For the sum total of my twenty-eight years, my mother’s dressing had always been on my holiday table. This time, 7500 miles separated me and that pan of crumbled biscuits and cornbread. Would it truly be Thanksgiving if that stuffing wasn’t on the table? I was an adult by all appearances and had a family of my own. I could make …
I prepared my first one in a cold oven overnight. I wasn’t in the range personally, you understand, but the turkey was. My adult daughters now roll their eyes when I speak of such things, but we lived in a country where individually purchased store-bought eggs came from mounds of unrefrigerated straw. Evidently, salmonella didn’t exist back then. Turkeys weren’t …
One particular Thanksgiving in Taiwan, I somehow got the idea to invite everyone that I knew for the holiday meal. Over a month prior, we ordered five large turkeys from a wholesale meat market, borrowed 15 folding tables and began stockpiling mounds of stale cornbread in the freezer. Our apartment was too small to contain …
