Yes, you heard right. Growing up in an Italian family, turkey was not the main course for dinner. Sometimes it wasn’t even on the table. Thanksgiving was all about big family gatherings, escarole soup, homemade spaghetti, raviolis, meatballs, sausage, red wine, and scrumptious Italian cookies. I remember being teased in school when the teacher went around the room and asked us about Thanksgiving traditions, and I broke out the ravioli story. They laughed, but I thought these “Medagons” had no idea what they were missing.

Days, if not weeks before the big feast, my mom would start making the raviolis. She would make the dough, mix it by hand, and crank out thin sheets of pasta from the “machine” that were laid on the table ready for spoonful’s of seasoned ricotta cheese. The dough was then folded over the cheese, cut into squares, and ready for the most important part of the process which was left to one of the kids. That involved taking a kitchen fork and crimping the edges so that the ravioli pockets were sealed shut so they wouldn’t break open when cooked.

On the big day, we would have cousins, aunts, grandparents, more cousins and anyone else who wanted to come over to the house. My parents had an enclosed front porch, and a long table would be setup for dinner. If you were lucky enough and old enough, you got to sit at the big table, and not in the kitchen at the kid’s table. On occasion, if my Nanny and Pop-pop Shinners were there, we also had a turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing and such as well. As long as I can remember, my grandparents did not eat Italian, or any other ethnic food. But it wasn’t really about the food. It was family, friends and thanks. And boy, we would celebrate for hours! Or at least until all the wine and cookies were gone. Happy Thanksgiving wherever you are, whoever you’re with, and whatever you’re eating. Mangia!