Families sometimes get into a culinary rut.

A culinary rut is when a person, or group of persons, develops a habit of serving the same item or items again and again. This can be a good thing or a bad thing, or both.

The culinary rut is deepest and widest during the holiday season. The holiday culinary rut is usually based on years of family traditions and tried-and-true recipes. It is also founded in sentimental remembrances of holiday meals past and relatives who are long gone.

The Christmas Eve dinner at our house is the same dinner that my mother served back in the 1960s. I’ve updated a few of the recipes, but all of the players are still the same. Personally, I’ve been serving the same Thanksgiving meal for 20 years. Actually, I’ve eaten the same exact Thanksgiving meal for all of my 48 years, every year except for one.

That one-year is the subject of today’s column.

My father-in-law is a man of Polish-Native American decent who grew up in El Paso, Texas just minutes away from the Mexican border. After a stint in the Air Force, he earned a degree in accounting and moved to Mississippi where he became the CFO of a large sportswear company. Nowhere in his background was there any culinary training, not even a hint that he might have cooked once or twice with his mother or grandmother. Nevertheless, this never stops him from “creating” in the kitchen.

He was recently divorced and living in a small apartment in Hattiesburg around the time I began dating his daughter. This man who was to become my future father-in-law invited us to Thanksgiving dinner and we accepted.

I was new to the family dynamic. My wife’s future stepmother was there, too. She’s a great cook, but for some reason, she wasn’t allowed to go into the kitchen that day. It would be a detail that all involved would deeply regret for years to come.

My father-in-law, my kids call him Cappy, loves Mexican food. He will drive one hour out of his way to eat barely mediocre Mexican food.

Cappy is a brilliant man who has no filter, and is proud of it. One minute he might be talking to my children about complicated math equations or international politics, the next he might be reminiscing about his misadventures across the border in Juarez, Mexico, during portions of his misspent youth. One never knows what’s next.

This Thanksgiving, sometime in the late 1980s, he got the idea that the traditional turkey-dressing-cranberry thing was overdone. He hoped “to start a new trend” he told us. “I grew up near the Mexican border,” he said. “We’re having a Mexican Thanksgiving this year.”

Interesting, I thought. I love Mexican food. Maybe this man I’ve just met has got something here. It doesn’t matter that the Pilgrims landed in Massachusetts. Juarez, Mexico could be a perfect inspiration for a holiday meal. I was young and stupid.

The meal, as it turns out, was a one-dish preparation we now call Cappy’s Tamale Surprise. It consisted of canned tamales, canned beans, cheese from a bag, cheese from a can, and canned jalapeno peppers, all layered with tortilla chips. No cranberries, no dressing, it was surprising indeed.

Actually, it was bad. It was really bad. It was bad like you’ve-never-had-bad-like-this-bad-before bad. Canned cheese was the main offender. Canned cheese is not cheese at all. I don’t know what it is. The government makes companies call it “cheese food,” but it tastes like vomit.

Being from a border town, Cappy likes his food hot. Being a lifelong fan of Cajun food, I like my food spicy. Cappy’s Tamale Surprise was nuclear. He must have dumped a quart jar of jalapenos into the casserole, along with the juice. Every bite brought more pain and anguish than the next.

It was excruciating. Everyone was in tears, not only from the heat but also from the flavor. Oddly enough no one spoke of this while eating. Maybe it was because everyone’s vocal chords were paralyzed by the heat. We just looked at each other, and chewed, and cried, and winced, and secretly writhed in pain.

Being new to the family, I did my best to push Cappy’s Tamale Surprise around on the plate. When asked for seconds, I politely declined. Others followed suit.

I am not sure where Cappy received his culinary inspiration that day. Maybe it was a dish that he and his fellow airmen used to prepare in his Air Force days around the poker table with a six-pack of cheap Mexican beer, maybe a similar dish was served in the back alleys of Juarez. It is highly likely that he was just walking the aisles of the grocery store on Thanksgiving morning and all of the typical Thanksgiving items weren’t available.

That one meal taught me the true meaning of Thanksgiving, as I am eternally grateful and thankful that I will never have to eat Tamale Surprise ever again. It is not an item that is in danger of falling into our family’s culinary rut.





Jill’s Sweet Potatoes

4 cups Sweet potatoes, cooked, peeled and mashed

3 cups Sugar

4 Eggs, beaten

1 cup Heavy cream

3 sticks Butter, divided

1 tsp Cinnamon

1 tsp Nutmeg

1 cup Rice Krispies

1 cup Pecans, chopped

1 cup Walnuts, chopped

1 cup Brown sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Grease a 13 x 9 casserole dish. Combine hot sweet potatoes, sugar, eggs, cream, half of the butter, cinnamon and nutmeg in a bowl; mix thoroughly. Add sweet potato mixture to greased casserole dish.

Combine Rice Krispies, pecans, walnuts and remaining butter and brown sugar into a bowl. Mix until crumbly. Sprinkle over sweet potato mixture.

Bake 40-45 minutes or until center is hot. Yield:10-12 servings



Robert St.John is a restaurateur, chef, and author of the newly released “Dispatches From My South.” He can be reached at www.robertstjohn.com.