, tobacco and licorice coming together in one delicious treat. That informs my palate today; I seek out complex flavors in sweets, foods, and wines.

Without knowing my past experience, my besties Doug and Mike hassle me mercilessly about the “grannie” candies and desserts I prefer,  but they also are the first to ask for seconds when I serve them.  And I let them know that it’s not just my Grandma’s (and Jaj’s) palate, but Uncle Ed’s, Aunt Helen’s, Great Grandma Marks, Great Grandma Saleski’s– all that feed into my preferences.  I make a mean Manhattan, thanks to Uncle John!

And.. back at Grandma’s house in those years.. her table was exotic, defined by her China–“Bali Hai”, which you can see in all its mid-century modern glory below.  The set was a gift to her from my Uncle Ralph who purchased it at the local hardware store, which had a gift shop (fancy hardware store, right?).  That tradition of setting an exotic table will now be the sole province of my niece Julia, when she starts her own traditions.

Those years at Grandma’s house also gave us a chance to hang with my cousins Sharon, Diane, and Mark.  We all witnessed the work that Grandma and our great Aunt Helen did throughout the day–everything from creating the feast to washing dishes by hand.

Those times were all too short, as we lost Jaj to lung  cancer in 1978.  That kind of loss affects every generation. And specific to Thanksgiving, we went into a transition phase, alternating between my other Grandma’s and my parents house.  In those years, comedians like Adam Sandler created a festive background. Who doesn’t like turkey in a big brown shoe?

Second Act

Finally settling in Chicago after grad school, I decided to take the reigns of re-building a Thanksgiving tradition.  The Thanksgiving season after all– fall, colors, smells, food, family & friends– is my favorite time of the year.

Those first years of establishing a tradition weren’t easy. As with any good story, there needed to be an antagonist to the protagonist/hero.  Those yin/yang roles varied throughout the years– sometimes I myself was one or the other. I could completely relate to Katie Holmes’ April in Pieces of April (IMHO one of the best Thanksgiving movies ever).

In our Chicago Thanksgiving story, early years, my baby nephew Alex was the unwitting antagonist, peeing like a geyser on my freshly made bed as he was getting changed the first year (maybe he was inspired by Buckingham Fountain), and knocking over my prized model sailboat another.

But little Alex wasn’t the only one.  There was the year that my oven boycotted Thanksgiving and the turkey was raw after 8 hours of baking at 350 degF (WTH), or the other year my Mom was taking a shower and screamed bloody murder because she thought she was “vacuumed sealed into the shower stall” of my bathroom.. she didn’t realize that the door swung open instead of sliding open. We did later crack up in hysterics as she meekly recounted her horror at the thought of a front page Chicago Tribune feature story on firemen rescuing “the stuck, naked fat lady.”

And the memories of my brother, Larry, not rising the brined turkey– a salty Thanksgiving was that! And Julia and Alex always up to their shenanigans– fighting over who would light the table’s candles (we had to continually blow them out and let the other relight them in all the pageantry befitting The Camelot Years of the White House.)

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During those years, our tradition also started to include friends who didn’t have plans, or weren’t from Chicago and chose not to travel.  We were always about the more-the-merrier and I affectionately started referring to them as “Thanksgiving orphans.”  Mom– not initially understanding the context or concept, proudly bragged to her co-workers and friends about what a generous, thoughtful young man she had raised in me.  We finally connected the dots one year when Mom — normally reserved and polite around my orphans– pointedly looked at my 30 year old friend,  Johnny, innocently (but somewhat accusingly) stating– while pushing her peas around her plate— “you look kind of old to be an orphan, Johnny….”

As sometimes art imitates life, that story reminds me of one of my and my best friend Lisa’s favorite sketch comedy schticks, “My Match” which introduces us to shell-shocked contestants Jerry and Susan. Back from break, Jerry states “uh, when I was brought onto the show, I was under the impression that you could win prizes or money, not orphaned children”  As so the bit goes that no matter how or what they answered, they won orphans!  So wrong, but also so funny…

“‘Name a mode of transportation,” the host says. ‘ Uh.. wooden.’  ‘Judges– can we accept that answer? Yes?  Yes, we can!!'”

Those/these Thanksgivings in Chicago continued to evolve with more traditions layered on:

• Wednesday (Italian night) dinners at Francesca Bryn Mawr
• Fresh turkeys from Harrison’s Poultry Farm in Glenview
• Michigan Avenue shopping combined with architectural/cultural tours
• Expanding family; my brother Larry’s fiance Judy and her son/my “nephew” Jerrit– whose first Thanksgiving was with us.
• Facetime- -perhaps one of best inventions for connectivity with friends and family with whom we can’t be in person

Third Act

With Mom’s passing last year from cancer, we again find ourselves in transition stage, as we set our sights on Saugatuck-Douglas at RWP.  The Norman Rockwell-esque setting of the beautiful small town/country atmosphere lends itself to special new memories to come.

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All of Mom’s, and both Grandma’s tools are at RWP. And Brian’s Mom’s (Momma Nonna) and Grandma Jo’s china are there, too!  A blending of our families and traditions.

As I’ve perhaps illustrated in my own life experience, traditions are fluid and evolving, and the one connective tissue that is the foundation for my love of the Thanksgiving holiday (aside from the bonding, and thankfulness): the food.  The recipes carried down and across are more important than ever.

With that thought, I will leave you with old and new recipes:

Roasted Beet Salad

Ingredients

• Fresh beets (with stems and leaves on)- 1 pound per 4 people
  • I tend to only use red, but with new varietals such white and golden, why not experiment?
• Spinach and/or Arugula (the peppery flavor of the arugula is a nice compliment)
• Good Seasons dressing (your favorite flavor; I alternate between Italian and Roasted Garlic)
• Vinegar (I also alternate between Balsamic, Red Wine, and White)
• Olive Oil
• White cheese crumbled (my favorites: goat cheese or feta)
• Mandarin orange slices (optional, as are other garnish such as croutons)
• Kosher salt
• Cracked pepper

Simple directions

• Set oven to 400 degF
• Cut off all but 2 inches of the stems to the beets (Grandma Beri (Provalenko) always said that for any recipe that involved beets, including her own Borscht)
• Wrap beets in foil and lightly drizzle olive oil over them; season with salt and pepper; place in an uncovered roasting pan
• Roast beets for 1 hour or more, judging doneness by tenderness (a fork should easily go into them) and/or seepage of beet juice into pan
• Once done, remove beets from oven, allow to cool to room temperature; peel by hand
  • I’ve found that peeling by hand vs by knife yields less loss of beets; it does, however, stain your hands a lovely shade of red
• Prepare the Good Seasons in a cruet, following the directions with the Olive oil and vinegar
• Cut the beets into bite-sized chunks and marinate in the Good Seasons dressing

Arranging

• The arrangement is everything;  since this is the salad for our meal, I like to make it a ‘wow’ moment when it comes out.
• Start with a great serving bowl.  Ours is the Acacia sustainable wooden bowl from Crate and Barrel, paired with Nambe individual bowls.

• First, lay down the washed leaves of Spinach and arugula in a circular form– it will look like a wreath.
• Layer on the beet mixture in the center, season the entire salad with salt and pepper
• Top with goat cheese chunks and other desired toppings
• After presenting, hand toss at table
• Voila!  Salad is served!

Apricot Kolaczaki by Grandma Beri (Provalenko)

(transcribed from very old index card, circa 1950s; as economical with words as was F. Scott Fitzgerald, so was Grandma Stella )

1 cup milk      –   1 cake Yeast

Put a cake of (fresh) yeast in cup with 1 tbsp of sugar

And ¼ cup of milk  (lukewarm and let rise a little).

In another bowl make a paste of 1 cup of flour and the

rest of milk left from the the cup ….  Add yeast mix and let

Rise ½ hr. covered.

In other bowl measure 3 cups of flour and 2 Tbsp. Sugar,

pinch of salt and ½ lb. of butter.  Work

dough like a pie crust then add 4 egg yolks and the paste and

knead until dough feels like elastic.  Form dough and cut into

4 pieces.  Roll each piece to 12”  long and 10” wide and fill with

apricots (ed. note: paste?) and let rise 2 hours and bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes.

Happy Thanksgiving Season to one and all. May you celebrate and enjoy your own traditions, no matter in which “Act” you find yourselves!

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