My first Thanksgiving at what would become my in-laws house. I didn’t know it at the time, but their son would become my husband and I would give birth to their first grandchild. Early family dinners are filled with such tension. I wanted to impress them. I wanted them to like me.
When I sat down, there was a marvel at my place. A soup bowl filled with mashed potatoes. At my home we serve our potatoes in a huge bowl that barely contains the almost 10 pounds of buttery mashed goodness, yet there is always bickering because everyone wants their fair share for the meal, and leftovers. A curse on whoever leaves potatoes on their plate Thanksgiving day. This pre-portioning solves all the problems. My in-laws are geniuses!
We pass the food and fill our plates. I take my fork and dip it into my potatoes. Not as good as my parents, but edible. I try another forkful. My future husband leans over and whispers, “Those are for everyone.”
I have double dipped my fork in the soup bowl of potatoes meant to be shared with seven people. Meekly I take a smidgen and pass to my left. Then I get the “gravy” which looks like pan drippings with giblets floating in it. I pass it on without dampening my dollop of potatoes.
It’s a wonder I stayed with him after that meal. It’s a wonder I ever went back for another Thanksgiving.