Flan de Calabaza

Anyone who knows me in the slightest knows I love Thanksgiving. I suppose I naively stick to the belief that it is the “best” (or perhaps better said, “most neutral”) American holiday because it glorifies neither war nor religion. And of course, nothing combines the love of cooking and the obsession with good-old-Americana like the perfect Thanksgiving menu.

In my 20’s and 30’s I routinely hosted 25-30 of my closest friends in a tiny apartment. The menu grew every year, even when the guest list only fluctuated by a few. I was insistent that every, single traditional “American” culinary element appear, often represented in various manifestations. Sometimes it meant corn bread, and corn soup and corn pudding in the same meal. I actually kept a handwritten list of the menu, taking it out once a year and adding dishes. I even had a cooking schedule, taking in to account the dishes needed a day or two for flavors to mingle. I am sure that yellowed, piece of ledger paper is somewhere in my house, probably tucked away in one of my many cookbooks.

Then like for many of us, things changed. A large group, cramped and eating on the floor gave way to dinner with my husband’s family and actually sitting around a table. It took me a few years to give up on controlling the menu, and I slowly got used to another great American tradition -- a twist on the potluck. I had to decide on which culinary elements I would provide, a very, very painful endeavor. Usually it was the bread dressing for my husband, the sweet and sour red cabbage at my father-in-law’s request, and minced meat pie (minus the meat, of course) for my mother-in-law.

Today, I am wondering when in my youth the elements on my family’s Thanksgiving table went from Cuban, to American. When did the soup course go from some sort of pureed bean thing, to gingered carrot and corn chowder? And when did we start making bread stuffing, instead of filling the bird with congri? (That would be a Cuban version of dirty rice, mixed with beans, for those of you not in the know…) Was it when my cooking obsession began in junior high school? Or maybe it was my cookbook phase, which shortly followed. Or was it in high school, when my very-happy-Cuban-self decided it was about time to search out the things I loved about this country – and there were certainly many – and forge more of a hyphenated identity? Or was it when I moved to New England, and became fascinated with little things, like the history of johnnycakes?

Due to unforeseen, last minute circumstances, Thanksgiving will be at my house this year, and I will be doing all the cooking. We will not be a large group, but rather, will all fit around a rather smallish, dining room table. The menu too, will be modest, more in line with the small number we will be on this coming Thursday. And believe it or not, I have not given much thought to the menu, except that I suspect it will probably be more along the carrot soup and bread pudding lines, than frijoles con arroz blanco. But, I am thinking about taking my mother’s FABULOUS flan recipe and seeing about adding some pumpkin. Pumpkin flan. Flan de calabaza. Something to make the Cubans, Pilgrims, Native Americans and other assorted New Englanders happy!

Oh, and by the way, Cubans never, ever do potlucks. Nunca.