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 and with whom it’s eaten, 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. One woman often played the star role – 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, the “man of the house” was likely the one to hoist the plattered bird and carry it to the table. And there, he was the one to carve 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?

Traditionally associated with a church supper or a community event’s covered dish supper or a New England bean supper, 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 the assist in putting on a meal but not necessarily in the way 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. Participants are often assigned specific dishes by a savvy hostess. 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. Back around the time 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 expression of deep gratitude for an end-of-season bounty, the potlatch sometimes became a “give-away ceremony” in which a host, giving thanks and expressing confidence in bounty yet to come, and obviously really into the spirit of things, might even give away all his possessions. Some folks claim the potlatch may 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 cart away any more of my host’s possessions than some sliced turkey and a wedge of pumpkin pie.

More generally, it’s acknowledged potluck originated in Europe’s Middle Ages. Back then, with all the thriftiness of many northeastern Yankees and sensible Midwesterners, nothing was thrown away. A common practice at taverns and inns, all leftovers were put in a pot and kept warm over a fire to feed unexpected visitors on short notice.  Folks showed up and got the “luck of the pot.” In Ireland, potluck dates 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 with pot au feu or “pot on the fire,” a kind of impromptu meal usually served at home with whatever was on hand. In my childhood home, such types of meals, and clearly un-Frenchified, were called “must-go” – deriving from my mother’s surveying the Tuppewared and foiled-wrapped 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. But in fact, there’s little historical record of that first Thanksgiving, or, as it was billed, a “harvest celebration” and concluding, actually, 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 it’s generally agreed that the local Indians played a role in helping the early colonists survive off the land and sea, many historians say there’s little evidence that Massasoit’s fellow tribesmen were explicitly invited to a feast. Others suggest as many as 80 were invited, each toting welcome goodies. Likely absent turkey, pumpkin or sweet potato, the table did feature turnip, squash and corn. And lobster and cod, we Maine islanders may happily note, along with venison and wild fowl may well have played a starring role long since occupied solely by the big bird. That the celebration lasted three days and involved games and entertainment must surely have pointed 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 in potluck, whether at Thanksgiving or any other time. To a potluck, everyone brings something 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, 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 tasks as well as the experience are shared, the potluck makes it easier for everyone. Cooperation, so sorely needed elsewhere in our modern lives, is evident. And, of course, there’s abundance. Though you may bring what seems like a little, you leave full. You may even leave with leftovers, even if not in possession of, 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. 

An earlier version of this blog was posted in November 2010