Unlike the esteemed and older-than-I-thought Twistie, Thanksgiving isn’t my favorite holiday.

In fact, until I checked the comments here, I had no idea it was just a few weeks away. I am, at the moment, sitting on the terraza of Villa Plumcake overlooking the Pacific, drinking pineapple juice and watching the solitary surfer in hopes case he gets attacked by a shark (what? Shark Week was months ago and now I’m bored. That doesn’t make me a bad person.) which makes it difficult to think of turkeys and casseroles and poorly-dressed yankees who couldn’t find their way to a proper place like Virginia and probably weren’t even Episcopalians to begin with.

However, this upcoming Thanksgiving will be my last one in the US for at least a few years so I am getting uncharacteristically sentimental, especially because it’s my first Thanksgiving without my grandparents who raised me, as they both died in December of last year.

That brings us to Moldy Salad.

Moldy salad made its appearance twice a year: Christmas and Thanksgiving. It was a…festive…gelatin-based creation, consisting of layers of a white Cool Whip/gelatin/cream cheese  concoction and a red-flavored Jell-O one into which canned cherries had been lovingly incorporated. My grandmother set this in an avocado green aluminum bundt mold that will probably give us all early-onset Alzheimer’s, and served it sliced on a single leaf of–you guessed it– iceberg lettuce. The overall effect was as if someone served us a bisected wedge of the Wicked Witch leg, and I’m not sure it tasted much better.

So now here’s the question:

My grandmother, whose qualities were otherwise countless (depending on how high you could count) could not cook to save her life. She didn’t like food, she didn’t like cooking and she didn’t like eating. Still, if there was a dish for which she was familially famous, it was Moldy Salad.

I am now in possession of the old bundt mold and am halfway tempted to try to recreate the recipe as a sort of homage to my grandmother for my last Thanksgiving with my relatives.

Do I try to recreate her authentic recipe? Make a more posh (as in, actually made of food recognized as such in nature or at least by the FDA) version? Skip it altogether and let its memory stay jiggly but unsullied? I don’t eat Jell-O in any shape or form (long stay in the hospital when I was but a wee bairn) but it might be nice to do for the fam.

Suggestions? Recipes? Hideous family dishes you’ve known and loved? Put it in the comments!

As you’re all probably aware by now, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year. It’s about good food, and it’s about appreciating the good things in life, both of which are things I really love. It gives me a chance to show off my culinary chops, which is my idea of a good time.

Over the centuries… well, the century and a half and change that Thanksgiving has been an official, annual, national holiday here in the States, the menu has more or less codified across the country. Sure there are regional and family traditions that don’t translate elsewhere, and there are the families who – because of allergies or other food restrictions – have to find ways to adapt the meal to fit their needs. And there are those brave souls who chuck the entire traditional meal because they just plain don’t like any of it. Still, wherever you go in the US of A on that fateful thursday, the vast majority of tables will feature at least these dishes: roast turkey with stuffing/dressing, mashed potatoes or a sweet potato dish, cranberries in some form, and pumpkin pie. And then there are the things that are more common than not, such as: green bean casserole, biscuits or dinner rolls, some sort of salad, and a second dessert, often apple or pecan pie.

Of that list, the one I absolutely cannot do without no matter what else is or isn’t on the table is the pumpkin pie, preferably baked by my own fair hands. I admit that part freely. I love to bake pies, and baking the pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving has been my job for the last forty-two years. No way am I giving that up until I am physically incapable of doing it anymore! For me, pumpkin is the flavor of Thanksgiving. It’s also my traditional day after Thanksgiving breakfast, along with a cup of strong, black coffee.

But there are a couple things on that list I could definitely survive never seeing on a Thanksgiving table again. Green bean casserole and anything that mucks up perfectly good sweet potatoes with marshmallows and too many sweet things, I’m looking at you. Sweet potatoes are already sweet. That’s why they’re called sweet potatoes. They don’t need to be drowned in sugar. As for green bean casserole, well, whether it’s made with a can of Campbell’s or from absolute scratch… it’s still got mushrooms in it and I can’t stand mushrooms. Leave out the casserole, though, and I love me some green beans.

If those things are on the table, obviously I won’t scream and throw hissey fits until they go away. I’ll just quietly keep passing them when they get to my end of the table and fill my plate with the things I love. But if they weren’t there… yeah, no tear shedding over that.

And there’s a family dish that I miss a lot. My mother’s second dessert on Thanksgiving was always a steamed pudding, usually ginger. It was fabulous. Cakey and moist and full of little bites of fresh ginger, it made my mouth sing. Alas! These days I don’t have enough people around the table to seriously justify a second dessert. And since for the past couple years Mr. Twistie and I have shared the holiday with a friend who lives a two-hour drive away… we have to think carefully about what we can transport successfully in the confines of our car. A freshly steamed pudding is not easily transported. But maybe I’ll do one for Christmas this year.

So how about you? What’s your favorite of the traditional Thanksgiving dishes? What’s the one you never want to eat again in your lifetime? Is there a family or regional dish you grew up with that you miss? Or one you remember with a shudder of horror?

Let’s dish!

Intuitive eating is a concept that scares a lot of people. It makes many of them angry because of that fear. It seems like a runaway horse that’s going to trample the world. But when you get right down to it, it’s not such a scary thing. It’s just paying attention to your body and honoring it.

No, not everybody has to follow intuitive eating. That’s up to you as an individual. Still, before rejecting the idea out of hand, wouldn’t you like to know what it really is and isn’t? Here are some common myths about the concept and the truth behind the panic.

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Once upon a time, a young lad worked all day long with his sister and his mother on making three huge, lasagnas from scratch for that evening’s pot luck dinner at the Lutheran church they attended. The three of them chopped and stirred and grated and layered and baked all day long, happy that they would produce a delicious meal to share with friends and neighbors.

At last the time arrived and they gathered up the lasagnas and got them to the church hall on time. But no sooner had they arrived than the pastor asked if they could help set up the tables and chairs. Of course they were willing. Of course they delivered the lasagnas and went straight to work setting up the room… all by themselves.

And while they were working so hard, the food line was opened and people began finding seats and eating. Many of them liked lasagna, as it turned out.

By the time the boy and his sister and his mother finished setting up the tables and chairs for the entire rest of the congregation, nearly everyone had been through the line at least once. Many had been through twice.

So the boy and his sister and his mother got in line for what was left. Let’s see… there were half a dozen pots of baked beans, most of them in hues that were somewhat unconventional for baked beans. There was ambrosia salad. Every potluck in history, someone brought that stuff and to this day I believe there are twelve people who have tried it – eleven of whom have regretted it immediately. There were some Jell-o salads with chunks of random stuff in them that did not appeal.

Lasagna? Long gone. The pans had been cleaned of even the tiniest iota of burnt cheese.

But there was one thing left on that buffet that the boy was willing to eat: a single slice of chocolate cake.

And there was a woman ahead of him in line (going through for the third time) who was reaching for it.

The boy thought fast. He had something of a gift for telling tales sincerely and he told one now:

“My mom made that cake.”

“That’s nice.”

“It’s a my favorite cake.”

“Uh huh.”

“My mom has trouble getting me and my sister to eat our vegetables, so she makes this great chocolate cake and puts cauliflower in it. That’s chocolate cauliflower cake.”

“What???”

“Yeah, she puts the cauliflower in and then I eat it right up. It’s delicious.”

At that point, the lady decided she didn’t need a slice of that cake. They boy and his sister shared the slice of cake, which was entirely sans cauliflower. They enjoyed it tremendously.

The boy grew up to be Mr. Twistie’s best friend, songwriting partner, and devil on his shoulder. Tweedledum to his Tweedledee, as it were. He’s a good friend of mine, too.

And today is his birthday, so I’m baking him a chocolate cake… and just for him, I’ll tell him it’s got cauliflower in it, even though it doesn’t.

Happy birthday, my friend, and many, many more!

Click for links and watch your fingers!

Greetings my little firecrackers of love, how’s every little thing? Me, I’m great. I’ve never spent the Fourth of July outside the United States before…surprisingly it’s not QUITE as big a deal here. It reminded me of the time I was in Ireland doing one of those double decker bus tours of Dublin (we were tired, okay?) and the tour conductor seemed to take less than a warm and tender view re: the English Reformation I –as the World’s Most Glamorous Anglican ™– know and love.

Anyway, it’s Tuesday which means it’s time to find out What Miss Plumcake is…

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Greetings my little rock and roll hoochie koos (ha, you’re welcome for THAT earworm) how’s every little thing? Me, I’m great. Just living it up south of the border, which is technically north of where I actually live. Anyway, it’s Tuesday and time to find out
What Miss Plumcake is…

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