We ate mashed potatoes and gravy all the time growing up, weekdays as well as weekends with Sunday dinner. My mother was good at gravy, and turkey gravy was a specialty of the York household. My father cooked the turkey and most of the sides, but my mother did the gravy.
I seem to have inherited the smooth silky gravy gene, although I haven’t eaten gravy on a regular basis for decades. Here in Seattle, Matt and Amy host for Thanksgiving, and since moving here I’ve taken pride in making the gravy — which I can still do successfully although only once a year. The logistics are a little complicated, as gravy has to be done at the last minute and brought to the table hot. That places me right in the middle of the kitchen, at the stove, when everything else is being carved or dished up and served.
This year, when Matt sent out the list of what we could sign up to bring, I pounced on all the easy things: half a dozen bottles of wine, homemade cranberry, and Met Market turkey gravy, which is just fine and orders of magnitude easier. The complicated and wonderful vegetable dishes, the desserts, the munchies ahead of the meal I happily leave to the younger generation, who enjoy doing them and have more interesting recipes on hand than I do.
I’m pleasantly surprised, as I age, how easy it is to give up what I once considered important to “my role”. At a point, I really did like making the gravy, finding it a link to my past. Now, I will happily dump two containers of Met Market gravy into a large Klainer kitchen saucepan to be heated whenever, and take myself into the living room with a glass of good wine to chat and await the meal. 🙂