Photo booth picture of my grandparents as teenagers. Grandpa cut his chin shaving earlier.
The recession of 2008 hit some states earlier than others, and the state we'd moved to seven years before was one of them. Oregon fell on hard times, my husband was laid off and he & I were struggling to juggle part-time jobs with caring for two young kids. Eventually our house was foreclosed on. We had to figure something out, fast.
About two weeks after the foreclosure notice my dad called. My grandpa's Alzheimer's was much worse and Grandma was getting desperate. She'd moved them into a small apartment but didn't want to sell their house or rent it to strangers. Would we be willing to come back to Arizona? In exchange for the free occupancy of the lovely big house, would I be willing to help Grandma care for Grandpa?
Of course I said yes.
In mid-November 2007 we came back. One U-Haul crammed with furniture and belongings, with a car trailer holding our car, which in turn held various pet carriers. The four of us just barely fit on the bench seat of the U-Haul, and only because the kids were still small. For two days and two nights we lived, ate, and slept in the cab of that moving van. On the morning of the third day we arrived. It was an inexpressible relief.
Truth is, Grandma saved us. We'd been terribly close to being homeless in Oregon in the winter. I'd been homeless before; I didn't want to do it again, especially with two little kids. As horrible as the situation was, for my grandparents and for my family, the timing was just extraordinary. They needed me just as I needed a home and the support of people who loved me.
After we got settled in I decided I would do Thanksgiving that year. Grandma's house had the biggest kitchen I've ever seen, and it was fitted out with absolutely every appliance, device, and cookware a person could ever want. I called my parents, then my grandma.
I'd already been to her apartment a few times by then, and had a pretty good idea of how it was with Grandpa these days. He was still the gentle, sweet-natured person he'd always been, but he was nearly nonverbal. And had a few odd tics he'd never had before. One of which, Grandma informed me, was picky eating. Very, very picky. Like a small child. And recently, the only thing Grandpa wanted to eat was chocolate. Grandma wanted me to know ahead of time, and not be upset if Grandpa refused to eat what we were having. I told her not to worry.
And then I had an idea.
A couple of days later I called Grandma back, and explained my idea. I wanted to make something a little different; still turkey, but not the usual roasted whole bird. Grandma gave me the go-ahead, and I went shopping. Fortunately Cottonwood had, and still has, a supermarket catering to Hispanic and Mexican-American tastes. All sorts of specialty items, spices and ingredients I couldn't find anywhere else.
I was going to make turkey mole. A delicious, complex Mexican dish that happens to include chocolate. (Specifically, the kind used to make traditional Mexican hot chocolate).
This isn't the exact recipe I used, but it's the closest I've found. Turkey mole recipe.
Just to be on the safe side, I made everything else the usual Thanksgiving dishes; ordinarily turkey mole is served with rice and tortillas. Mine would be accompanied by mashed potatoes and rolls. (I also roasted a couple of drumsticks and half a breast for anyone who preferred the usual).
Came the day, Grandma's big dining table was laid with her gorgeous wedding china and sterling flatware. Grandma and I sat on either side of Grandpa, ready to help if needed. I brought the dishes out, saving the turkey mole for last. Showed it to Grandpa and explained that it was a very special way to cook turkey that used chocolate in the sauce. Not like Hershey's syrup, I added, but yes, chocolate.
Grandpa looked a little dubious but agreed to try it. (Actually, he just nodded). I put a little on his plate beside the potatoes and stuffing and all. And held my breath. I was prepared to switch his plate for the ordinary turkey. It wasn't necessary.
Grandpa took a little bite. And his face lit up with that beautiful smile we all loved and hadn't seen in such a long time. He ate it all. Even the potatoes and stuffing and green beans. I thought my grandma might start crying; Grandpa had been living on chocolate ice cream and cereal for days. For that day at least he was eating what she called "real food".
I would have made it again, just for him, but didn't have the chance. Grandpa died the following February. Grandma lived alone in the little apartment for a few months before returning to the house on Chuckawalla drive. I was her live-in caregiver until she left this world ten years later.
Thanksgiving 2007 was probably the most effort I've put into a single meal. And absolutely the happiest, most joyful Thanksgiving I have ever had. I haven't cooked turkey mole since then. Maybe I should.
Have a blessed and happy day, everyone.
