This year, like last year, we're having Thanksgiving dinner at a buffet restaurant in Cleburne, a town not far from Whitney. The food there is excellent, and of course there's no hassle about cooking or cleaning up, but I miss the hustle and bustle of holiday meals prepared at home.
When I was little, my Ma and a couple aunts (generally MaryEllen and Delores) would spend the entire night in the kitchen, cooking such wonderful goodies. I could stay up and help, as long as I didn't make a mess. I stirred things, frosted cakes, and of course got to lick all the bowls I wanted.
There was turkey, naturally, and ham, mashed and sweet potatoes, green beans, corn, stuffing, rolls, cake, pies, and ice cream. And one year (I think I was eight), I got to make something of my own.
Aunt MaryEllen was making pies, and my job was to trim the uncooked crust around the rim of the pan. When I'd finished, she said, "Would you like to make something?" I did, but I wasn't sure what I could make.
She had me take the dough trimmings, roll them out into a flat sheet, then cut the dough into circles with a small jar lid. Then, she gave me a jar of apricot preserves, and told me to place a teaspoonful on each circle. Next, she showed me how to fold the sides of the circles over, to make a sort of tube holding the preserves. When we'd finished, we had about two dozen small pastries ready to be baked; they were served with the cakes and pies the next day, Thanksgiving .
Thank you, Auntie...y'know, I haven't made those since then; 'bout time, perhaps.
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