War of the Turkeys

Growing up we had a pretty simple Thanksgiving meal consisting of a Butterball turkey, Stove Top stuffing, Minute rice, Potato buds, canned green beans, canned cranberry sauce, store bought rolls and pumpkin pie. Sometimes my mom made fresh sweet potatoes (of which I ate none) and chocolate pudding pie with whipped cream, er, Cool Whip (of which I ate as much as possible). I ate my turkey, mashed potatoes, and pie without a care in the world. My dad, who would have liked to eat a steak for dinner each and every day of his life, inevitably had a meltdown sometime near the carving of the bird.

"Why do we have to eat turkey every f*#@ing year!" he would shout from the head of the table with utter disgust.

My mom would yell something back, and often my sisters too, then we'd do some banging and storming around before forgiving each other and eating.

My dad passed away just before Warren officially joined our family. By this time my sister had picked up a few recipes from her in-laws as had my older sister. Warren spent his first couple of Thanksgivings with us silent, quietly eating whatever was prepared.

By about the third year, he offered to cook. He did things the way his mom had done them when he was growing up. He made his own stuffing and stuffed the turkey with it. He made a sweet potato casserole, homemade cranberry sauce, and even fresh pumpkin pie. My family ate his meal sullenly, muttering under their breaths.

By the fourth year, Warren and my sister were both cooking whatever they wanted leaving us with basically two of everything--two turkeys, two dressings, etc. This seemed to suit everyone fine. One year we even had three turkeys because my brother-in-law decided he wanted to deep fry one. Last year we went to California to spend Thanksgiving with the extended Team Oster and Warren didn't cook anything. (Which ultimately led to his decision to make Turducken for Christmas.)

This year when we started coordinating the meal, my sister had a breakdown, in true Steve Greenberg fashion. "I don't want two of everything!" she cried. "There should be one meal. My meal."

Neither Warren or I took this throwing down of the gauntlet lightly. Warren went from "I'm not cooking anything so screw her," to "Fine, I'll cook my turkey on the grill and make sushi...and maybe sweet potatoes...and cranberry sauce...and a dessert. But no stuffing!"

I didn't speak to my sister for the few days leading up to turkey day and was glad to see that by the time we all arrived at my mom's house, tensions had died down. We spent the afternoon relaxing, watching the many kids run around, discussing celebrity gossip, and stuffing ourselves with sushi. By dinner time we all forced ourselves to eat a few bites of everything, but spent the bulk of the evening playing silly board games and laughing untl we had enough strength to tackle dessert.

Even cleaning up was fun.

If you are interested in seeing Warren's grilled turkey and the "Everything but the kitchen sink" sushi roll our family created, go to Chop Fayn.