Post-Thanksgiving musings

Thanksgiving dinner's sad and thankless
Christmas dinner's dark and blue
When you stop and try to see it
From the turkey's point of view.
~Shel Silverstein


I'm going to admit something. I used to be somewhat of a Thanksgiving Scrooge. But the more I read and experience, the less alone I feel and the more I'm warming up to this holiday. Thanksgiving is a strange holiday for a vegan. Every other day of the year, the vegan buys and eats their cruelty-free groceries while the rest of the world goes on eating meat. But on Thanksgiving, it is quite difficult to avoid the incessant imagery of a dead animal carcass as centerpiece to the family feast. It is disheartening to many to have to sit down with friends and family and watch them ooh and awe over a dead bird.


Somehow, this became the American tradition. A holiday guised to be about thankfulness, often just becomes a gluttonous bird-eating fest. I remember my first Thanksgiving as a vegetarian. I was fully unprepared and was subject to mocking, and a dinner plate that consisted of a white dinner roll and some fruit salad. My stomach growled as the rest of the family feasted, but I would not give in. After that first year, there was a very gradual shift toward meals that I could enjoy, while I, along with family members learned of ways to prepare dishes that everyone - even vegetarians could enjoy. And after a few years of that, I finally got into cooking and even offered to contribute to family meals by preparing dishes I knew I could eat - and that everyone else could also enjoy.


This year, George and I were separated from our families by our move to Oregon. This was not my first year away from family on this holiday, but I truly missed them. But as much as I missed spending time with family, I actually got excited at the prospect of preparing an entire Thanksgiving feast all by myself! Crazy? probably. But I do miss certain family culinary traditions, and have been acutely aware of Dad's chef-genes kicking in lately.


Dad was, and still is, clearly master of the kitchen. Mom always was an excellent cook as well, but when Dad's a professional chef, apparently you don't mess with him. I attempted to take him on a few years back, thinking I was doing him a favor by offering to cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner and give him the night off. Even with my offer to do everything for one night, he was not willing to relinquish control of the kitchen and instead put me on potato duty. I briefly entertained the idea of turning him down in favor of an all-or-nothing approach, but decided to take what I could get in Dad's kitchen and prepare my famous garlic roasted potatoes.


On a side note, everyone always asks me for the 'recipe' for the garlic roasted potatoes, and to tell the truth: there isn't one. This is a trait I'm sure comes from my chef-father, but I hate recipes, as well as measuring. I love to cook, but to me it's all a nuanced, experimental art. For anyone still seeking the recipe, this is as close as you're going to get: Dice potatoes of choice, spread on as many cookie sheets as necessary, and coat GENEROUSLY with olive oil. Sprinkle plenty of garlic salt and parsley on top and roast in the oven, somewhere between 350 and 450 for, I don't know, several hours? When they're done, you'll know it. The first time I made these, it was for a family gathering and I chopped an entire 10 lb. bag of potatoes to much chastisement and derision. Trust me, I said... and the entire 10 lbs. was gone.


Back to my story. Ever since volunteering to cook the entire family meal - and to have everyone enjoy a vegetarian dinner, I've been absolutely itching to do just that. So, when George and I resolved that we'd be staying home alone for the holiday, my meal-planning genes went into overdrive. Dad's ability to perfectly prepare an entire meal, combined with Grandma Ev's inclination to set a perfect table days in advance of an event  suddenly clicked and I spent weeks planning the perfect vegan meal, poring over magazine recipes, grocery shopping, and yes - actually drawing diagrams of the placement of dishes on the table.


My first inclination was to make something truly out of the ordinary, but since we were far away from family, I wanted to have a meal that was grounded in tradition and comfort. And when speaking of tradition in my family, Thanksgiving begins at breakfast. With the Macy's parade on in the background, we would prepare "breakfast turkeys" - hollowed out oranges, filled with fruit salad, and bedecked with froot-loop 'feathers' and a grape for a head. This was always served alongside Mom's special cheesy-scrambled-eggs, something I would indulge in once a year as a vegetarian, as missed as a vegan. Last year, in my old apartment, I prepared the fruit turkeys for George and myself, indulging my inner child. This year, I skipped the elaborate fruit dish in the mess that would be our dinner, but decided to give the scrambled eggs a make-over. Combining a few recipes, I apparently struck gold with my new cheesy tofu scramble.  A block of firm tofu, mashed, with olive oil, and a hint of spice (garlic, salt, pepper, paprika) sauteed with my new favorite discovery that deserves its own posting, nutritional yeast, or "nootch" as it's familiarly called in several vegan blogs. This nondescript, unassuming brown powder is completely vegan, a complete protein full of B vitamins, and when sprinkled into food, creates an amazing 'cheese-sauce' taste and texture that you have to try to believe. Consider it my new miracle food. My scramble was served alongside oven-roasted tomatoes to provide the sweet, tangy counterpart to the creaminess of the 'cheesy' tofu. This dish would appease even the most discerning omnivore.


For dinner, I made the tofurky our centerpiece, with my special orange-soy sauce baste, surrounded by potatoes, carrots, and apples. I updated tired mashed potatoes with a yukon potato, carrot, and white bean mash - perfectly creamy without the dairy! Roasted acorn squash was stuffed with quinoa-pistachio stuffing and, garnished with fresh parsley, made a beautiful presentation. Green beans with a dash of lemon juice rounded out the dinner. For a tart-sweet counterpart, I made an earl grey tea spiced cranberry sauce. The meal was completed with pinot noir and a vegan pumpkin pie - my first foray into pie-making! I probably spent the most time on that dish, combining several different recipes to arrive at the right combination of pumpkin, soymilk, spices, and an easy graham cracker crust. Meanwhile, Isa enjoyed a special plate of fresh parsley, with a garnish of apple and carrot slices.


While I truly miss heartily laughing along with family to National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, I adopted George's tradition of after-dinner entertainment, in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles which had a far more endearing ending than I had remembered. I added my own mix to the traditions by playing all of the epic Thanksgiving episodes of FRIENDS while I was busy in the kitchen.


The whole day was a mixture of several family traditions, as well as new rituals that I'm sure will make their way into our lexicon of tradition. Much as we both missed our families, I cannot express how thrilled I was to be in charge of a whole holiday meal, and how much it meant to me to be able to share a table full of traditional, yet veganized foods, with not a dead animal in sight. In truth, it was a dream come true. I cherish being able to share the experience with the one I love, and I hope to be able to one day prepare a larger feast to share with our families as well!


And so, for the first time in a very long time, I was able to truly enjoy Thanksgiving dinner without giving any thought to where the food had come from, to not be the subject of any teasing or ridicule about my culinary choices. In a way, it was refreshing. Looking ahead on the calendar, we will likely be doing the same for Christmas, and my gears are already spinning, planning an amazing Christmas dinner.

Considering Hunting Season

November again already. Here in Oregon, the weather is a little more crisp, a little more wet, but still quite mild. The leaves have turned, but still greenery is plentiful. I never really liked autumn in Minnesota and was looking forward to experiencing the season in a new locale.  But even with the distance, every year at about this time, with any modicum of facebook checking, the absurd Northern Minnesota calendar designation known as "deer season" is utterly unavoidable. Each year I try to keep clear of it as much as possible, try to not let it get to me. But every year, people start talking about the anticipation of heading to the shack. And then the pictures start showing up. Oh, the gory pictures. Hunters are so proud of the animals they've just killed. I've always found a strange exhibitionism in these photos, the smiles and the dead animals. I have become so far removed from this culture, but the farther away I get, the more senseless the whole enterprise seems.


Some may say I'm just being too sensitive. But I think that it's the hunters who have become desensitized to the killing. I also know that in my commitment to speaking up for animals, it is difficult to just close my eyes to any injustice, especially one that is so celebrated. Even when I try to shield myself from the images, to not think about it too much, the truth is it still breaks my heart. I've never understood the joy in such a "sport." One of my favorite quotes comes from actor Paul Rodriguez and sums it up perfectly: "Hunting is not a sport. In a sport, both sides should know they’re in the game." This is not a well-matched football game. "It is cruel and inhumane to stalk, injure and murder animals for recreation." (All-Creatures.org) I just don't see anything that can be gained recreationally by taking another life.


Most hunters are quick to defend, giving some variation of the "population control" argument. This argument is, in fact, complete fallacy perpetuated for the benefit of the hunters themselves. The population of deer, as with any species, is able to control itself naturally, and the interference of hunters is not needed. Most state game agencies "manage" the deer populations by purposely inflating them for the hunters to have something to hunt. Any hunter thinking (s)he is preventing the herd from starvation is completely misguided. Starvation is a process of natural selection and hunters rarely kill the weakest, most mal-nourished deer of the herd. Hunting actually PROMOTES overpopulation because the herd will focus on mating and propagating to compensate for the initial dip in population of the herd from the hunt. The argument of population control is simply false justification.


Still others argue that hunting is a family tradition and a way to bond with Dad (or sometimes even Mom). While shared experiences with parents are essential to bonding, they do not need to include animal suffering. Many studies point out that animal violence learned early in life can lead to desensitization, as well as human violence later in life. An Australian academic paper pointed especially to hunting in childhood as a hindrance to empathy development and a precursor to aggressive behaviors. Bonding with a parent can be done through a plethora of more enriching, compassionate activities. If an appreciation of nature and animals is truly the goal, nature hikes and photography are far less invasive and non-violent alternatives.


My own dad continues to hunt and while I wish he didn't, I know I probably won't ultimately change his mind. When I was a little girl, often the whole family would accompany him into the woods. However, even at a young age, I vehemently protested the hunt, begging him through tear-filled eyes to stop. I believe the animal activist in me was born when Dad decided to go after a snapping turtle for "soup." Crammed in the backseat of that old green jeep with my mom, sister, and grandma, I let out a wail for the turtle, climbed over Mom to pry open the door and run down the gravel road screaming at my dad to stop. My outburst made my little sister cry, and eventually Mom and even Grandma were touched and started to tear up. I wouldn't stop until Dad let the turtle go. There was more bonding in the fact that Dad listened to me and shared a moment of compassion then there ever was in any hunting experience.


Make no mistake: I love my dad dearly, but there has been absolutely nothing shared over hunting. I have many fond memories of growing up and spending time with him. But they involve watching old episodes of Dragnet, learning from him to cook and play chess, hearing bedtime stories and creating things together in the wood shop. An appreciation of nature was still cultivated, but for me only when the weapons were left at home and a peaceful walk through the woods or boat ride on the lake was shared.


Call me a hippie or a vegan freak, but I won't be wishing any hunters "good luck" nor will I be congratulating anyone posting pictures of their kill. I am saddened by the callousness of such images and am hoping instead for safe hiding places for all the deer out there. And I will take comfort in the fact that statistics show that hunting is on the decline and the number of people opposed to hunting is increasing. Autumn in Portland is pretty awesome and I'll be focused on enjoying the local culture. I love being able to just throw on a scarf and my trademark flip flops, grab a coffee and take a walk in the rain.