Sweet, sauer side dishes of Thanksgiving

Craig Wilson

Jennifer Regester has lived in Montana for six years now, but her Baltimore roots show through every year at Thanksgiving.

"We always have to have sauerkraut on our table at Thanksgiving. It's a mainstay," says Regester, 36, who lives in Bozeman and is a product developer for a home décor firm.

"I thought everyone in the United States put sauerkraut on their table. It's just part of Thanksgiving. But apparently, no. Every year I hear from many of my Montana friends as to why this side (dish) on the Thanksgiving table is just wrong."

Culinary eccentricities are not unusual for this traditional holiday. Millions of Americans will celebrate Thanksgiving with food that millions of other Americans would find beyond strange. Things like sauerkraut.

America's diverse population has whipped up some strange bedfellows for old Tom Turkey. Ravioli, anyone? Boudin, maybe?

Blame your great-great-grandmother. Regester's sauerkraut, for instance, has its roots in the German population that settled in Maryland centuries ago.

Also blame the mobility of Americans. Sauerkraut seems to travel well. Who knew?

Barbara Fairchild, editor in chief of Bon Appétit magazine, grew up in Los Angeles but also had sauerkraut at her childhood Thanksgivings, compliments of her mother's German roots back in Maryland.

"The tradition ends up wherever the latest generation lands," she says.

Oysters on the West Coast

Now, such Thanksgiving traditions often have more to do with family and ethnic heritage than geographic regions. Fresh evidence: the Pacific Northwest.

Bruce Silverman, vice president for operations for Whole Foods in Portland, Ore., says his stores are "selling more oysters than we ever have before."

Why? Hurricane Katrina refugees from Louisiana.

"They want it for their oyster dressing. It's amazing how they've brought their culture to this part of the country," he says.

Fairchild says, "That's where the fun begins."

There are no rules. Anything goes, and it has for generations.

She tells the story of one friend who every year has to have canned peach halves topped with cranberry sauce. "It's been in her family forever."

This Thanksgiving, Fairchild is having her traditional herb-rubbed turkey with shiitake mushroom gravy. Her side dish is going to be Brussels sprout slaw with mustard dressing and maple-glazed pecans. She says she likes the color and texture.

Nice, but certainly no Jell-O mold.

For more than a quarter of a century, Lori Rahlf's family has included "Rainbow Jell-O" at their Thanksgiving table – "a 10-layer tasty work of art that isn't difficult to make," says Rahlf of Cincinnati, who admits her husband hunted down the recipe after having the delicacy at a church supper in Iowa City years ago.

"It just takes a long time. Maybe that's why we only have it once a year, but it wouldn't be Thanksgiving dinner without it."

And then there's the Mallonee family of Leawood, Kan., who put sherry in their Jell-O concoction and top it off with Hellmann's mayo. "It's so weird, it's wonderful," Jane Mallonee says.

Sugary sentiments on tables

But for millions of Americans, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving without a marshmallow or two.

Matt Ortenzio's grandmother Shirley Ortenzio has always made her signature "sweet potato puffs," basically sweet potatoes stuffed with marshmallow and then baked.

Ortenzio, who works the front desk at a hotel in Hershey, Pa., says they've "become a tradition in our family for more than a quarter-century and will continue to be for years to come."

Ken Brown's "tradition" will survive, too.

Brown grew up in Des Moines in the 1950s and realized at an early age that his family was a bit different. The Midwest is famous for its bread pudding, but ...

"The menu was pretty standard fare except for one item," says Brown, now a battalion chief with the Iowa City fire department. "My grandmother made carrot pudding."

He says he has passed the family recipe, which he believes dates back to 1840, down to his sons so Brown families will serve the specialty for generations to come.

Brown confesses, however, that "only four people in the world were known to enjoy (it). My grandmother, her brother Keith who lived in White Bear Lake, Minn., her cousin Margaret who had her own Thanksgiving to go to, and me."

Regester understands. She, too, has a holiday confession.

"I honestly can't stand the taste of sauerkraut, but I make it every year and it sits in the bowl on the table and no one eats it," she says. "But it's just a must. The house has to fill with the smell of the sauerkraut to truly feel like the holiday."