Roy Exum: A Grand Thanksgiving Feast

  • Wednesday, November 26, 2014
  • Roy Exum
Roy Exum
Roy Exum

I’m not really sure how it all came about but a few days before Thanksgiving last year, what was usually a crowded table had dwindled down to just Mother, Aunt Martha and me. Just the idea of getting dressed up made both of them tired, which happens when you are 89 and 87, respectively, and the thought of preparing the traditional feast brought only further groans so I announced a few days before that I would take them somewhere so special that they would never forget it.

Thanksgiving was huge at our house from the very get-go. When we were little there was a pre-dinner pageant to perform, with me reading the Bible, my brother Kinch reciting the Pilgrim’s plight, and my brother Jon relegated to being Squanto year after year. When my sisters came along, everybody had to wear Pilgrim hats they made and Franklin would play the piano for family members and guests as we sang, “We Gather Together …”

There were always 20 or 30 people every year, especially if Mother learned of anyone who would be alone, and that only added to the merriment. One year a visiting professor from Japan was invited and during the middle of the meal Miss Zella Armstrong actually shrieked, “Is that a Chinaman over there!”

Anyway, the food was bountiful. Dad started a family tradition that fresh oysters must be included in the dressing and creamed hominy was another Southern delicacy that added to the day. But for whatever reason last year extenuating circumstances caused the three of us to be a pretty pitiful group by all standards and I told Mother and Martha I had a great adventure in store.

They groused and whined, begging me not to take them anywhere fancy so they wouldn’t have to dress up fancy, and I told them not to worry. “Where we are going there will be at least 10 people who don’t take off their hats when they eat,” I promised. “Women have to wear hats?” Martha asked and I said, “Oh, no, I’m talking guys in ball caps. We’re going to the Cracker Barrel!”

Our adventure began promptly at noon and last Thanksgiving it was cold and blustery. The wait was over an hour but I had smuggled some white wine in Mother’s purse and she and Martha got into the jug as they waiting in the warm car in the parking lot. I shuffled around outside my favorite breakfast shrine, puffing my cigar and spreading glad tidings, until finally we were called.

Martha’s vertigo was acting up, which made fighting her way through the crowd while I pushed her away from any displays of stuff that might break a nervous task, and finally we were seated for the Thanksgiving Special. Both Mother and Martha were loving the adventure, which might have been heightened by the wine while they waited, and they ordered without the menu, having been told only the basic options.

I ordered a meat-and-two, asking for pinto beans and turnip greens, then I told the waitress I needed a kiddie plate with mac-cheese, slaw and sweet tea. Martha asked where was the kid and I told her that’s a trick I learned shortly after the Cracker Barrel went to thimble-sized portions. “I get two more vegetables and a free tea,” I explained, but then it really started.

“They have turnip greens? I’d rather have that than green beans,” said Mother. Martha said she would, too. I laughed, saying I thought they would have gone for the fried okra. “Wait, I didn’t know about that,” said Martha, swapping her sweet potatoes in a flash with Mother promptly adding okra as a side dish.

Well, about five minutes later I asked the befuddled waitress to go back to the original order for Mother and Martha but, it being Thanksgiving and all, to bring a side dish of every vegetable on the menu. “Yes, an order of corn … they can both take a bite … and apple sauce, yes, by all means!”

Soon it was the most hysterical feast you ever saw. They would take a bite of this or that but each would recall a distinct memory to accompany each bite from every dish. We laughed and told stories for almost two hours and the only flaw in the day was that I didn’t smuggle in enough wine.

I finally got about four to-go boxes, where they could take what was left and heat it up later, and there were two things that were pretty obvious. Neither had ever eaten as much at one seating and both had a wonderful time, the food evoking one memory after another and our laughter proving a small table can be just as thankful as the biggest one.

Of course, there was no way to predict that it would be the last earthly Thanksgiving for Mother and Martha. They died within two days of one another in August, but I’ll remember they had such fun in the crowded, joyful restaurant. There are people who will get all gussied up and eat at fabulous restaurants tomorrow but, for sheer ambiance, you can’t beat the warmth of the Cracker Barrel on Thanksgiving Day.

Everybody is happy, sharing good food and warm thoughts, and if I had to pick how my favorite two women would spend their last Thanksgiving on earth, it was darn-near perfect.

I hope your tomorrow will be exactly the same.

royexum@aol.com

 

 

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