Holidays with Van

I.

Different things make a holiday authentic for individuals. For some it’s a particular dish or climate. For me, it’s a person. And that person is James Bond. It’s just not the same without the James Bond marathon.



II.

I grew up learning to cook for Thai people and what I have learned is this: approach seasoning as though you were doing the musical score for a big, big Hollywood movie: in every part, in every mouthful someone should be saying something like “This time it’s personal” or “When you disintegrate a man, you’d better disintegrate him good” or “Topless Pizza Party! Whoo-hoo!” and then there has to be a whole orchestra backing that sentiment up and this has to be so monstrously, transparently clear that 13 year olds, sullen adolescents, jaded posers, tired parents, retards, the elderly and people who ride the bus can understand, as well as their counterparts in Jakarta, Belgrade and Siberia. It has to be obvious, because it has to be part of an international auxiliary language of sequels and t-shirts. This is how to have to season the food: not too much, but constantly, like you were putting make-up on a gaping wound.


III.

I don’t know about your Mom, but my Mom likes to play classical music every holiday, or when she’s cleaning, which is every holiday. By “classical” music, my Mom means what most people mean, plus orchestral music generally: it all tends to be pretty and pretty familiar: Beethoven’s Ninth and “Lark on a String” inhabit their orbits in the carousel of the CD changer with a certain regularity rivaled only by their celestial counterparts. It’s also a little indiscriminate, so over Thanksgiving and Christmas, I typically can slip a few other CD’s in, including Messiaen and movie sound scores. I particularly like to put on Bernard Herrmann’s score to Psycho , because it’s frantic pace insures I get a lot done and I like to pretend I am Janet Leigh trying to scoot out of town with a purse full of bank money and a massive rack. The trick of every holiday meal is timing, so I try to tent the turkey in foil if it is browning too quickly and I take it out for an hour before carving to firm up and to dress it before bringing it out to the table. Then I excuse myself to the rest of the waiting table to get changed out of my cooking clothes before the carving. I come back in a dress and a wig. I wait for my cue. Then I rip off the foil in one movement and start stabbing. Then I say to the guests: I live with my Mom.