Four and a half decades ago, I moved abroad without speaking another language or understanding other cultures, I stumbled into European homes and hearts. No matter how bleak the times, I appreciated being welcomed abroad and showed my gratitude by sharing the ultra North American tradition, Thanksgiving,
As an American born granddaughter of Scotch/Irish/Norwegian ancestry, I have been an immigrant my entire adult life. Growing up in the US, my McKinzie/Olson family Thanksgiving tradition included grandparents, friends and foreigners. The dinner menu varied from year to year, but the message remained the same.
For my first Thanksgiving in France, my teammates insisted on slowing down to savor each dish in separate courses. We were a table the entire day! During my “traditional” T-Day celebration in Germany, we never sat down. The event turned into a free-for-all when the women and men in my basketball club squeezed into my kitchen leaving standing room only. In Switzerland, we dined with a hodgepodge of multi-national neighbors and friends creating a beautiful kaleidoscope of humanity
This year, in a unique twist, we are celebrating the holiday with our son and daughter-in-law in Warwickshire England.
A tray full of home baked yorkshire puddings
Our daughter-in-law’s sister will make Yorkshire pudding, but it’s not a dessert. This savory, English dish, from northern England’s Yorkshire area, is similar in texture to a pop over. It rises, puffs and crisps as it cooks, but remains soft and airy inside.
“Made from an egg and flour base mixed with, milk or water,” her sister explained, “It’s like a baked pudding.”
In 1737, a “dripping pudding” (using the fat that dropped into the dripping pan to cook) recipe was first noted in the book, The Whole Duty of a Woman. The art is in contriving the perfect lightness.
Since 2007, Yorkshire Pudding Day is celebrated the first Sunday in February in the UK and believe it or not, it is often recognized again on October 13th in the US and elsewhere.
The bowl in the middle of the dough puff makes an ideal gravy boat. Originally,Yorkshire pudding, made with low-cost ingredients and a thick gravy, was served as a first course to dull diners’ appetites, so guests wouldn’t eat too much of the expensive meat in the next course.
Imagine the sacrilege if Americans tried cutting costs on T-Day with that trick!
Our daughter-in-law will prepare Irish roast potatoes, another classic dish, adopted from the Irish side of her family.
“We always use Yukon Gold spuds. They are peeled and par boiled, then roughed up a bit, and basted in hot oil in a big roasting pan,” she explained. “ Then, we pop them in the oven to bake for 45 minutes to an hour.”
Ironically, this year, the main dish of our T-day won’t be the blessed bird, but instead a wee piggy. Our son is making his brother-in-law’s recipe for ham, which is baked in coca cola, adding an American touch.
To further “butcher” the American tradition, my French hubby will insist on serving a cheese course, a lovely Brie accompanied by a white or orange cheddar to appease the English palate.
Our son’s mother-in-law will bring an apple crumble, a classic, comforting British dessert, which combines tender, caramelized apples with a buttery, crumbly topping.
Always an outlander here and forever an alien in the kitchen, I welcome any Thanksgiving help. I love sharing favorites from around the globe, especially on this day of giving.
Wherever you are gathered, no matter what you serve or how you celebrate, take time to sit still, hug the person next to you and give thanks for your blessings —family, friendship and fellowship.
No matter what deity we worship or ideology we adhere to, which language we speak, foods we eat, or customs we celebrate, we should keep this in mind.
We are all members of the same human race and guests here on planet earth.
Forty years ago on New Year’s Eve 1983, I said, “I do,” in a seventeenth century chapel in France, not far from the famous WWII Landing beaches. What are the odds of a small town girl from the cornfields of Illinois meeting a French boy raised by the sea in Normandy?
But our rewards were great; none greater than watching a bright, adventuresome daughter and a clever, witty son grow strong on basketball courts across Switzerland and go onto become doctors.
Girlfriends get us through tough times, celebrate our victories and always got our back.
bunkmates’ early alarm clock with the darn dozer button. It never felt like a sacrifice until the basement flooded.
harrowing miscarriage at an isolated cabin in the woods. When our children were still young enough to drag around, we gathered for “family reunions” on my stateside visits.
bourguignon", and "mousse au chocolat". Over champagne, we toasted to ISU, to friendship, to resiliency. We survived thyroid cancer, breast cancer, brain surgery, a car wreck and other calamities.
We treasured memories of that special time as college students when we starred in our own life stories savoring lazy weekends, crazy keggers and Florida spring break.
Dad was my lighthouse, guiding me ashore when lost in life’s stormy sea. He died on August 8, 2022 just nine days shy of his 91st birthday. Without him I drift bereft.
As a college athlete at Northern Illinois State University, he was a 3 sport division I athlete and MVP in 2 major sports. He was inducted into the NIU hall of fame three times, as an individual player and as a team member in the 1951 football and baseball teams. He was part of the NIU Century Basketball Team and Decade “50’s” football team. As a coach, he was also inducted into the Sterling High School Hall of Fame and the Illinois Basketball Coaches’ Association Hall of Fame.
At a time when women’s sports was taboo, his guidance made me an outstanding pioneer basketball player — one of the 1st female athletic scholarship recipients at Illinois State University, professional players in the USA and American women to play in Europe.
Dad, I wish I could play my guitar for you one last time.
