Piecrust promise

Double Leo Sister and Jolly Not-So-Green Giant Brother-in-Law had descended into Victoria from their up-Island home to have an early Thanksgiving dinner with us the Friday before the long weekend, using up the last of the piecrusts I'd stashed in the freezer.  

On the Sunday, I had a lovely block of "alone time" while the Resident Fan Boy and younger daughter went out for lunch.  It was then that I discovered that I was out of shortening, so resigned myself to making all preparations on Monday.  I was in bed when the RFB approached me to quietly ask if I were making pies at all.  Apparently, younger daughter had observed my lack of preparation, and had made an equally quiet and anxious inquiry.

Younger daughter lives somewhere on the autism spectrum, which despite the rainbow-like terminology, is a very concrete and literal place.  Holidays must be made manifest and occur on the appropriate day, which, in our case is the holiday Monday.  (Many Canadian families have the meal on the Sunday, to allow for travel time.)

I, of all people, know the importance of making holidays tangible in our house, so rose early to make the dough and chill it, before heading out to set out Demeter's breakfast.  Home to roll out seven piecrusts: two for the counter, five for the freezer.

After another trip across the street and down the block to pull together Demeter's lunch, I returned to make the filling from pumpkins from last year's Hallowe'en, mashed and waiting in the freezer.

To further realize and cement Thanksgiving, I'd assembled a playlist for daughter's Spotify account, and put it on while I worked, knowing she'd hear it from her bedroom.

A Disney version of "Turkey in the Straw" drew her out, and I explained what I'd done.  She seemed chuffed. (Other tracks included:  "Thank You Girl" (Beatles), "What a Wonderful World" (Louis Armstrong),  "Eat It" (Weird Al), "All Good Gifts" (London cast of Godspell), "Get Happy" (Judy Garland), "Happy" (Pharrell Williams), "Food, Glorious Food" (original cast of Oliver!), etc.

We eventually sat down to a simple supper (attended by Demeter, of course) with our traditional sides of Caesar Salad and garlic bread, followed by pie, glorious pie.  And younger daughter was relaxed and happy - even chatty, by her standards.

It's important to keep piecrust promises -- perhaps because they're so easy to break.

Pie-eyed

Elder daughter's British version of the family recipe

Ah, Thanksgiving Day in Canada.

This is our fifth back in Victoria, our fourth spent in our present home, and our third pandemic Thanksgiving, although you'd never guess it from the lack of social distancing and masks.

We keep hearing of friends, neighbours, and acquaintances coming down with COVID.  So far, no one seriously ill.

Thanksgiving is neither my favourite holiday, nor my least favourite holiday, but, as someone who suffers from a certain degree of introversion, and a deep dislike of cooking, it's not the best occasion for a celebration that completely revolves around food.

However, I have daughters for whom this is a relatively big deal. Younger daughter carefully notes any special day as a balm to her autism and anxiety, and Thanksgiving is the day she either makes bread rolls, or follows the family recipe (from an ancient edition of the Vancouver Sun) for pumpkin pie.

Pumpkin pie is also the order of the day over in Britain, where elder daughter has lead her only slightly nonplussed flatmates (one Welsh, one South African, and one Austrian) through the ritual, which involves navigating a meal shared by two carnivores, one vegetarian, and one vegan.

Today, she's braving the London transport system with a pumpkin pie in her lap, to join her second cousins on the Resident Fan Boy's side: one Albertan, and one American.

We will miss her, as we have for the past five Thanksgivings.

From away

The neighbourhood is lousy with campervans.

They're parked up and down the residential streets, usually clustered around condo buildings.

Early Saturday morning, I marvelled at the number of people trotting up and down Cook Street, then I noticed the strolling people were in groups, and  I remembered.  It's the Thanksgiving long weekend.  Furthermore, it's our second pandemic Thanksgiving, and visiting rules are way looser than last year's rather bleak excuse for a holiday, so the ferries are full, and families are getting together with a vengeance.  Well, maybe that's the wrong word.  (Let's hope so, anyway.)

Our Thanksgiving will be the usual quiet matter, as all family coming to dinner, either live here, or barely a block away.  Pumpkin pie made by me and dinner rolls made by younger daughter.  Demeter escorted in from her own condo to dine on roast chicken -- we don't care much for turkey.  Or campervans.

Wishing you a peaceful meal, free of feuds and super-spreaders, followed by a safe journey home.

Thanks a bunch, guys

Today was our first Thanksgiving in Victoria in nineteen years.

So I was really glad I didn't see this until bedtime, although whether I'm going to sleep now is debatable.

It's Thanksgiving in Canada

As Canada's short growing season comes to a close, the farmers' markets have their final sales and close up their booths -- except for the pumpkin purveyors.

This morning, for the first time since last spring, I wanted to huddle under the duvet rather than get up and ferry my summer tunics to the basement in exchange for the warm winter tops which have slept away the summer in the plastic storage tub.

Younger daughter prepared dinner rolls for the very first time -- from scratch. I spent the morning making my pumpkin pies -- also from scratch. Elder daughter roasted the organic chicken, and the Resident Fan Boy took care of the vegetables.

Time to feast and try to ignore what's going on south of the border and the oncoming winter.

Brrrrrrrrrrrr.

Post prandial (see what I did there?)

Breakfast options this morning: warmed up garlic bread, cold chicken, left-over (made from scratch) pumpkin pie...

An appetite suppressant may be in order. This YouTube gem features Ellen Page who was born in Nova Scotia and nominated for an Oscar for her role in the quirky flick Juno. For the record, practically nothing in this video is true of Canadian Thanksgivings. Well, except maybe for the Canadian Club...

Tabling

Woke up in a sweat this morning, worrying about homework and schoolwork issues at younger daughter's school and remembering I need to cook today because we're having Thanksgiving dinner on the Sunday because elder daughter flies back to Halifax tomorrow, and Demeter is going to have all sorts of ways of trying to help....

So this video is a tad misleading, but it is also an aspect of the Canadian Thanksgiving experience:

Giving thanks from the heart (well, maybe a bit lower down)

Thanksgiving in Canada, as I keep having to remind my American and British friends and relations, is celebrated the second weekend in October. Canadians have no particular links with The Mayflower or Plymouth Rock; we do have a rather shorter growing season in most parts of the country than in the US, and since many Canadians have English forebears, there is that connection with the Anglican Harvest Sunday. Coming from Victoria, the Resident Fan Boy and I are still struck by urgency of the traditional Harvest Sunday hymns. In a climate like Ottawa's, you better durn well have the crops in. The first frost is on its way.

All the same, this has never been one of my favourite holidays. For many Canadians (the more affluent ones, anyway), this is a weekend to get away. The last camping reservations fall on this weekend, and those with a cottage (in central Canada) or cabin (in British Columbia) usually retreat there for a final sojourn by the lake. This means, aside from the nightmarish gridlock that begins mid-afternoon the previous Friday, that those of us who remain in town have fewer options. The arty films of the autumn will not be opening just yet, there is little in the way of theatre and concerts, and most stores shut down, many for Sunday and Monday.

This means you'd better have all your ingredients for your Thanksgiving dinner ahead of time, whether the big dinner is on Sunday (when you have guests) or Monday (if you don't). And there's another thing: it's a holiday that requires me to spend several hours in the kitchen. We don't do turkey, but this year, because younger daughter seems unusually excited about Thanksgiving, we decided to try a new recipe, Pollo con Zucchini Fritti, which is actually an old Vancouver Sun recipe which I pasted in my book then promptly forgot to try. It involved a lot of sauté-ing, and quite a bit of scotch whiskey, chardonney, port, and cream. It was bloody delicious actually, and was followed up by the mandatory pumpkin-pie-completely-from-scratch-including-the-pastry-thank-you-very-much.

It wasn't until about 4 am that I realized that I might be in a bit of trouble. It took a while for my sleep-hazed brain to understand that the mild indigestion of the evening before had localized to rather more discomfort in a small knot below my rib cage on my right side. Y'know, where my gall bladder is.

I discovered I had gallstones five years ago when I attempted to take both daughters to a second viewing of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, then had to call the Resident Fan Boy at work to pick them up at the Rideau Centre because the pain in my side was enough to bring a sheen of cold sweat on my forehead and upper lip. I headed home on the bus, wondering if I'd just sent my family off to watch a lengthy film while I had a heart attack. I got home, and the pain (which, by the way, was almost as bad as my labour pains and that's saying something) suddenly vanished. It kept recurring over the next week as our annual retreat to Victoria, along with a side excursion to Disneyland, approached. My doctor's locum decided I needed antacids and a bland diet. I figured out myself that it was somehow connected to peanut butter.

Since then, I've had one or two attacks, always on a holiday involving rich food. I decided against surgery since avoiding peanut butter seemed so much easier, but in the past couple of years, I've been foolishly indulging in Kraft Smooth again in a sort of nutty Russian Roulette.

So the Pollo con Zucchini Fritti came home to roost. I shifted myself carefully, praying the pain wouldn't escalate into the cold sweat phase which actually requires labour breathing. Please, no, please. I won't do it again... I took some Tylenol which has worked for me, and woke up functional and only slightly queasy two hours later when I had to get up and escort younger daughter on the long bus trek to school. As we walked through the rainy streets to the bus stop, I was filled with the euphoria similar to that I exuded when they finally gave me the epidural in both my labours. One function of pain: it feels so damn good when it stops. So I did celebrate Thanksgiving this year -- at 7:20 this morning.

Maybe I should substitute one percent milk for the cream in the Pollo...

Today's goal

Once the Resident Fan Boy has finished with this morning's pancakes, I will reclaim and clean the kitchen (which should take about 45 minutes), then embark upon creating the pastry for my famous pumpkin pie. (Last year's is shown.) This year's challenges: 1) our blender (our last surviving mechanical wedding gift --- RIP) died while I was trying to make pumpkin pie for last week's house-guest. Pumpkin pie made with an electric beater simply doesn't cut it. This means I am using the new blender for the first time. On Thanksgiving. Is this wise? 2) The Resident Fan Boy and elder daughter went out yesterday to procure whipping cream, as our supermarket will be closed for today's holiday. There is none to be had, neither in spray can, nor whip-it-yourself form. (Also, the half-decent vanilla ice cream is sold out.) They plan to re-check the convenience stores today, on the basis of a vague promise from a shady proprietor. So we face the prospect of pumpkin pie sans whipped cream. Younger daughter is in despair.

I blame this on the coming Aries full moon which hits full strength tomorrow. On Election Day. God save us.

Anyhow, with some trepidation, I wish a Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian lurkers. Say "hello" to me sometime, will you?