Thanksgiving not a cinch if you're finicky

by Ted Escobar
| November 24, 2016 12:00 AM

People often ask each other about their best Christmas, but I rarely hear people speak about their favorite Thanksgiving.

I don’t know that I ever had one. They are all pretty much the same thing. You gather your immediate family and a few members of the extended family. You share a turkey accompanied by the best side dishes of the year.

The only thing that has changed for me over the years is the hunger I bring to the table. When I was little, and even in my teen years, I took it easy on the turkey and trimmings.

This left room for pumpkin pie and apple pie, of which I ate several wedges the rest of the afternoon. Later, perhaps in my 40s, I loaded up on turkey and trimmings and skipped the pies until Friday. Now I struggle to finish one plate of turkey and trimmings.

My most memorable Thanksgiving occurred when I was about seven, maybe eight years old. We visited my godparents Lee and Josephine Gomez in Toppenish that year.

Lee had come out from Billings, Montana with my father in 1941 to get a look at Washington for the first time. They moved their families here within a couple of years. We played with the Gomez kids and are still friends today.

After Lee and Josephine greeted us and invited us into the house, I happened to catch a glimpse of the table. It was already set with a huge, scrumptious meal. It included a platter of empanadas (Mexican turnovers).

There were pies too — pumpkin, apple. But I had my eyes on those empanadas as I rushed through one light plate of turkey and trimmings.

When I announced I was finished, my Godmother asked if I wanted some pie. I looked toward the empanadas, and she offered me one of those instead. Excitedly, I took a bite.

All kinds alarm bells went off in my brain. Tornado, hurricane, tsunami!

These were not apple. These were not pumpkin. These were the awfullest tasting minced meat (or something like that) ever.

I’m sure my expression gave me away, but I recovered my composure, chewed quickly through a fake smile and forced the bite down. Then I excused myself from the table and walked outside to finish my empanada.

I found a suitable place to dump the rest of it in my godparents’ yard.

I turned down every offer of pie the rest of the afternoon. I wasn’t sure I could trust the filling. Since then, I won’t touch an empanada or pie unless I am sure of the filling.

Have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone.