Oh, to be 19-year-old illyanna again.
Above Image: Wild Turkeys on my block
For anyone who cooks for Thanksgiving, you know that our routine starts days before. Mine started on Monday. Normally, I’d have gotten in the car and made the peaceful drive out to the Woodland countryside to pickup my reserved Branigan’s turkey. The 30-mile drive, while brief, is another world away from the bustling city. I would have driven under myriad of Grandparent Oak tree canopies, the sound of acorns being crushed by my GTI’s tires falling into the open windows. I would have pulled up on their gravel parking lot to the tiny wooden storefront, walked in, greeted by the family, told them my name, gotten my turkey, put it in the hatchback and off we go. Not this year. Because of Ms. Rona’s disrespectful ass, I had to reserve and pick up my turkey at the nearest Nugget Market. Oh, well.
Happy Thanksgiving!
As you’re reading this, I have already made the cornbread for the dressing you may have seen online or in the print edition of Bon Appetit’s Thanksgiving issue. I’ve already rubbed the turkey with salt and spices, mashed the potatoes and made the pumpkin pies. All I have to do is throw the turkey in the oven tomorrow morning, assemble and cook the dressing, warm up the potatoes, make the green beans, slice the canned cranberry sauce (don’t come for me!). There aren’t many things on the spread because there aren’t many people. It’ll be me and Mami, which is how it’s been for the last decade or so. My husband will be with me and mami this year. That should be interesting. Normally, he goes to his parent’s. It’s just the compromise we found that works. At first I thought it was because I want to be with my mom and he wants to be with his family (which requires a 70 mile drive). That’s still true. I also want Thanksgiving to be the way I want it. I don’t want there to be any surprises; people eating ham instead of turkey, grapes inside the stuffing. It would be a much quieter Thanksgiving without my husband, but I’m still thankful that we all can be at the table together.
I’m thankful. But I’m also jealous. Friends and colleagues are getting some amazing and superior brand partnerships and I wish I could be them. But, you know, still me. And those two don’t seem to be conducive to corporate brand partnerships. I can’t seem to think of anyone that ever shared their contacts with me. And I guess I don’t blame them. I’m known as a wild card and most people can’t risk burning their bridge connections because I called someone a pendejx for undercooking tater tots.
Or, something more serious.
A wild card. They call me difficult, dramatic and other derogatory names. Unprofessional. More than a handful of people have told me this week that I could catch more flies with honey and that I shouldn’t kick the bee hive. And honestly, I want to be that person! I want to be the person that doesn’t make a fuss. That can see a faux-pas and just swallow it. But therapy has taught me that I am unable to not speak out against injustices. “You’re not capable of just smiling and nodding.”
And honestly, if I were a man, they’d call me a pistol. And in this industry...they’d call me a pistol and would try to monetize off that “bad boy” attitude like they did with some of our more well known bad boy industry types. You’re probably thinking of Bourdain, right? I’m thinking of the man Bourdain looked up to, Marco Pierre White. Bourdain stated that he strived to be MPW ever since he saw that sinister scowl of a photo of him with the cigarette dangling from his mouth.
I digress. I’m no Marco Pierre White and this industry will never see a fat, hairy, brown woman as anything else than “difficult,” as long as she continues to advocate for herself. And the fucked up part is, who else will advocate for her? I’m thankful that I somehow managed to still be me and find my way into being a BA centerfold. I’m thankful that I somehow found my way to Ten Speed Press and am working on the cookbook I tried to push for ten years. And I’m thankful that in hindsight, I didn’t have to say “yes” to anything I didn’t want to in order to get there. I didn’t have to do anything “strange for some change.” As the saying goes. I sacrificed much less than some of my colleagues.
This Thanksgiving may look and feel incredibly different for you. To those who can’t be with their families. And, I’m so incredibly sorry. It hurts my heart. For me, this thanksgiving looks exactly the way it’s been for me for the last decade. Possibly longer.
Thanksgiving is always me and Mami. We cook, we eat, we light a fire, watch movies, play dominoes, take multiple naps and complain about how the world sees us as “difficult.”
What are you thankful for?
If anyone of Mami’s Maniacs would like to send trinkets to Mami, she now has a P.O.Box.
Which I pay for.
Mami Maisonet
5960 S Land Park #222
Sacramento, CA 95822
And as always:
You can still see all past stories on my portfolio where I store clips.
https://eatgordaeat.blogspot.com/
If you want to contribute to this artist in residence, mami’s f’ing expensive ass burgers or Dollar Tree visits:
Ha! I used to call it Thanks-taking, too! Now, I call it “another day of giving thanks!” I am thankful for the Ilyanna’s of the world who remind us that privilege is often a locked door you may have to kick in to show people on the other side what they’ve been missing and who they shouldn’t underestimate. Happy Holiday to you, Mami and hubby! Wishing you all peace and continued blessings! 🙏🏽✨🦃🍂
I am thankful to have been introduced to you and your pistol-ness this year. You have inspired me to be more "aggressive" at work and to use the privilege of my title and seniority to point out colleagues' tone policing more regularly. I am trying to be a better advocate for my "unruly" sisters and brothers, pre and post hire. Thanks for using your voice.