I was one of those fortunate kids who got to experience a traditional Italian Thanksgiving while growing up. For those of us who are culturally bonded, you know the side dishes may have varied a bit from house to house, but the theatrical carte du jour never contrasted much.
I remember awakening on thanksgiving morning to savory aromas filling the house and the sound of sizzling bits simmering on the stove. The last minute bustle of a forgotten item was always a given, eased by the convenience of a local market a few blocks away. Dinner was served mid-to-late afternoon, but the real magic began with trays of my father’s indescribably delicious baked clams oreganata. If heaven were encased in a sea shell, I have no doubt his unrivaled recipe of perfectly minced clams in its melange’ of delectable stuffing would construct the Pearly Gates. They were devoured within minutes of being set on the table, with heaps of empty shells and the smack of sated lips the only remnant that they ever existed.
There was Aunt Eileen’s billowy “manigutt,” a first course of gossamer whipped ricotta wrapped in ever so light pasta sheets and baked to perfection. Aunt Anna’s sought after stuffing, a dish that lead the way in honoring the turkey, was a perennial favorite and ushered in the start of the holiday, with its ingredients commanding the kitchen table on thanksgiving eve. Food, family and escalating voices were followed by too many desserts, fruit and cracked nutshells scattered on the table; coffee and anisette to help aid digestion before a second act of turkey sandwiches at 10:00p.
Thanksgiving is about gratitude for all that we have and all that we’ve had. My parents have been gone for many years now, and family has dispersed but family isn’t limited to shared DNA. It’s encompassed in every wonderful friend who comes into our life, and for that we can count our blessings. I wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving, with a bit of the Italian, in your very own way.
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