Traditionally, Predictably Funny

Thanksgiving dinner would have been properly exploded across the table in Grandma and Grandpa Z’s house at this point. The rolls were half gone. The turkey plate was almost empty. The gravy bowl was down to its final third.

Broccoli salad was kicked. Mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes were heavily dented. Stuffing was long gone. The cranberry plate had been restocked twice already. The can opener was still warm in the other room.

“Ready for desert?” The groans and yesses floated up. Plate clearing began.

And then, in the kitchen, without fail, “Goddamnit, I forgot the creamed pearl onions in the microwave again.”

So Grandma and whoever was helping came back into the dining room, carrying all sorts of bowls, setting them down on the table with the extended leaf in it, and the second table pulled onto the edge of that one, producing its just slightly uneven effect, with the game on the TV in the other room out of field of vision but not out of field of hearing, and you could smell all the deserts.

The pumpkin pie. The bread something. Maybe bread pudding, maybe just - some extra carbs with sugar or raisins in it or whatever. And the creamed pearl onions. Can’t forget those. Not now!

They’re not a desert pairing. Not in any way. Not even a little bit. Why would an accident transform them? I always thought - wouldn’t most families just abandon ship on them at this point? Reserve them for leftover portions, at least? But no. Not us. Not Zeigler’s. Clean plate clubs and waste not, want not rules applied. They were made for dinner, we were still seated for dinner, and this was part of the procedure.

Who cares that they were in the microwave, again, and nobody missed them during the meal. Not because they’re bad, I was always a fan, but because in the rush to get everything onto the table while it was hot, they got overlooked. Microwaves and their doors - damn them for not reminding you back then.

I think one year it was the green bean casserole, too. But most of the time, it was the creamed pearl onions. That little extra zap did them in.

So you’d have the pumpkin pie with a scoop of cool whip on your plate, and the lingering taste or smell of a scoop of pearl onions in your senses. We’d all be laughing about it. My uncles would be telling me to combine it with desert, I’d be daring my brother to take a bite of each at the same time, my uncles would be sneaking it onto each others plates just to see if somebody wouldn’t notice.

If it happens once, it’s an accident. But every year we forgot something until desert. And learned to swear about it and then eat it anyway. Order be damned.

Laughing together always was and always will be my favorite family tradition.