Glutton Fest (aka Thanksgiving)

Those of you who know me well know that I love to eat. A lot. The problem is only exacerbated by holidays during which eating is a main focus, such as Thanksgiving. My brother, the hulking 6'3" guy that he is, jabs at lil' ol' me for being a human vacuum cleaner. Yes, I am mocked mercilessly for my voracious appetite in everyday life, but especially during the holidays. My brother has a healthy appetite himself, but will make comments about nobody getting in between me and the buffet for fear of death or trampling. He'll also make wagers with other family members over how many plates of food I will consume. Although he claims it's all in jest, I swear I've seen the exchange of money after I've shoveled down a particularly impressive eighth plate.

But you know what? I don't apologize. I will undoubtedly burn off those 10,000 calories while running during the week. How can I spend a holiday with my culinarily gifted family and NOT eat myself into a food coma? Thus far, I have found it impossible. Just be warned that spending a food-based holiday with me is going to involve stretchy pants or a stretchy skirt so I can expand without pain, similar to Joey on "Friends."

Every family seems to have its own traditions on the holidays and there's one I never could appreciate until I grew older. That was my dad's early morning practice of LOUDLY making the stuffing, which would invariably jar me from my slumber. He makes his own delicious, wonderful stuffing from those dried bread cubes and always uses a giant metal bowl. Much to my chagrin, I would struggle to return to sleep after the tink-tink-tinking noise of croutons on bowl began, seemingly for hours on end. Of course, one bowlful was never enough; we have to make enough stuffing to feed a small country. When I would finally concede that sleep was impossible, I would leave my toasty bed and grumble all the way to the kitchen. My dad, disgustingly cheery at that hour, would continue his mixing of the stuffing ingredients while I chastised him for waking me prematurely. Then he would suggest that as long as I was up, I should help him out.

I consistently disliked hearing that crouton-on-metal noise throughout my childhood. In my mind, nothing should interfere a student and her much-coveted sleep on a day off. Students wait all year for these worshipped days of sleeping in, and hindering that joy could lead to a scene worthy of stories featuring fire-breathing dragons. Now, however, I've grown to miss the tink-tink-tinking sound in the early hours of Thanksgiving if I'm not at my parents' home when it occurs. Unfortunately, this year is going to be one of those years. I'm flying in Thanksgiving morning, so the stuffing making will have already taken place. Sure, I'll get to devour the delectable product which ensues, but there's something so comforting for me about hearing the stuffing making early in the morning. I guess there's always next year.

The beloved/loathed stuffing croutons and the infamous metal bowl.

The smells emanating not just from our kitchen, but the entire house, are positively divine on Thanksgiving. The roasting turkey, the stuffing, those little rolls, the cranberries. Mmmmmm. I know it's weird, but there's some sort of similar smell that sometimes wafts through the mall a few blocks from where I currently live (it must be the mixture of food court options). It just so happens that my gym is on the top floor of the mall, so smelling that wonderful Thanksgiving aroma before, during or after working out is pure torture. However, it makes me smile every time thinking about my family bonding over cooking the holiday feast. Smile and, of course, drool like mad.

As much as I look forward to Glutton Fest every year, what I really love is the unsaid rule that being together on Thanksgiving is mandatory in my family. We may not all get to see each other every year on Easter or Christmas due to work schedules and such, but Thanksgiving is a must do. I'm not sure how it became that way. Maybe it's that my mother was hosting a house full of people and went into labor with my brother on one of our first Thanksgivings, and we all like to celebrate together ever since. Maybe it's that we don't have to get caught up in the holiday commercialization like with Christmas. Whatever it is, the cozy feeling of being with family is always worth the stress of elbowing my way through crowded airports chock full of rushing people and screaming kids. No matter what you do on Turkey Day, whoever you are with, and whatever your traditions (both old and new!), I wish you a Happy, Happy Thanksgiving! Have a turkey leg and a giant heap of stuffing for me! I promise to have a plate (or six) for you.