Thanksgrieving

The first time I met my future in-laws was on Thanksgiving. Chris and I had been dating a short time and I was here on a work trip from Philadelphia. My entire family is here as well, but this was the first holiday since my parents had separated and meeting my boyfriend's family seemed like the perfect way to avoid my own. I've never been nervous about meeting other people's families - my awkward black-sheepishness seems to be limited to the people I share DNA with and generally speaking, parents love me. I decided that there is no good first impression like a fresh baked first impression and pulled out the stops making a delicious Pumpkin Pecan Cake with White Chocolate Ginger Mousse from "Caprial's Bistro Style Cuisine" by Caprial Pence.

As dessert was brought out I listened while everyone "oohed" and "aahed" over the cake. Oddly, the only person to take a slice, besides us, was my father-in-law. We were sitting adjacent to him in the living room when he took a bite, chewed, then slowly set down the plate. "Aah! He's a man who likes to savor a good dessert!," I thought. About 10 minutes later he stood and shakily said, "I don't think I'll be able to drive home after eating Scully's cake. Margaret, you may need to drive us." Now, anyone else may have been embarrassed by this. Perhaps even mortified. But I knew the cake was a winner. I had made it just the year before and an elderly distant-relative-by-marriage that I'd never met called someone the next day to say, "That young lady who made the cake could either be a model or a chef." Now, I acknowledge that her glaucoma was off the charts. She had needed help "pulling up" in the bathroom and I saw her try to set her drink on the back of our dog, whose fur was similar in shade to the coffee table. Still, her tastebuds were intact and my cake was no dud. A recipe that calls for 1/3 cup (liberally applied) rum is not something to turn your keys in for. My only thought at the time was, "Wow. Chris's dad really can't handle his frosting."

Since then I've learned that tradition reigns with my new family and any unrequested addition to the meal is seen as an intruder both foreign in taste and unwanted in presence. They don't take kindly to roasted brussel sprouts with water chestnuts in them parts. It's Durkee all the way. This doesn't apply to just Thanksgiving; I've seen brownies made with $30 worth of Valrhona chocolate passed over in favor of a Costco cake. No matter, we just bring them home and eat them like greedy little pigs.

Now, to be fair, a holiday with my family requires several serious preparatory conversations. One of my most distinct memories of my family's Thanksgiving meal was one of the last years that my parents were miserable and in the same home, rather than awkward, in denial and living 10 minutes apart. It was an unseasonably warm day and deep-frying turkeys was all the rage. I pulled into the driveway just in time to hear, "Okay, okay. I have the dog, he's out of the way this time. You throw it in, then run like hell in case it catches on fire again." Not exactly words you want to hear in reference to your dinner. Pyrotechnics, ammunition and off-road vehicles are the glue that holds my family together and I'm pretty sure that the deep-fryer was abandoned the following year because it didn't actually blow anything up and the dog's injuries were minor.

For the last several years we've somehow managed to strike out on our own and create an independent holiday. We've shuffled obligations and used every excuse under the sun to justify why we need to do Thanksgiving on our own and instead join Chris's family for "Leftover Day" (Friday) and my family for "Some random meal" within a week or two of the actual holiday. And it's worked. I've gotten to drool over a stack of cookbooks 3 feet tall and moan over the beauty of Gourmet's spread and choice of jewel-toned place settings. I've lived in a state of blissful preparation for our own underground dinner with friends and when we're told that we don't need to bring anything to family affairs I just shrug and say, "Lasagna for Thanksgiving? Sounds great to me!" But this year is different. As Chris's grandma approaches the big nine-four we realize that we should probably put in our appearance on the proper day and save our "real meal" until the day after. My parents just celebrated 5 years of separation with no resolution in sight and we were recently subjected, once again, to a meal with two people who now share the same uncomfortable relationship but insist on pretending that they're already at the good buddy stage of divorce. The climax of these shared evenings is always waiting to see what moment my dad will choose to present my mom with a stack of mail that she's accumulated at what he still refers to as "the house." I gauge his progress by when this happens and since he's moved it to the end of the night rather than the middle of the meal, this year ranked as near tolerable.

I've given it a lot of thought and my resignation to join our families has little to do with the food and everything to do with the feeling. It makes the whole day feel like a bit of a fraud when no one seems at all thankful to be there. This year I've heard the phrases, "very little effort," "nothing fancy or special," and "something quick and easy" thrown around when I ask what the plan is. Making an effort, cooking something both fancy and special is simply my way of saying, "Hey. I know you don't like to be touched or talk about your feelings and I know that green beans not from a can seem odd, but making an effort on this meal is just my way of saying that I'm thankful for you." When you feel so grateful for what and who you have, adopting a "get in, get out" mentality on this day seems especially depressing. And so I refuse to engage in pettiness, I refuse to eat quickly for the sake of the football game and I refuse to make something quick, easy and bland. I will dress-up, wear lipstick and put my contributions on the gaudiest platters I can find. And I'll do it because I want to, not because I have to.

So, as I sit here, using a needle and syringe to inject bourbon into assorted chocolates for my father-in-law, I think about what I'm grateful for. The list is endless, but the thing that sticks out the most is that I can't remember the last time that I went a day without laughing. I mean genuinely laughing. Sure, it may have followed crying and it may have taken a 3 year-old's potty talk or the "Family Guy" to make it happen but it does and I hope I never take that for granted.

Happy Thanksgiving! Now pass the frosting, please.

Pecan-Pumpkin Cake with White Chocolate-Ginger Mousse

Pumpkin Cake
2 cups canned pumpkin puree
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cup pecans, toasted
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 whole eggs
3 eggs separated
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground ginger


White Chocolate-Ginger Mousse
10 ounces white chocolate
1/4 cup unsalted butter
5 egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar
1/3 cup dark rum
1/4 cup chopped candied ginger
1 cup heavy whipping cream
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Ground cinnamon

To prepare the cake, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch springform pan, and set aside. Put the pumpkin puree, sugar, pecans, and flour in a large bowl and mix well. Add the whole eggs and egg yolks and mix well to blend. Add the vanilla, cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg and ginger and mix well. Put the egg whites in a medium bowl and whip with a handheld beater until soft peaks form. Gently fold the egg whites into the pumpkin mixture. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake in the oven for 30 to 40 minutes, or until a knife inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool completely.

To prepare the mousse, put the chocolate and butter in the top of a double boiler and bring to a slow simmer to slowly melt the white chocolate. Meanwhile, put the eggs, sugar, rum and 2 tablespoons of ginger in a medium metal bowl and whisk together. Set the bowl in a saucepan of simmering water and whisk the mixture until it is thick and resembles softly whipped cream, about 4 minutes. Be careful not to let the eggs get too hot (or they will scramble). Fold the melted white chocolate into the egg mixture. Place the mixture in the refrigerator for 30 to 45 minutes to chill.

To assemble the cake, remove the mousse from the refrigerator. Put the cream and the vanilla in a medium metal bowl and whip with a handheld beater until soft peaks form. Gently fold the whipped cream into the mousse, mixing with a handheld beater to combine, if needed. Pour this mixture over the top of the pumpkin cake and let it set for 2 to 4 hours in the refrigerator before serving.

To serve, slice the cake into wedges. Top each slice with a bit of candied ginger and a sprinkling of cinnamon.


Cook's Note: This cake gets even better after being in the fridge a day. The recipe makes a lot of extra frosting, definitely enough to smother on a few cupcakes as well. The last time I made it I realized I was out of rum and used half Grand Marnier, half cognac and I think I like that even better. Either way, this cake will put a little hair on your chest! So maybe not for the kiddies...