In 1939, Thanksgiving, which at that time was the last Thursday in November, was to fall very close to the end of the month. Folks in the retail world complained that with only three weeks for holiday shopping that sales would be crappy, not ideal for an already crappy economy. So, Roosevelt declared that Thanksgiving would happen that year on November 23 instead of November 30. However, he waited until August to make that announcement. Travel plans had already been made, football schedules had been long established established, et cetera. About half of the states observed Thanksgiving on the new day, half did not. Some folks, taking the opportunity to poke a bit of fun at the commander-in-chief called the day Franksgiving.
I do love presidential trivia.
I have a different problem that I face at this time of year. I love to cook and I love cooking “holiday” food. Not enough that I am going to roast a turkey in July, but enough that I have considered making holiday meals from other regions and cultures at the appropriate times that have no personal significance. So what is the problem with Thanksgiving? I visit Mom on Thanksgiving and there, I eat her mouthwatering vittles and come home with leftovers. Score! But, I’m not going to cook my own Thanksgiving spread when I know I am going to eat heartily at Mom’s.
Enter Franksgiving! For my purposes, Franksgiving=Thanksgiving dinner one week early.
So as you see in the bad picture taken by the dying camera, there were roasted turkey legs, homemade cranberry sauce (with pecans), cornbread dressing (with celery, onion, green pepper and onion), sweet potatoes (baked in spiced cider), mixed greens (with liberal quantities of onion and garlic brightened with lemon juice) and whole wheat macaroni (well, penne) with cheese.
Alex was interested only in the turkey and cranberry sauce. I was glad to see that he was interested in the turkey, as I was not. Sometimes, Alex and I like to eat like Jack Sprat and his wife, I guess.
Full bellies. Good times. No complaints.