I’m nervous. I’m not sleeping well. The greatest challenge of my life is one month away and I have yet to start planning it: Christmas dinner. Everything will be riding on it. Not just my self-respect; the respect of my gender – every man who has ever said to his stay at home wife, “Hey, I’d take your job in a minute.” Well, she gave it to me. It’s all mine. And now I’ve got to deliver. Put a stunning meal on the table this Christmas; one that lets my hard working, career-driven wife know she married the right …well …wife.
Let me be frank. I’ve survived these last few months on nothing but moxie, a crock-pot, and a copy of Cooking for Idiots. And now I’m staring at one hard cold fact: not only have I never cooked a Christmas dinner, I can’t recall having eaten one. I’m a Jew: a Jew, who pompously volunteered to cook for his Cuban wife and her family on their most important Holiday of the year. What the hell was I thinking? If some couch potato wants to firm up, you don’t tell him to enter a marathon. You tell him to walk a little, then jog a bit, see if he can eventually work himself up to a mile. Yet here I am, a couch potato running a marathon, a culinary novice planning the mother of all meals: Christmas Dinner. Yikes!
What do I do? Where do I go? Calm down, I tell myself. You can do this. My mind races for a starting point. Charles Dickens. What was it that Scrooge gave to Bob Cratchit and his family on Christmas Eve? A goose! That’s it! I’ll cook a goose!! Hold it. What is a goose? Is a goose a turkey? And do Cubans eat geese? Note to self—call wife and inquire about Cuban Christmas tradition. No, forget the note – call her now. Dare I disturb her at the office? I do. And what I hear on her end of the line is disturbing. “I’m going into a meeting, but my father cooks a pig every year.” Click.
To say I was dumbfounded would be an understatement. More like, thunderstruck. I’ve sizzled some bacon once or twice for Julian, but a pig? No, I say to myself. This is where you must draw a line. You don’t cook pig. One, your oven is not large enough and, two, haven’t these people ever seen the film “Babe”?
After a little research and a few insults from some guy in the meat department at Gelsons. I find myself leaning toward a ham or a pork loin roast – either should satisfy my in laws pig requirements – and maybe a turkey for myself and my other non-Cuban guests. Okay, so far so good. Thank God Thanksgiving is my brothers tradition. He and his wife had us to their country club. I was shocked by the excess of it all – Prime Rib, Shrimp, Lobster, Turkey; and that was just my plate.
Hold on. Imitation is the best compliment. But how can I imitate Thanksgiving at Hillcrest? I can’t do it. I’m one woman, I mean man, for crying out loud. I don’t have their arms! I don’t have their kitchen! I don’t have anything! I’m a charlatan!!
Wait a minute, I remind myself. If you can do a page one rewrite and have it ready for the cast the next day, you can cook a damn dinner, fellah! But that was a while ago. And what does writing have to do with cooking? And then it hits me- …everything.
Of course! A Beginning, Middle and End. Hors d’oeuvres, Entrée, and Dessert! It’s so simple! Now get to it. Start planning your hors d’oeuvres, big guy.
Don Seigel is a comedy writer and producer whose credits include such hits as the "Golden Girls" "The John Larroquette Show" and "Frasier". He lives in Calabasas with his Cuban wife and stepson.