Remembrance of Things Pabst

When I was seven years old, I would go to stay at my Grandmother’s house on Henry St. every day after school. I also went there before school and it was where I learned how to cook. But I went after school to wait for my mom to come pick me up and take me home. She had another baby at the time and would bundle up my sister and come to her mother’s house every day. Families where like that then. You saw most of your extended family all through the week, not just at holidays. My uncles would come home from the docks at lunchtime to eat and sometimes I would too! My cousins and I where always underfoot and running around and playing soldiers or playing stoop ball in the street or ringalevio or Johnnie on the pony and cause a ruckus.

My Grandmother was a great cook and I owe everything I know about cooking and food to her. She came from the island of Ischia in the bay of Naples and everything she made was from the freshest of ingredients. Which was kind of interesting you know. You see the most famous dish in Ischia is rabbit. We always had these nice little bunnies to play with right around Easter time and then suddenly they weren’t around anymore. Of course you had a lot more interaction with live animals in New York back then. Several people on Henry St kept chickens and the rest of the people went to the live poultry market that was owned by Albert Anastasia’s brother Tony on Hicks St. Everyone got their chickens there and their turkeys. The only thing was they cost fifty cents more if they killed and cleaned them for you.

So one day (actually today the Tuesday before Thanksgiving) I got to Grandma’s after school. I had a couple of Yoohoo’s at the candy store and I really had to go. Yoohoos would go right through you. Now in those days the cold water flats had the bathrooms in the hallway and not inside the apartment so you didn’t have to go inside. So I rushed in, threw my school bag on the hallway floor and quickly opened the door. OH THE HORROR!!!!

I was attacked by this giant stinking squawking feathered demon that immediately started pecking at me. And not just at me but my poor seven year old balls. I screamed like a girl and ran around in circles as the fearsome beast attacked and attacked like some delirious mash up of the Three Stooges and Alfred Hitchcock. My uncle came out and started to laugh his ass off. He grabbed the turkey by the neck and threw it in the bathroom. He was laughing so hard he almost pissed himself. Oh and I didn’t have to go to the bathroom anymore.

Ever since then I have hated turkeys. I never eat it. I scieve it and all it’s works. It nauseates me and I refuse to cook it. It is a big waste anyway. Everyone says they want it and load up their plates. With cranberries sauce and sweet potato and green beans and stuffing and the works. Then they take a couple of bites and push it aside and say to wrap it up and they will eat it later. Meanwhile the carcass of the filthy beast stays in the refrigerator for a week and everyone goes “Yeah leave it I am going to make a sandwich later.” But they never do, they never do.

So this Thanksgiving we are exhausted and have a lot of work to do still. We have to decorate the store on Wednesday and we are having a big Black Friday sale! So we are not going out for Thanksgiving. But the wife invited her mom and dad to stay over our house for the holiday. Now we miss them and haven’t seen them in a while. I don’t mind making a quick sauce and some ravioli’s and stuffed mushrooms and an antipasto and some vegetables. I was even going to make a roast lion of pork. But my mother in law insisted that we had to have a turkey. I resisted. But like the Borg resistance is futile.

I mean I threatened to give her five slices of turkey breast and some cranberry sauce in the shape of a can on a plate but cooler heads prevailed. I ordered a turkey dinner from soup to nuts from one of my clients. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potato, sweet potato, green beans, salad, pumpkin pie the works. So I won’t be making a lot of other stuff, just the ravioli’s. And while they cut up that foul prehistoric beast I will be sulking in the other room.

At least the Giants will be on.


Happy Thanksgiving.