I yanked the last of the two dozen buttermilk-potato rolls from the baking sheet, yelping a little as the steaming, fluffy bread burned my fingers. The cornbread for the cornbread dressing cooled on a rack across the kitchen. And my spiced cranberry sauce gleamed, ruby-red under the lights I’d just installed under the cabinets.
Thanksgiving. A cook’s favorite day. One full of tradition and mostly fond memories. Usually. I won’t mention the half-raw turkey Mom cooked one year. Or the pumpkin pie that slid from oven to floor in the time it took to gasp, “Oh no!”
Most Americans believe the myth of Thanksgiving, the one painting a beautiful tableau of the kind Wampanoags and the starved Pilgrims mingling happily, sharing food, celebrating a beautiful friendship. Most likely a few of the dishes now associated with Thanksgiving appeared on the table then, but swan, lobster, and seal could well have been there, too.
Note Brownscombe’s inclusion of the fine English table touches: china plates, silver serving dishes, and a pristine white tablecloth, all doubtful for that particular occasion.
An eye witness wrote:
Many years later, author and magazine editor Sarah Josepha Hale (the “Mother of Thanksgiving”) – she wrote The Good Housekeeper (1841) and “Mary Had a Little Lamb” – petitioned authorities to declare Thanksgiving a national holiday. During some of the bleakest hours of the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln did just that, in 1863. He urged Americans to pray to God to “commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife.”
In 1941, President Franklin Roosevelt decreed the fourth Thursday in November as Thanksgiving Day.
All that history fascinates me. But if you’re like me, you’re probably wondering more about the food.
A recent post on a Facebook history group intrigued me:
So I thought it’d be enlightening to browse the New York Public Library’s vintage menu collection.
Here’s one from Illinois, 1899:
And here’s one from the Waldorf Astoria in New York City, 1912:
And this one dated 1895, from the Hotel Roanoke, where I ate many times with the Peacock-Harper Culinary History group from Virginia Tech:
Note there’s no reference to the famous peanut soup of later years.
And this one dates to 1898 Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania:
I see many English and French influences … . And a great deal of turtle, too. Nary a green bean casserole, though. Nor that disgusting abomination, sweet potatoes with marshmallows.*
Have a good week, cooking for Thanksgiving or whatever you’re planning.
Though sometimes I wish it all could be as simple as Elizabeth David’s idea of a perfect Christmas dinner:
That would work for Thanksgiving, too, wouldn’t it?
*For the marshmallow travesty, see The sweet potato casserole is Thanksgiving’s weirdest—and most American—dish . And go HERE for an explanation of the origins of the now-iconic green bean casserole.