Thanksgiving and "Dirty Rice"

by Fran McNabb

 

It’s November, but in some stores you’d think it was already Christmas. Shelves are lined with Christmas decorations and trees and toys.

But it’s still November so I wanted to spend my space here thinking about the holiday before Christmas. Thanksgiving is usually a pretty low-keyed holiday except for the cook in the family who has to come up with a menu for the meal, do the shopping and then the cooking. Most families have their own traditions so coming up with the menu is usually not that hard. When I had family close by, I usually did the cooking for everyone after my mother got too old to do it. I’d always say I was going to come up with something new. Never happened. I’d always do the same spread every year.

When I look back at those years, I realize how enjoyable they were, not just because we had a huge meal and way too many desserts, but because the family was together. Now that it’s just my husband and me in town, we travel to one of our sons to spend the holiday with his family. We try to continue some of our traditions, but I want them to create their own as well.

I wanted to share a favorite recipe from our family meals. Seldom did we have a traditional bread dressing with our meal. We usually had mashed potatoes and a rice dressing we called “dirty rice.” If you’ve been in the south Louisiana area, you may have heard of it. My father was Cajun so it was one our Sunday and holiday staples.  I’ll share the recipe below.
What were some of your favorite dishes at Thanksgiving? Do you ever include them in your books?

DIRTY RICE

1 c. vegetable oil                                                                                                                                                  1/2 bell pepper, chopped                                                                                                                                      1 lb. ground meat                                                                                                                                                  1 stalk celery, chopped                                                                                                                                        1 lb. ground pork                                                                                                                                                     1 lg. cooking spoon roux (browned flour)                                                                                                          1 lb gizzards                                                                                                                                                           
1 T. Kitchen Bouquet browning sauce                                                                                                                1/2 t. cayenne pepper                                                                                                                                       1/2 c. green onions, chopped                                                                                                                          Salt and pepper to taste                                                                                                                                        5 c. cooked rice                                                                                                                                                       1 to 2 lg. onions, chopped

 Wash and grind or chop gizzards. Heat oil in large pot and add beef, pork and gizzards. Cook over medium heat until all meats are cooked. Add salt and pepper. Stir occasionally. Add vegetables and simmer until they are soft. Cover with water and cook down until mixture thickens. Add roux if mixture is too thin. Add browning sauce and cook about 1 hour. Add green onions. Cook about five minutes. Mix with cooked rice. TIP: Gravy, without the rice, can be frozen.        

FRAN MCNABB grew up along the Gulf Coast with a Cajun father and a Croatian mother. Fran writes traditional romance and sometimes mentions foods in her stories. Recently she published a cookbook COASTAL COOKING. Visit her at www.FranMcNabb.com or email her at mcnabbf@bellsouth.net        

 

 

 

Nostalgia Time!

Christmas is a time for nostalgia--for entertaining the ghosts of Christmas Past and Present and trying to titillate the ghost of Christmas Future, hoping to catch a glimpse as he flutters by. We work at making memories, so it shouldn't surprise us when those memories come full circle and we see our children and later, our grandchildren, repeating the same traditions.

When I was a child, my parents had a basic rule: no one could approach the tree on Christmas morning until the whole family was together. My hubby liked the idea, so we continued it with our family, but our kids took it a step further. They picked one bedroom where the whole crowd gathered, some in sleeping bags on the floor. Then when the first of them stirred, they woke the others. Since the rule said we had to be there too, they woke us by singing Christmas carols down the hallway. It was a lovely way to awaken each December 25.

Now some of our grandchildren huddle together on Christmas Eve and wake their parents with carols the following morning. Some have also continued a tradition begun with my mother and carried down through my family: homemade cinnamon rolls with egg nog, mulled cider, and/or hot chocolate as a mid-morning brunch after the gifts are opened. Both are traditions worth emulating.

We had other traditions we weren't so eager to pass down, such as the stay-up-until-early-hours-putting-toys-together marathon. I hope none of our children are carrying that one forward. Then there's the tradition no one else has needed, the one in which my birthday present appears under the tree wrapped in non-Christmas paper, the peculiar joys brought on by a Christmas-week birth.

Other traditions are shared by some of the next generation and fondly remembered by others. The pipe bells, made for me as a gift by my sister-in-law in a style similar to those made years before for my mother, are a Christmas Eve tradition. When we gather around the fireplace, we share around the bells and laugh as we try to keep rhythm on familiar carols.

Of course there are also the familiar recipes: fudge and caramels by the pound, certain kinds of brittle and divinity only made at Christmas time, pumpkin bread, holiday pudding, and a wide variety of others. Each has its memories and different family members promise "it wouldn't be Christmas" without one combination or another. Since we add to them every year (the newest is Coconutty Christmas Pie), the list of sugary treats seems to grow as rapidly as our waistlines and we always have something to resolve for the new year.

A few days from now we'll be looking forward to another joyous Christmas with much of our family here to share it. We'll be enjoying old traditions and making new ones. Whatever the holiday means to you and yours, I wish you merriment, joy, and peace.

Susan Aylworth is the author of 14 novels, all available as e-books. She loves her northern California home which she shares with her husband of 46 years and the two spoiled cats they serve. When she can't be with her seven children, seven great kids-in-law, and 25 grandbabies, she loves hanging with her fictional offspring, the children of her mind. She also loves hearing from readers. Visit her website at www.susanaylworth.com or find her @SusanAylworth, at .facebook.com/Susan.Aylworth.Author, or on Pinterest.

Bank Accounts & Shaving Kits

I have been reading Kathryn Forbes’s book of family stories, Mama’s Bank Account — my own mother’s favorite book and one given to me by my eldest sister thirteen years ago.

My mother was a story-teller in her own right, keeping me entertained for hours during my childhood and teenage years. In tribute to her, I asked her to write her stories about her experience during World War II. I published these in a small print run for her 90th birthday to share with my siblings and their families.

After her death, I published her stories in a digital edition, now available to the world.

Watching the funeral of Justice Antonin Scalia reminded me of how much my father influenced my life. My mother used to say “If you don’t want to do something you don’t think is right, tell the other girls that your mother won’t let you.” After my father’s death when I was thirteen, and for many years after, I found myself saying, “If my father was alive, he would not let me do this.” Thankfully, I was spared the most dire consequences of my stupidity.

Reading Forbes’s account of her early family life in San Francisco brought many personal memories to mind. One of the stories was titled “Mama and the Graduation Present” which reminded me of a Christmas present I received from my mom and dad when I was in my preteen years.

I had just started junior high school (now called middle school for some strange, unknown to me, reason) and my female peers had a great influence on my sense of what was expected of teenage girls. Besides the usual hair style and pegged jeans (my generation’s equivalent of skinny jeans), the gym-suit and short socks required smooth legs.

My crime became known to my mother when my father cut his chin while shaving with a dull razor. Since I had expressed a desire for a lady’s razor and that request was denied, the perpetrator was obvious to her. Without revealing her sources, she assured my dad that there were new blades in his shaving kit.

When his new blade was dull before its time, Mom had no choice but to point her finger.

Though I had an allowance based on my own estimation of my weekly expenses and a stipend for completing all my chores, there was not enough in the short time I had, to purchase the implement required. Complain, cajole and beg as I will, my mother was adamant that I did not need to have smooth legs at my age.

One of my sisters and her family invited us to spend Christmas with them. We drove to Arizona for the occasion and my younger sister and I were crammed into the backseat on either side of one three by three foot toy box for my nephew and its companion for my niece tied into the trunk of our two-tone Ford sedan.

Since the arrival of grandchildren, we seemed to have taken a backseat to this new generation although I was only six years older than my Arizona niece. I had little in the way of expectations for a Christmas spent away from home. There were a few presents from my parents for my little sister and me under the tree but the toy boxes were chock-a-block with toys.

My father always went out on Christmas Eve to buy stocking presents. These were his special project, a holdover from his own childhood as the youngest of nine children and the infrequent recipient of toys. On Christmas morning, the youngest members of the family were wildly excited. I—at the age of twelve—as the eldest of the children, approached the present-opening event with decorum and patience.

Decorum and patience flew out the patio doors along with my vast sense of maturity when I opened the little blue and white circular, click-closure box to discover this: 

I doubt my father had the where-with-all to make the choice without some input from his wife. This was the most exciting and best loved gift that year and for many thereafter. In fact, I have never forgotten the feeling. Not because I had wanted it or asked for it, but because my parents had heard me and were not opposed to the changes in young ladies’ grooming requirements.

Like Kathryn Forbes at the end of her story about her Graduation Present when her father offered his “grown-up daughter” her first cup of coffee,  I “felt very proud.” 

Reflections

Recent posts on holiday lights brings to mind an item I read in the newspaper. At that time, I found the column amusing, but now I'm not so sure. The Christmas lights do add to the beauty of holiday decorations and displays. However, all the additional light and intense focus on holiday traditions doesn't always bring happy results.

Any smooth surface around these lights will give off reflections. There's no escape from the image of the gray haired woman staring back at you when you pass a store window or mirror. At first you think the image resembles your deceased mother. Perhaps you turn quickly to get a better glimpse of someone passing on the street behind you, but see no one familiar. You may dust a table or glance at a framed photo and see a reflection of the stranger again. She looks familiar, and yet she doesn't. But she is always there, peeping over your shoulder when you pass a light reflecting surface. When you can't find a favorite book or misplace your keys, you recall how your mother once did the same things.

The impression gets worse when you attempt to pass on family traditions.  Recipes can't be found, or attempts to cook your family favorites go awry. You're desperate to recreate memories from the past, yet your attempts fall short of your expectations.

All the while, that older woman appears behind you like a shadow, and you're certain she is always frowning. You're disappointed at what you consider your failure to rekindle traditions. Yet guests compliment your decorations. Others love the refreshments or ask your secret of creating such a wonderful holiday scent in your home.

But you can be certain not everyone likes the same thing, and that is true of writers and readers. Even the best of friends aren't going to like the same movies, music or books, and that is good news. Each person will notice something different. You may love the extra hint of sage in the holiday stuffing, while your family may love the moist/dry consistency. And you can bet that shadowy image is going to be there, and she will always forget some detail...

The good news is that all readers don't read your book to look for mistakes. Most people read purely for pleasure, and even that reflection in the mirror smiles some of the time.

Now...about those other reflections, the ones you assumed this post was about... Do you look back on the past year and make New Years' Resolutions?