A RETRO THANKSGIVING

CRUISING INTO THE HOLIDAYS – DEC. 2025

[A Rejiggered Story from Thanksgiving, 2021]

Happy Belated Thanksgiving! Hope you all were able to celebrate in the traditional ways that you have become accustomed. Or not! Sometimes there is way too much pressure on all of us to fulfill the traditions of our childhood, much less the customs we have been celebrating as of late! With the world in a kerfuffle as it is, I believe many of us have re-evaluated what is important and are fortunate to spend time together, whether with friends or family. Others have set aside the roasted turkey idea for something less stressful, with or without family. How about you? What were your priorities this year?

THANKSGIVING - NOVEMBER 2021

As for me, a woman who loves tradition but has family strewn from the West Coast to the East Coast, I decided this was a time of resilience—and/or cleverness. You see, when family is far away, my husband and I enjoy spending time on our sailboat, Dolci Sogni. As it turned out, “she” was busy in San Francisco having her biennial ‘‘bottom’ job. We had been told our boat would not be available for three weeks, but two days before Thanksgiving, we received word that our boat was being cut loose. Great! If we pulled our act together, we could join our friends and sail across San Francisco Bay to Angel Island for a Thanksgiving feast/picnic. Hurrah! We picked up our boat Tuesday afternoon and left her bobbing contentedly in a South Beach slip in San Francisco awaiting our return the next day with provisions. Thanksgiving Day provisions!

By Wednesday afternoon, and after loading our Jeep with all the accoutrements one needs for a full onslaught turkey feast – fresh 12 lb. turkey, Yukon gold potatoes, nests of garlic cloves, dressing mix, fresh celery, mushrooms, onion, chicken broth, cream, butter, more butter, turkey seasoning, lingonberry sauce (as the Swede in me rose to the occasion, since I had no time to make my classic cranberry salsa) and one purchased pumpkin pie (of which is my first ever), plus, the makings for green bean casserole (Yes, some of us still love it!), we headed back to San Francisco to unload on our boat. I had no idea what anyone else was bringing to the picnic on Angel Island, but I was going to be ready. Oh, and we threw in some clothes for four days. And books! Oh, my! And wine! Did I mention wine?

Around 4 p.m., our loot was successfully dragged down the dock in our little blue wagon and stowed on board. The galley was stocked; the wine cave full; the cheese and crackers were awaiting ‘docktail hour’ and I, exhausted from the rat race, nestled down into my bunk for a quiet ‘lie-in.’ But within ten, maybe twenty minutes, I heard from the upper deck RIGHT ABOVE MY HEAD, a loud clanging and banging of something large, metal, and heavy. I knew my beloved husband, Winston, had been the source of this sound, but also knew something was amiss! (He knows it’s best not to awaken me.) What was going on? Within a short interval of time, he came down below to reveal a possible glitch in our plans.

“It seems the propane tank, necessary for this mad-dash turkey run for tomorrow, is a tad light.”

“Light? I asked. “What does that mean?” My eyes veered toward the clock hanging in the galley. 4:45 p.m. on the Wednesday before T-Day!

“What propane refilling stations could possibly be open hours before a holiday is about to begin?” I mused. Quietly! Silently!

Ah, but after many unsuccessful calls to numbers which went unanswered, my husband sighed, and we began to explore other options. No one was expecting us to show up with a turkey, were they? Well, possibly one or two were! But we could probably re-evaluate things in the morning. Flexibility is a word used often by any sailor who is used to adjusting his sails to meet the changing winds. Or, as I’m known to say on too many occasions, ‘We’ll jump off that bridge when we get to it’ as an echo from Billy Crystal in the ‘91 movie, City Slickers. What can I say, it was almost five o’clock somewhere and we were happy to be on our boat! Cheese and crackers unveiled. Wine uncorked!

I don’t know about you, but for me best laid plans continue to burble up and down throughout my dreams. Both of us probably slept less than we wanted, as we mentally reconfigured and rejiggered what needed to be accomplished the following day. I believe it was 3 a.m. when it dawned on me that if, by any miracle we could get our propane refilled on Thanksgiving and a turkey was a prospect in our future, I had forgotten to bring flour. How could I possibly make good giblet gravy without flour?
By the time I awoke, my husband was already scoping out the prospects for propane and thank goodness we had our car available—which isn’t always the case when one is sailing from port to port. He scarfed down a quick breakfast sandwich, warmed in the microwave, and loaded the errant tank into our little blue wagon. I suggested, in passing, that if he wanted luscious turkey gravy, he might remember to pick up some flour. Only half a cup was necessary. And off, he went.

Once he was gone, I sat down to consider my options. Should I begin to prepare the ingredients just in case he was successful? Should I precook the food in the microwave while we were still ‘plugged in’ at the dock? If we did have propane, how long would the turkey take to roast in a little oven in our small galley? Should I even dig the turkey out of the bottom of the refrigerator to see if it’s time to shine had come?

Eventually, I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and gave Winston a call. Yes, he was able to get the tank refilled (almost ten miles away) but had gotten lost on the way back as the GPS was taking him away from the marina. Thankfully, he said, he had stumbled upon a corner grocery store and found a small bag of flour! Score!!

When he returned, and we finally lit the flame in the oven, we breathed a sigh of relief. We then wedged that bird into a foil lasagna pan, as the other pan was too tall, seasoned and buttered the bird successfully, squinched the pan onto the bottom of the oven as no rack would possibly fit, and sat back satisfied. Now, only three hours to go!
An hour and a half later, we began sailing to Angel Island. There I was with three pots happily simmering on top of the stove: giblets, potatoes, and dressing. Oh, my! And as the turkey was busily emitting aromas to write operas about, I finally relaxed, gimballed the stove (which stabilizes with the movement of the waves), put on my PFD (personal flotation device), and went up on deck to enjoy our crossing.

What a magnificent sight to behold! There we were the only ship on the entire Bay with the Golden Gate Bridge shimmering in glorious sunshine! The waves, as they hit the bow of our boat, sent up iridescent sprays of gold. Languidly, I noticed the skyline above San Francisco had a mellow haze to it—or could that possibly be smoke? From my turkey? Yikes! Back down into the galley I raced. I un-gimballed the stove, pried open the oven door, and poured a glass or two of water into the pan. Because the pan was resting on top of the heat source, I could see a bit of blackening going on down there. Cajun turkey, I was imagining. Oh, what would this do to my magnificent gravy? The smoke subsided and I began to breathe again. I returned top side.

Seals and rafts of sea birds welcomed us to Angel Island as we swung our boat into Raccoon Strait, then Ayala Cove. The sun was easing down the west side of the island, but enough warmth and light were wrapping around the little group of boats already bobbing on mooring balls. We pulled magnificently into a slip (that only happens when no one is watching!)—and jumped ashore.

With a flourish and a flounce, my husband hoisted his latest burgee up the mast: an odd little flag with a “dumpster panda” (or racoon). Yes, this was it! The official burgee of the Angel Island Yacht Club.

By this time, the savory aroma from the turkey had wafted ashore, and gaggles of turkey lovers begin to scramble toward our boat. Wait! Wait! Quick! Mash the potatoes; whip up the dressing; and make that giblet gravy fast, fast, fast! Carve the turkey—and oooh! Aaahh! How delicious! What succulence! Thank God! Grab the lingonberries and the pie. May the feast begin! Like a Santa with his sleigh, we showed up with our Thanksgiving trappings riding high in our blessed little blue wagon—bowls, pots, pans, pie, wine, and all wrapped lovingly with blankets.

Perhaps, not like the first Thanksgiving—as they boiled their turkey—we were able to share our bounty with about twenty boaters and six little preschoolers, who had also ventured out onto this ‘wild’ place. We were thankful! They were thankful, as most had brought hot dogs or sausages to grill. (In fact, the preschoolers left their hot dogs to their parents and made a beeline to our table holding up empty plates. With all my grandchildren far, far away, this was my greatest gift.)

For a couple of hours, we were able to enjoy the camaraderie of good friends, our family away from home. Unfortunately, the sun began setting and we needed to make a hasty retreat to San Francisco. The rest of the sailors were conveniently moored in Ayala Cove, so they were just fine for the weekend. But Angel Island allowed no overnight boaters on their docks and our time had lapsed.

So, yes, our time was short and sweet! But what can be better than sharing a meal with “family” anywhere you go?

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

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So, that was then, and this is now! This year another beautiful Thanksgiving shared with family along with their rich banter . . . . and accompaniments to the dinner, including my son’s delectable pureed Yellow Beet Soup with coconut milk and fresh ginger, plus my husband’s touches to help make the meal go smoothly (even when the oven failed to proceed midway through the roasting of the turkey). Always something, right?

With December here and chomping at the bit to get on with the holidays, I’ll release you with a special on my latest book, Adventures on Land & Sea: Searching for Culinary Pleasures in Provence and along the Cote d’ Azur.

Holiday special - $12.99 and free shipping - Click here to order online.

Happy Holidays to all of you, and a Happy New Year!

And, if you feel a wee bit in the mood to drop me a note, or a comment, please do so! No charge! I’d love to hear from you!