Thanksbringing

So, let’s face it. No matter how much we give thanks for things little and large, Thanksgiving is about the food. What and where it’s eaten, how and by whom it’s prepared.

I grew up in a place and time when Thanksgiving and all that went on in the kitchen was the work of women, usually one woman – a grandmother, an aunt or my mother. When the Big Day arrived, the men were elsewhere – usually in front of the TV watching football or waiting for another game to begin. Sure, it was likely the “man of the house” who hoisted the plattered bird and carried it to the table. And it was a man who usually carved it, pronouncing, perhaps, like a Monday morning quarterback, that the white meat was a bit dry or the dressing, like last year’s, could’ve used more onion.

Now, of course, roles aren’t as rigid. More men not only venture into but excel in the kitchen (or out on the patio with their turkey deep fryers). And women seem to have grown increasingly fond of football. Generally, more people pitch in. As friends and family arrive, the kitchen counter becomes laden with foil-covered dishes and bowls. Perhaps we like to think of this as getting closer to the first Thanksgiving, that nearly mythical event in which Indian and Pilgrim sat down at the same table and shared in their bounty. To modern eyes, it may more closely resemble a glorified potluck.

So what is a potluck anyway?

Often associated with church suppers or a community gathering’s covered dish suppers or, in the island’s New England neighborhood, bean suppers, a potluck is generally a gathering of people where each person contributes a dish to be shared with others. Potlucks are also less formal and routinely summoned into smaller get-togethers, be it a summer picnic or one of those book groups where more is imbibed than dissected (literarily, that is). For the host, the luck in potluck may be with the assist of putting on a meal but not necessarily in how whatever-is-brought tastes or complements (or doesn’t) the rest of the menu. Long the domain of casseroles and jello salads, potlucks are now likely to delve into more gourmet fare and participants assigned specific dishes by a savvy host. Of course in the let’s-be-grateful spirit of Thanksgiving, even a creamed and pureed cranberry relish the color of Pepto Bismol ought to be welcomed at the table. (Or maybe not.)

Potluck, a lot of folks purport, derives from potlatch, a Native American tradition of the Pacific Northwest. Even before the Pilgrims were bumping up against Plymouth Rock, hunter-gatherer tribes living in a land of plenty on the other side of the continent held elaborate get-togethers requiring weeks of planning and a large collective effort. As an exression of deep gratitude for an end-of-season bounty, the potlatch sometimes became a “give-away ceremony.” In giving thanks and expressing confidence in bounty yet to come, a host, obviously really into the spirit of things, might even give away all his possessions. The potlatch, some folks claim, may even be at the root  of our modern day concept of Thanksgiving, although I must say that no matter how many times I’ve toted in my foil-covered maple-roasted brussel sprouts or cranberry ginger chutney, I’ve yet to leave with anything more tangible and possessed by my host than some sliced turkey and a wedge of pumpkin pie.

More generally, it’s acknowledged potluck originated in Europe’s Middle Ages. Back then – as is still prevalent today among many thrifty Northeastern Yankees and sensible Midwesterners – nothing was thrown away. All leftovers were put in a pot and kept warm over a fire to feed unexpected visitors on short notice, a common practice at taverns and inns.  You showed up and you got the “luck of the pot.” The term, as “pot-lucke,” first appeared in the prose of Englishman Thomas Nashe in 1592. In Ireland, potluck came from a time when women gathered to cook dinner. Having only one pot, they cooked together with whatever ingredients they had on a particular day. Even the French got in on it, sort of, pot au feu or “pot on the fire” being an impromptu meal, usually served at home with whatever’s on hand. (In my childhood home, these types of meals and clearly un-Frenchified were called “must-go” – deriving from my mother’s surveying the covered and Tuppewared contents of our fridge and declaring that everything in it “must go.”)

It might be easy to think of our First Thanksgiving as a mega-potluck, the contributions to it made willingly and gladly, Indian and Pilgrim sitting down side by side. In fact, there’s little historical record of that first Thanksgiving, or, as it was billed, a “harvest celebration” and occurring, actually, in the second year of colonization after settlers nearly died of starvation in the first. From a single letter written by colonist Edward Winslow to a friend in England, historians have long tried to reconstruct the event on which all our traditional replications are based. While there is general agreement the local Indians played a role in helping the early colonists survive off the land and sea, many historians say there’s little evidence Massasoit’s fellow tribesmen were explicitly invited. Others suggest as many as 80 were invited, each toting welcome goodies. Likely a turkey-less, pumpkin pie-less, sweet potato-less banquet, the table did feature turnip, squash and corn. Along with venison and wild fowl, (islanders take note) lobster and cod may well have played a part in the  starring role long since solely occupied by the big bird. That it’s believed the celebration lasted three days and involved games and entertainment must surely point the way to today’s extended weekend of shopping madness and non-stop football game action.

History aside, it’s hard, as a writer, not to think of the metaphorical or at least the exemplary in potluck, whether at Thanksgiving or any other time. To a potluck, everyone brings something at least a little different. There is diversity in the dishes and, notably, in the folks who carry them in. Thus, no two potlucks are ever the same. New dishes, new givers, a new experience. The synergistic sum so much better than the parts. There is, too, in a potluck, a sense of connection, of community, each person making a contribution, each giving to and receiving from another sustenance, all doing the best they can with what they’ve got.  Because both the experience and the tasks are shared, the potluck makes it easier for everyone. There is cooperation, enviable and so sorely needed elsewhere in our modern lives. And of course, there’s the abundance. Though you may bring what seems like a little, you leave full. You may even leave with leftovers, even if not with, were this a true potlatch “give away,” your host’s new HD TV. Which is okay, since, as everyone knows, leftovers are the best part.