Column: Four tables for thanks

My family’s past is a history of separate tables.

My parents are divorced, and my paternal grandparents have remarried. During breaks, I usually divide my time between these different branches of my family tree. This Thanksgiving will be no different.

So far, I’ve RSVP’d “Yes” to four holiday dinners. And, although this national holiday has a strong dinner-time identity, the my family’s individual dishes vary enormously. 

On Thanksgiving Day, I will eat appetizers in Wisconsin. My mother’s side of the family, the Meister-Brauns, live on a Christmas tree farm in rural Wisconsin. Their house is secluded, and their cuisine is constant, with turkey and pumpkin pie forever featured at the table. As always, my mother is making her signature Western stuffing.

My mother’s stuffing is like a gift from God. Chorizo, onions and breadcrumbs create a delicious mosaic softened with green cilantro. The dish looks disorganized, but the taste is controlled. The citrus of the cilantro balances the chorizo’s spice and creates a Western-style, red-hot stuffing.

After the Meister-Braun affair, I will head to the Chicago lakefront. The Tepper-Mayes dinner table will reflect my grandmother’s attempt to modernize the classic dishes from the first Thanksgiving in 1621.

Capon will replace turkey. Pasta will replace stuffing. But my grandmother’s mashed potatoes will always provide the backbone at the Tepper-Mayes house.

As always, my grandmother takes a radical spin on an ordinary dish. Her mashed potatoes are seasoned with sour cream; garlic and basil are added for spice. This leaves the potatoes with an incredibly creamy, tangy taste that may have resembled the mashed potatoes at Plymouth Rock, but probably not. According to holidays.com, the Native Americans didn’t use sour cream.

My third Thanksgiving meal will put me in a Chicago restaurant. My grandfather has lived in both north and south Italy, so it’s only natural he feels comfortable honoring an American holiday with Italian food. Italy and its cuisine have become a fundamental part of my family heritage.

What better day to celebrate one’s roots than Thanksgiving? The Teppers will talk in a quiet ristorante and munch on fruity bruschetta.

The last Thanksgiving will occur at my father’s house. My father’s Thanksgiving is unpredictable. He never tries to make his dinner resemble that of our founding fathers’.
Last Thanksgiving, he served miso soup. The year before, he made Margherita pizza. Dinner, for my father, truly depends on his flavor of the month.

For me, this encapsulates the mood of my unique Thanksgiving — the dishes change every year. I go to my father’s house with an open mind and leave with a full stomach.

Yet, no matter how full I feel, there are always leftovers. I celebrate Thanksgiving again and again with every cold plate. My grandma’s potatoes are reheated, and my mom’s stuffing is fried. Then, they mingle side by side. The after-Thanksgiving meal is the base to my family tree’s branches; I honor my entire family on the same plate.

­— ntepper@indiana.edu