Leftover Season

Now that Thanksgiving has come and gone, we enter a wonderful season called “Leftovers.” It’s squeezed gently between Black Friday and the beginning of Advent. Although it rarely finds its way onto an official calendar, it warmly resides in the hearts of millions of Americans year after year. Among the many things I’m willing to state out loud that I’m grateful for on Thanksgiving Day, I consistently add that a chief source of abundant thankfulness is the leftover treasure piled on the serving counter. I say let’s grab a fork and celebrate.

The annual preparation for the season of Leftovers is a covert operation. Everyone is pretending to be planning a Thanksgiving meal, but when we pull back the veil of deceit; it’s pretty clear that everyone has the Leftover holiday in mind. Here is an example of how that works.

Thanksgiving planner #1 says, “What pie should we fix for Thanksgiving?”

“Well, we should have pumpkin,” responds Thanksgiving planner #2. “But, we should also fix an apple and a cherry pie. They’re so American, after all.”

Planner #1 observes, “And what about a pecan pie? You know how aunt Alice loves pecan pie.”

“Yes, let’s do a pecan pie, and I have a recipe for a French Silk pie I’ve been dying to try,” Planner #2 adds.

You will notice that the nature of this conversation is cumulative rather than presenting alternatives. It is likely to end in a double-digit pie selection when a pie and a half would have amply supplied a gathering filled to the brim with turkey and stuffing. Nobody ever challenges the wisdom of this policy of dietary mass destruction because everyone is secretly preparing for Leftover Season.

Another example is green bean casserole — green beans are the pariah of vegetables. Nobody likes them, no matter how much they profess their dietary purity. True, green beans are not only green by color and name; they are greenly rich in healthy nutrients, not to mention high-motion fiber. But when have you ever seen green beans topping a fancy menu? That is until Thanksgiving dinner. Then someone added cream of mushroom soup and those “fancy-like” french fried onions. Suddenly, like Cinderella, green beans become the belle of the ball, with everyone lined up to get their share. And when the clock strikes midnight, this magnificent casserole doesn’t tear off, leaving its glass slippers behind. It is just as good reheated.

Of course, we have to say something about turkey. It has long been the centerpiece of Thanksgiving culture, from the President’s pardon to the forty million other turkeys that find their way onto our dinner tables. We accept light and dark preferences without malice, and the search for a giant turkey in the market rewards us with a surplus stack of meat headed for Leftover Season. But we no longer rely on the size of our turkey for such provision. Now the American feast has entered deeply into meat multiplication. Alongside the traditional festive fowl appears meatballs, ham, leg of lamb, prime rib, duck, chicken, and goose. Meal planners insist that they are simply trying to accommodate a variety of tastes, but this is only a thinly veiled cover for their true purpose of ensuring that the meat lasts through Leftover Season.

We have not yet mentioned the appearance of the brown lava that flows as if from Mt. Vesuvius over everything on our thanksgiving plates. Lately, gravy has fallen on hard times. Dietary pundits have held it single-handedly responsible for the explosion of American obesity. I grew up with gravy as part of nearly every meal, a tasty sauce made from the odd bits left in a frying pan. Fortunately for me, gravy still appears during the holidays even though it is now commonly created from the powdered contents of a foil packet. I consider this a lack of true grit, but I’m thankful that gravy makes its noble way into Leftover Season as long as the weight-reduction fanatics don’t sneak it into the garbage.

The short growing season in Minnesota and the glucose-loving people who live there have added another significant feature to our celebration of the Leftover Season. By the time the end of November rolls around in Minnesota, traditional salad fixings like lettuce, celery, and tomatoes have long left for warmer climes. But the clever people of that fair state have learned to cope by turning to more weather-resistant choices for the salad plate, such as canned fruit, pectin, food coloring, and sugar. Completely unaffected by sub-zero temperatures, the ingredients for jello salad have fashioned themselves through literally billions of permutations into a popular staple for Leftover Season. They appear on Thanksgiving as wiggly pristine sculptures that colorfully compliment the traditional meal’s browns and whites. However, their ultimate expression waits for the days following the grand meal. The sad slumping state of jello salad leftovers often puts off inexperienced refrigerator foragers. But veterans know that the sloppy goop of blended jello, whipped cream, soggy pretzels, and wilted strawberries is true ambrosia guaranteed to elevate one to saccharine bliss. And by the way, it’s still a salad, especially if you’re from Minnesota.

This year my wife and I attended two different Thanksgiving celebrations. Both were lovely; however, in both cases, we were guests. Leftover Season is awkward for those who celebrate the holiday in restaurants or other people’s homes. We returned home to a refrigerator featuring two uncooked slices of bacon, half a tomato, and a nearly empty liter of fizzless Squirt. However, the $0.99/pound fresh turkey post-Thanksgiving sale came to our rescue. Adding a can of green beans, cream of mushroom soup, french fried onions, and stove-top stuffing, we were on the way to our third Thanksgiving celebration. Best of all, we are fully prepared to celebrate the Leftover Season properly. Now we can be genuinely thankful.