By Annie Culver
We rode—my boyfriend and I—in a bouncy, two-door Toyota, destined for Thanksgiving dinner in Racine, Wis.
He did the driving. I was busy balancing our contribution to the big dinner on my knees. There, covered in foil, was a warm 9-by 12-inch pan brimming with Cajun-style sweet potatoes smothered in butter, orange juice, and maple syrup. It was a recipe my old friend Jane Peterson, the daughter of our hosts Sylvia and Willy Quadracci, gave me years ago. I still make these sweet potatoes, especially for new opportunities to tell this story.
As we cruised our way from Milwaukee to Racine, the smell was divine. With Jane and Sylvia—two of the finest cooks I’ve ever known—in charge, we knew this would be a mouthwatering Thanksgiving feast. The Quadraccis owned and operated Willy’s Sentry Food Store in Racine from the 1950s to 1993. Jane and I became good friends when we worked for competing newspapers in Madison, Wis., in the 1970s.
Jane loved to cater and took that role on for about 20 years, dubbing it Anything But Plain Jane after she and husband Jim returned to Racine. So many people asked for her recipes that she was prodded into writing a homespun, spiral-bound cookbook named after her catering business.
Her dad’s vintage quote in the cookbook is priceless: “You know the Kennedys have better houses than we do, drive better cars than we do, and wear better clothes than we do, but they don’t eat any better than we do.” There’s also a picture of Jane and Sylvia, arms around each other’s shoulders with the caption: “Me and ‘My Inspiration.’”
All that expertise in the kitchen turned this particular Thanksgiving into a new adventure and an honor—to be embraced by the Quadracci family in their home on Turkey Day with all the trimmings.
As we neared their home, we left the highway and were on a side street. At first, I didn’t notice when we took a particularly sharp turn. Suddenly, my pants felt warmer than the pan on my knees. Then I realized my thighs were also quite damp. Soon I knew they were very sticky and slippery, too.
When we pulled up to the Quadracci homestead, I rolled my eyes and could not imagine how this would—uh—pan out. I did not want to announce to everyone that I had wet my pants with butter, orange juice, and maple syrup.
Levelheaded Jane and always unflappable Sylvia shrugged nonchalantly. Sylvia slipped me into the laundry room where I removed my pants and undies. She found me replacements from her closet and dresser, handed them my way and started the washer.
“Yours will be clean and dry by the time you’re ready to leave,” Sylvia reassured in her inimitable, matter-of-fact way as she tossed my syrupy duds in her washer.
If anybody had told me I’d be eating Thanksgiving dinner in Sylvia’s pants, I never would have believed it. Yet, there I was, a welcome guest in this warm and inviting home, wearing the pants and underwear of the hostess.
And what a terrific feast it was. Turkey, of course, along with several dishes from Jane’s cookbook: Shredded potatoes smothered in butter and whipping cream, holiday peas done up with dry sherry and almonds, and a rich, spicy and smooth pumpkin pie with pecan topping. Even those jostled sweet potatoes were a hit.
When we prepared to leave, I retreated again to the laundry room where I slipped into my toasty warm, fresh-from-the-dryer duds. I laughed all the way home. That is one of the pleasures of sharing an experience with the Quadraccis—lots of hearty laughs.
This Thanksgiving memory is the peak of what I call my shenanigans with Sylvia. Who would think I’d leave a lovely dinner feeling satiated, and have warm buns to boot!
Annie Culver developed a knack for unearthing oddball characters and improbable events as a staff writer for various newspapers. In the early 90s, she went to work for websites where she wrote sassy essays aimed at women. In recent years, she morphed into a writer for several universities in the Northwest. She retired in 2016, yet still enjoys freelancing.
Footnotes:
—For her 90th birthday, I sent Sylvia Quadracci remembrances of this and other shenanigans we shared over the years. She passed away just a few months later.
—Jane Peterson, who wrote the Anything But Plain Jane Cookbook, still has copies available. If interested, send $20 (which includes postage) along with your address to Jane Q. Peterson, 11692 N. Via de la Verbenita, Oro Valley, AZ 85737-7291.
More from Annie Culver:
My Not So Quick Response to a Quick Response Code (QR) Future
Pull Dates—What our refrigerators can tell us about ourselves.