This is late to be talking about this. But since it has been on my mind, I shall just type a few words about a larger Christmas dinner than the one that the Jarvis family had. When I was a guest at their home, one of the rituals was sitting down on Sunday night and figuring out the calendar for the week – who needs to go where, and when, and could the family every get together at a certain time, and how would this be possible. A couple of times in the planning Catie said that she would be helping to make the stuffing at an Inter-Faith event to be held at a Catholic church. This was to be done on December 24th, since the dinner was being served on Christmas day: dinner for 1,000 or more. All you could eat, and no questions asked about who could come to the dinner. Just come and enjoy. Bring the whole family if you won't be having your own dinner at home.
Catie asked a number of times if I would come along to help do the stuffing.
Could I say no?
The dinner was held in the large auditorium of a Catholic Church. When Catie and I got there four people were standing at a butcher block in the centre of the large kitchen. Four people were carving turkeys as the meat was being brought in by people who had purchased the turkeys and then cooked them at home. There was a list on the wall – some people were bringing 2 turkeys. As people brought the roasted birds the names of the families supplying them was checked off of the list.
The people in the middle of the kitchen were carefully carving the meat and then the carcasses were put in large pots and being boiled so that the stock could be used later for gravy and for liquid in the dressing. Large pots. Deeper than the length of my arm.
Many over-sized tubs of cubed bread were on one counter. Catie was to add the spices, the liquid, and the celery and onions which were being cooked by a chef at a stove dedicated to him for that purpose. She had to go down on her knees to get her arms to the bottom of these big tubs and to mix the spices, onions and celery around.
As well, there was no real formula for the spices. There had to be sage, salt and pepper and oregano, if I remember correctly. I can remember that we were to add twice the amount of basil as we did the other seasonings. Many large plastic containers of spices were used as the day went on. I have to say there might have been some melted butter in there as well. Catie had to keep tasting until the dressing was just right. The question she had to ask was “Does this taste like bread?” If so, Catie had to go back to adding more spices. And tasting. And re-tasting. And she was on her knees blending everything together for the whole afternoon. At one point I remember her saying, I don't think I can put one more bite of this into my mouth, Grandma. Will you give it a try?
The man who takes care of this operation, or at least the food part of it, knows Catie from other events where she has volunteered for him. He knows her name. He knows she is a good worker. At some times in the day, I saw him write down messages to himself in a small book so that he could remember points he wanted to change for the next time.
Another crew had set the tables in the auditorium. This operation which is really a community venture has been going on for a number of years. They have outgrown other venues. The priest of this church was open to having his facility be the home for Christmas Dinner.
Perhaps the highlight of the day for me was watching the interactions of the volunteers. The wonderful people bringing in the food. The four people at the table cutting the meat, two on each side, silently slicing the breasts, taking the dark meat and putting it aside, hour after hour, occasionally thanking someone who brought a perfectly cooked bird. And quietly taking turkeys that needed more heat and putting them in one of the church ovens to finish them off a little more.
At one point a deep-seated resentment between two of the workers surfaced. All of us watch its resolution. That complicated public exposure and how it was deflected for the greater good might have been a moment when I felt the true spirit of Christmas in action.
Well, I hope this hasn’t been too much, nor too late.
It comes with no pictures except the one I have tried to paint for you.
Arta
Catie asked a number of times if I would come along to help do the stuffing.
Could I say no?
The dinner was held in the large auditorium of a Catholic Church. When Catie and I got there four people were standing at a butcher block in the centre of the large kitchen. Four people were carving turkeys as the meat was being brought in by people who had purchased the turkeys and then cooked them at home. There was a list on the wall – some people were bringing 2 turkeys. As people brought the roasted birds the names of the families supplying them was checked off of the list.
The people in the middle of the kitchen were carefully carving the meat and then the carcasses were put in large pots and being boiled so that the stock could be used later for gravy and for liquid in the dressing. Large pots. Deeper than the length of my arm.
Many over-sized tubs of cubed bread were on one counter. Catie was to add the spices, the liquid, and the celery and onions which were being cooked by a chef at a stove dedicated to him for that purpose. She had to go down on her knees to get her arms to the bottom of these big tubs and to mix the spices, onions and celery around.
As well, there was no real formula for the spices. There had to be sage, salt and pepper and oregano, if I remember correctly. I can remember that we were to add twice the amount of basil as we did the other seasonings. Many large plastic containers of spices were used as the day went on. I have to say there might have been some melted butter in there as well. Catie had to keep tasting until the dressing was just right. The question she had to ask was “Does this taste like bread?” If so, Catie had to go back to adding more spices. And tasting. And re-tasting. And she was on her knees blending everything together for the whole afternoon. At one point I remember her saying, I don't think I can put one more bite of this into my mouth, Grandma. Will you give it a try?
The man who takes care of this operation, or at least the food part of it, knows Catie from other events where she has volunteered for him. He knows her name. He knows she is a good worker. At some times in the day, I saw him write down messages to himself in a small book so that he could remember points he wanted to change for the next time.
Another crew had set the tables in the auditorium. This operation which is really a community venture has been going on for a number of years. They have outgrown other venues. The priest of this church was open to having his facility be the home for Christmas Dinner.
Perhaps the highlight of the day for me was watching the interactions of the volunteers. The wonderful people bringing in the food. The four people at the table cutting the meat, two on each side, silently slicing the breasts, taking the dark meat and putting it aside, hour after hour, occasionally thanking someone who brought a perfectly cooked bird. And quietly taking turkeys that needed more heat and putting them in one of the church ovens to finish them off a little more.
At one point a deep-seated resentment between two of the workers surfaced. All of us watch its resolution. That complicated public exposure and how it was deflected for the greater good might have been a moment when I felt the true spirit of Christmas in action.
Well, I hope this hasn’t been too much, nor too late.
It comes with no pictures except the one I have tried to paint for you.
Arta
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