Holiday (Comfort) Food

COB, who write Table of Promise, recently said, "Most of the time, we accept the food we eat because it is familiar. But how much of its contents are really up to our own standards? How much of it could we make in our own home kitchens? And when you find out what is in something, do you still want to feed it to your children?" This was posted on KidHaven, where COB has just become a regular contributor! In the post she talks about her project to get herself and her family off of processed food.

This has also become my goal. I have read most of the books that COB read, and we were similarly inspired to change our lifestyles based on what we had read. I don't know COB at all in real life, but it is so exciting to learn about regular folks out there who are doing the kinds of things I want to do in the kitchen.

But our common reading list is not why I bring up this comment. COB often says exactly what I'm thinking, and she puts it so nicely that I can't help but wish I'd thought to say it first so I don't look like a copycat! And this sentence got me right in the gut. Literally and figuratively, I guess.

I'm struggling with something right now. It's called Planning A Thanksgiving Meal for my Family. It could become a full-time occupation over the next few weeks. The guest list includes my niece who is allergic to peanuts, oats, eggs, and possibly other things. Also, her dad (my brother-in-law) who would like us to believe he is allergic to vegetables. Then there's my younger sister, whose palate has expanded since she was a young child and only ate peas, baked beans, bananas, and hotdogs, but I am never really sure about what she'll eat on any given day. (The day after Thanksgiving in 2001 I was shocked to watch her pour balsamic vinegar and olive oil on her salad. I wondered where my *real* sister had gone. I'm actually still looking - if anyone has seen the namesake of the "Jenny Beans," please let me know.) The other guests are easier to please, but to complicate matters, I am trying as hard as I can to make this an entirely local meal, and as organic as possible.

I have secured a pastured, organic turkey. I have bag upon bag of frozen corn in my freezer. I have recipes to make whole wheat rolls from scratch. I have a surplus of potatoes that should last until Thanksgiving, but if they don't I think I will be able to find some at a farmers' market. (I'll even let my twin sister mash them.) I have carrots in my garden. I will use apples in the stuffing instead of raisins, and homemade bread instead of the store-bought variety. There will be cornstarch in the gravy but it is a family recipe and I feel okay about using it. It's all covered.

Except this one pesky little dish. Traditionally my favorite Thanksgiving food. The one whose recipe calls for Michael Pollan's favorite ingredient - a can of cream of mushroom soup.

Can it really be Thanksgiving without green bean casserole?

Again, COB asks: "Most of the time, we accept the food we eat because it is familiar. But how much of its contents are really up to our own standards? How much of it could we make in our own home kitchens? And when you find out what is in something, do you still want to feed it to your children?"

Green bean casserole is familiar. When I spent 3 hours a day driving to and from college, and then student teaching placements, I listened to a lot of NPR. My favorite part of the afternoon program "All Things Considered" is during the holiday season when they discuss holiday recipes. A year or two ago I was shocked and horrified to hear the host and a chef talking about how to substitute fresh green beans with slivered almonds for the usual soupy green bean casserole which they claimed was "blech," or something similar.

My mind rebelled. "What??? Green bean casserole is holy! You can't skip it on the Thanksgiving table." In the words of my mother, "that's not right." I remember distinctly having my own little conversation with the chef while driving on Hwy 23 between Princeton and Montello, explaining to them how very wrong it would be not to serve green bean casserole on Thanksgiving. I made it at my sister's tiny apartment the first Thanksgiving she was married, where we ate chicken instead of turkey, and my dog Frodo saved us from a grease fire in the kitchen. And I made it the next year when we ate off of her fancy china in her new dining room. It has always been a part of the Thanksgiving table.

But as I begin to prepare my menu for this Thanksgiving, at my house, with my new husband, Michael Pollan speaks to me. On page 200 of "In Defense of Food" he writes, "As cook in your kitchen you can enjoy an omniscience about your food that no amount of supermarket study or label reading could hope to match. Having retaken control of the meal from the food scientists and processors, you know exactly what is and is not in it: There are no questions about high-fructose corn syrup, or ethoxylated diglicerides, or partially hydrogenated soy oil, for the simple reason that you didn't ethoxylate or partially hydrogenate anything, nor did you add any additivies. (Unless, that is, you're the kind of cook who starts with a can of Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, in which case all bets are off.)"

I'm not kidding, guys. He's standing in my kitchen, shouting this at me while I try to brainstorm local, seasonal family-friendly appetizers.

But it's comfortable.

It's familiar.

It's a holiday.

I don't know what's in Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, but I know I could make my own cream of mushroom soup at home with three ingredients - cream (or half-and-half), chicken stock, and mushrooms. But the green bean casserole recipe doesn't call for homemade cream of mushroom soup. It calls for a condensed, salty, hydrogenated (Maybe. I don't really know.) food-like substance. I'm not ready to condense or oversalt or hydrogenate a beautiful cream of mushroom soup I make from scratch just so I can add it to green beans for a Thanksgiving casserole. And honestly, I don't even want to think about those french fried onion things that go on the top. Really.

Okay, the truth of the matter is that even though I really used to love green bean casserole, the thought of putting those crunchy little onions into beautiful luscious green beans I grew in the garden is revolting. And since I successfully (in my opinion) skipped the cream of mushroom soup in my shepherd's pie, I know I can skip it for Thanksgiving.

But it's going to be a little weird. And I'll probably have to eat my words about how wrong it would be not to serve green bean casserole at Thanksgiving. And I'll have to mentally apologize to the NPR host and the guest chefs who have been trying to get cooks to replace green bean casserole with real green beans.

Green Bean Casserole, which was probably invented in the 1950s and hailed by women across the country as the best thing ever because it tasted a little bit fancy, but only had three ingredients (canned beans, canned soup, and canned crispy onions), and was a snap to make, is familiar holiday food. It is definitely something I used to look forward to.

But it does NOT live up to my standards. I could not make those ingredients in my kitchen and recreate the dish without, well, let's be honest - a bunch of corn and soybean products for texture and color and consistency. And I don't really want corn and soy in my green beans. I don't have children (yet) but I'd feel better about feeding my toddler niece "boring" old green beans with butter (even if she doesn't eat very many) than I would about introducing her to canned beans drenched in sodium, corn, soy, and more sodium.

Thanks for making me be honest with myself, COB. It's not hard to eat well, but it can be hard to let go of old favorites sometimes.