Basura: Remembrances of Thanksgivings past, now

My first Thanksgiving away from the family home found me at Grand Valley State College.  Those of us from out of town lived in college approved on campus apartments, each with two bedrooms for four guys, segregated by sex.

We’d cook our meals, such as they were, in the little kitchens.  My freshman year, a guy named Adler decided he’d roast a big turkey for the residents of the building who chose to buy tickets to the event. He bought the biggest turkey at Meijer’s, on the corner of Lake Michigan Drive and Wilson Avenue, in Standale.

Maybe ten of us, that had no other plans, bought tickets.  As it turned out, on the Wednesday night before, there was plenty of socialization.  Adler stayed up late.  Before he called it a night, he looked at the instruction label affixed to the big bird.  To comply with the suggested cooking tips, he would have had to have arisen early in the morning to start the process.

Adler was a smart guy, perhaps, and he devised his own roasting plan.  He’d double the heat setting, and cut the time of the roasting in half.   Turn up the heat, shorten the time.  What could go wrong?

There was a lovely fragrance of roasted turkey which served to sharpen our appetites.  The skin of the bird was darker than golden brown, but, still, we were young men, and we liked to eat.  The first surprise was that though some of the meat was dry and quite overcooked, some of it was distinctly pink and cool.

Adler had tried to make gravy, but that attempt resulted in a less than classic result.  It was likened to wallpaper paste, although maybe not so flavorful.  The next surprise was found when Adler was removing the dressing from carcass.  He was completely astonished to find a plastic bag.  In it were the neck, heart, liver, gizzards, and whatever else comprises giblets.  Maybe the gravy needn’t have been quite so bland.  Who knew?

Some said the parts were still cold.  Some said the plastic containing said material showed some signs of having melted.  By then, the Gallo Pink Chablis, and Weideman’s beer were starting with expected results, which may serve to explain how such seemingly contradictory reports could co-exist at our dining experience.  A few guys wanted their dollar back, but Adler held firm to his no refund policy; everyone was hungry, and we ate with a combination of gusto and mild apprehension.

Owing to good fortune and the vigor of youth, no one got sick.  Adler did hear about it, though, for a while.  Turkey Man.

I’ve had other Thanksgiving feasts, some very conventional and traditional, some that stood out for differences in form.  I can say that the military went to great lengths to provide special meals on the holiday, whether at what is now known as Marine Base Hawaii, or at Great Lakes Naval Hospital, featuring roast turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, dressing, rolls, peas and carrots, salad, and, of course, pie.

I recall being invited to Clawson, Mich., to have Thanksgiving dinner by a girl friend (but not a girlfriend) and her family.  I was surprised at the meal; we ate Banquet TV dinners, and they were Mexican combination plates.  The patriarch of the family invited me after dinner to come downstairs, where he’d give me a Greisiediech.  It was pronounced “greasy dick,” at least according to Mr. A., my host.

He invited me downstairs, where he said, he would give me one.  He didn’t tell me what the invitation entailed, and it certainly sounded odd, but from the amused look on his face, and the giggles from his wife and two daughters, I decided to go with him to his basement sanctuary.

His invitation, of course, was really mere hospitality and some word play that wouldn’t have been acceptable in my family.  But all in good fun.  They were special lagers from a long defunct brewery, as he was to explain.  The cans were steel, and had to be opened with a special beer can opening tool, known colloquially as a “church key.”  For the benefit of younger readers, the device would punch little triangular holes in the tops of cans.  He only brought out these special beers on certain occasions.  I was honored.

Somehow, I’d met with approval.  His daughter seemed to like me.   We were pals.  The younger daughter, 16, and his wife, the mom, seemed to enjoy talking with me .

Thanksgiving 2020 will be recalled as the one from the Year of the Pandemic.  How will we weigh the tradition of family feasting in counterpoint to the real risks associated with group interactions and travel?  We are likely to start to have a way to assess our decisions by Christmas.

NPR reports airline ticket sales are in the neighborhood of three million this Thanksgiving traveling season, down from eight million a year ago, but still alarming.  What does that bode for the future?  All will be revealed.

Signs are increasingly favorable about the likelihood of effective vaccines being available soon.  The 2021 Turkey Day may be far less memorable.  Let’s hope so.