Growing up in Texas heralded the best moments during Thanksgiving, which unfailingly was my dad’s most cherished holiday, primarily because our home transformed into the festive party hub. While my mom’s family hails from Cuba, an agreement between my aunt and her many years prior divided the holiday celebrations: Thanksgiving at our place, and Christmas at the Cuban side. Describing our gatherings as merely “well-attended” would be quite the understatement. My dad, accustomed to handling grand-scale services given his ownership of three upscale restaurants in Houston and Austin, Texas, managed with flair. My childhood and youth unfolded in those very restaurants, where I evolved from a dish washer to eventually undergoing culinary training to work as a chef at the Austin locale while pursuing my university studies.
The recollections from those years are vividly imprinted in my memory, representing some of my most joyous holiday moments, especially since they encompassed cooking with dad from Wednesday to Friday. Our culinary adventures would commence with Wednesday shopping; in those times, grocery stores shuttered on Thanksgiving Day, resulting in bustling aisles on the eve. However, we had a safeguard: should the stores be bereft of something, we could easily source ingredients from the restaurant. By Wednesday, the turkey would be immersed in its second day of brining. Consequently, Wednesday evening was dedicated to concocting stuffing and preparing a roast pork, which had been marinating in a distinctive Cuban blend of garlic, freshly squeezed grapefruit, and other spices. In our household, it was typical to intertwine an American Thanksgiving meal with Cuban flair, integrating dishes like roasted pork, black beans, and rice.
Thanksgiving Day would invariably kick off in the wee hours; precisely at 0500 hrs, the turkey would find its place in oven number one, while dad and I embarked on breakfast preparations for my mom and two sisters. By 10 AM, our kitchen mirrored a restaurant amid a bustling lunch service. Initiating the setup for our 22 to 25 guests, we arranged tables, although our planned kickoff time of 1 PM rarely adhered to the clock. A familiar proclamation – that “next year, we’re not doing this” – would invariably echo, yet we always did. Once every meal component was prepped and cook-ready, my focus shifted to dessert pies: Apple, Coconut Cream (my personal favorite), and the traditional Pumpkin Pie. Having crafted these pies countless times, their recipes are now etched in my memory, rendering written guides unnecessary.
Scotland is what I now call home, though I also keep a residence in Germany. This school year has seen us residing in Germany to enhance our children’s proficiency in the German language. My wife is of German origin, and our three boys were born there, while my daughter first saw the world’s light in Scotland. Indeed, with Irish and Cuban roots interwoven into our family tapestry, our cultural milieu is rich and varied. For years, I’ve sought to recreate the cherished memories of my childhood for my kids. Both my wife and my mother-in-law have had the joy of experiencing our Texan celebrations in their latter iterations. While the experiences for my children won’t mirror my own — given that neither Germany nor Scotland celebrate US Thanksgiving — this year, I am resolute in crafting something that approaches the nostalgic moments that I hold dearest from my youth.
