November 28, 2002
Return to the Island of Misfit Jews. Well, I'm off to scenic Old Bridge for the extremely non-traditional Thanksgiving lunch (my brother works in a movie theater and needs to be in a 4, so we're eating early to accomodate). Thanksgiving has always been a bit of a quiet time around the Goldstein household; our main big family gatherings have always been centered around Rosh Hashanah and Passover, and neither us nor our Queens-based relatives are ever too psyched about battling TG traffic, so for the last few years it's been just the immediate family, when it's even been that. Nice, but not exactly Rockwell's "Freedom from Want."
Adding to the simplicity of the celebration is the fact that if we have an actual Thanksgiving tradition, it's a rather odd one. Every year for about ten years, up until I entered junion high, we would take a two-week holiday down to my grandparents' place in Florida, usually with a Disney trip as well. We would leave on Thanksgiving morning, so that our Thanksgiving feast was held in a Roy Rogers off of I-95, in Virginia or something. So while other families can think back on feasts of sumptuous turkeys and succulent pumpkin pies, my Thanksgiving memories usually involve my Mom maiking a salad from the Fixins' Bar, with a dressing of ketchup, mayo, and a dash of horseradish sauce.
Still, a tradition is a tradition, so I'll be picking up a three-piece w/biscuit from the Turnpike rest stop Roy Rogers on my way home. I have to admit to being a bit jealous of Mr. Fat Guy's massive spread, or even better, a feast served by a cute little monkey.
Adding to the simplicity of the celebration is the fact that if we have an actual Thanksgiving tradition, it's a rather odd one. Every year for about ten years, up until I entered junion high, we would take a two-week holiday down to my grandparents' place in Florida, usually with a Disney trip as well. We would leave on Thanksgiving morning, so that our Thanksgiving feast was held in a Roy Rogers off of I-95, in Virginia or something. So while other families can think back on feasts of sumptuous turkeys and succulent pumpkin pies, my Thanksgiving memories usually involve my Mom maiking a salad from the Fixins' Bar, with a dressing of ketchup, mayo, and a dash of horseradish sauce.
Still, a tradition is a tradition, so I'll be picking up a three-piece w/biscuit from the Turnpike rest stop Roy Rogers on my way home. I have to admit to being a bit jealous of Mr. Fat Guy's massive spread, or even better, a feast served by a cute little monkey.
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