My wife and I didn’t have the kids this Thanksgiving. Instead of celebrating the day with the traditional big dinner, the two of us just went with turkey pot pies instead — turkey pot pies, and lots of movies and good books.
It was glorious.
We do enjoy the traditional big turkey-and-mashed-potato Thanksgiving dinners, and still plan to have one when everyone’s home sometime between now and Christmas.
But a day to just relax and goof off: priceless.
Have you ever noticed all the different ways people eat pot pies?
I eat pot pies the correct way, of course: I flip it upside down on the plate, smash it all together into a big mass, and eat it indiscriminately, whatever comes up on my fork.
(Watching someone else eat a pot pie is like watching someone else wash dishes. Everyone has his or her own system, so it’s better to just not watch. You spend the whole time standing there thinking, “You’re doing it wrong!” )
Other people in my household — ones who don’t like crust as much — flip the pot pies upside down on the plate and poke a hole in the “top” (i.e. bottom). Then they eat the various internal ingredients in a much chooiser way. By the time they’re finished, they end up with a hollow crust shaped like a volcano.
Some people put the pot pie on the plate right side up, still in its cardboard container, and eat them that way.
(Another aside: I noticed on the box the microwave directions for cooking the pot pie come first, are much larger, and have illustrations. If you want to see how to cook the pot pie in a conventional oven, the directions are smaller and not illustrated. What does that say about our society?)
Actually, for all pot pies are looked down upon, treated as just one step up from a microwaved burrito, one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten was a pot pie.
It was November 1996, and I was visiting England with my brother. We were walking around the outskirts of the city of York on a cold, rainy day, we were tired from carrying all our belongings in a couple backpacks, and we hadn’t eaten since breakfast many hours earlier.
We saw a workin’ man’s diner up ahead, the English equivalent of a truck stop, and decided to have dinner.
My brother (who had lived in England for a while before that) recommended I try something called “Yorkshire pudding”.
As an American, I heard the word “pudding” and immediately thought of something completely different than what he meant. I gave him a raised eyebrow, but ordered it anyway.
Page 2 of 2 - What arrived on my plate was the greatest roast beef pot pie ever made in the entire history of people eating stuff.
“Waaaaaait a minute. Hang on! When English people say, ‘pudding’, they really mean ‘really good pot pie!’” I said, being hit with an epiphany.
So it’s probably ironic that I ate a traditional English dinner to celebrate the pilgrims’ leaving England and all.