At what point did the Pilgrims decide that a nice dish to make for their first-ever Thanksgiving feast would be a casserole of frozen green beans, slathered in Campbells Cream of Mushroom soup, covered in French’s Fried Onions? Where on earth did this dish come from and why do people request it every Thanksgiving? And tell me, how did the Pilgrims open the cans?

For some strange reason, I have never tried the traditional Thanksgiving green bean casserole.  I’d never even heard of it till about five years ago.  The first time I saw it, I was truly shocked that people ate such a thing. It seemed so weird and unlikely that its provenance intrigued me.  I set out to discover where the hell this disgusting concoction came from, and what I found was very interesting.

The delectable green bean casserole is not based on any touching tradition, handed down from our Mayflower forbearers.  It does not celebrate a season of plenty after many winters of deprivation.  It does not even commemorate the miracle of crop growth on land that was previously thought barren.  No, rather, it is the invention of a marketing wizard at Campbell’s Soup who developed it in his company kitchen.

The Thanksgiving classic (which the French’s web site describes as a “delicious veggie dish that even the little ones will love”) is a recipe that was invented for an Associated Press story in 1955.  The big green mess has been a huge profit-center ever since.  Purportedly, Campbell’s sells more than $20 million dollars worth of cream of mushroom soup each year, mostly at Thanksgiving.

I’m curious to know how the guy at Campbell’s came up with this concoction. Did he try a bunch of other combos and then finally, when he was about ready to give up, reach for that dusty can of fried onions that had been sitting on the shelf for ages.  “Hmm, this might be intriguing,” he thought, “maybe I’ll throw this on top.”  A little milk and soy sauce for zip, and taa daa, he had a dish.

Now, more than 54 years later, Campbell’s and French’s, the mustard maker, are forever joined at the hip by the humble green bean casserole.  The dish has achieved an exalted stature in American cuisine, having become an integral part of a uniquely American holiday. I bet Mr. Campbell’s recipe-creator-guy never expected that.

What’s fascinating is how much of Thanksgiving is manufactured tradition.  The story we’re told in school doesn’t even come close to the truth.  The version we buy into today was created around the time that Roosevelt declared Thanksgiving a national holiday (1941) and Norman Rockwell produced his “Freedom From Want” illustration (1943).  At a time of war, after a Great Depression, we liked the idea of celebrating an abundance of food and sharing with others.  The only problem is the official story is based on a lie.

The Pilgrims that arrived on the Mayflower struggled through two winters and nearly starved before turning things around.  They started out trying to establish what amounts to a Socialist state, where some would work on the behalf of all, sharing what was produced equally among all the settlers.  No one wanted to do that, so it took some time until they figured out the free enterprise system.

Squanto had shown them how to grow corn and beans (not green beans) early on, but the settlers didn’t prosper until they figured out a Capitalistic system that would allow each man to own and work land, keeping or selling the proceeds as he saw fit.  That led the settlers to work much harder, produce much more and finally, in the winter of 1621, celebrate their abundance with a big Harvest meal.

The Wampanoags were invited to the first Thanksgiving dinner, but they weren’t honored as the Pilgrims’ saviors.  Indeed, later dinners of Thanks celebrated victories over the Indians in raids.  Decapitated Native heads were reportedly even kicked down the streets of one town.

No turkey was served (there weren’t a lot of wild turkeys around Plymouth), but plenty of other fowl was.  Cranberries weren’t part of the feast, as they hadn’t been cultivated yet.  Pumpkin was on the menu, but pumpkin pie was not as there were no ovens and the sugar supply had dwindled.  There certainly was no sweet potato-marshmallow dish, as the marshmallow wasn’t invented till the late 19^th century.  And there definitely wasn’t a green bean casserole of any description.

So Thanksgiving, as we know it today, is a completely contrived holiday, based on half-truths.  The food we spend all day preparing only bears a passing resemblance to things the Pilgrims would have eaten, if they’d had the chance.  That’s all okay because the basic idea behind Thanksgiving is sound.  Celebrate family and abundance in a day of feasting that brings everyone together.  That’s not a bad sentiment, any time of the year.

Much as the image of Santa Claus, as we know him today, was forever cemented in our minds by the Coca-Cola company’s illustrations, Campbell’s Soup has seized upon the opportunity of Thanksgiving to forge a new tradition.  Isn’t that, after all, the American way? Campbell’s has taken advantage of the Capitalistic society that allowed all of us to survive and prosper in this great land, and in one lowly dish, reminds us each Thanksgiving of what we have to be grateful for.  I think that’s genius.

So tomorrow, when the creamy, mushroomy, green-beany mess, with its soggy oniony topping, is pushed my way, I might actually try it.  It could actually be good… otherwise why would people keep making it year after year?

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, EVERYONE!!

Yes, it’s true, I did indeed turn 45 this week. I sat down to write my weekly blog and at first turned out a two-page diatribe about how much more I like myself at 45 than I did at 25.  It is all completely true, and it’s a wonderful thing, but not especially interesting or funny, so I scrapped it and started again.

I discovered that what I really wanted to do was empty my brain of the massive amount of useless knowledge I have stored away.  At 45, I’ve got so much stuff tucked away in the corners that I don’t have room for new, important things that I might actually be able to use, like people’s names, dates of things I’m supposed to do, or lists of items I need to buy.  My brain is filled to overflowing.  The cache is full.

So today, I’m having a huge yard sale of worthless intellectual property.  You don’t need to pay me…just bring a truck and cart this crap away. You never know what you may find at my trivia sidewalk sale.  I guarantee there’s something you can drag out at some boring cocktail party…I’ve used all of these at one time or another. Here goes:

Almost every Alfred Hitchcock movie centered around one item that formed the crux of the story.  Hitchock coined the term MacGuffin to describe that one plot element that catches the viewers’ attention or drives a work of fiction.  Examples? The statue in “The Maltese Falcon.”  The wine bottle full of uranium in “Notorious.”  You get it.

Harper Lee only wrote one book, “To Kill A Mockingbird” and it was published when she was 34.  She helped Truman Capote research “In Cold Blood.” She has granted no requests for interviews or public appearances since the book was published in 1960.

James Dean’s cat, given to him by Elizabeth Taylor, was named Marcus.  Other Dean trivia…the car he died in had the name “Little Bastard” painted across the back.  And his favorite cigarettes were Winstons and Chesterfields.

Elizabeth Taylor saved Montgomery Clift’s life, after he smashed his car into a telephone pole, by running to the scene and manually removing two teeth that had become lodged in his throat.

Friday the 13th has been considered an unlucky day since the 1800s, as a combination of an unlucky day, Friday, and the number 13.  13 is thought to be unlucky because 1) it was the number of diners at the Last Supper, 2) it can’t be divided evenly, 3) the Knights Templar were said to have been rounded up on the 13^th, 4) the 13^th moon of the year is evil, 5) there are 13 steps leading up to a hangman’s noose…etc., etc.  Lots of theories on that one.

The phrase “in like Flynn,” meaning to do something quickly and successfully, is a phrase that’s said to have been coined following Errol Flynn’s acquittal in February 1943 for the statutory rape of a teenage girl.

David Bowie was born with blue eyes.  In 1962 he got into a fight over a girl and was punched in the left eye.  His pupil was paralyzed and now appears either green or brown, depending on the light.  His real name was David Jones, by the way, which he changed when Davey Jones  of The Monkees got famous.

Do you know what a merkin is? It’s a pubic wig used to cover a person’s private parts, usually in a movie, during nude scenes.  It can be used to give one more than nature provided (Kate Winslet used one for her nude scene in “The Reader”) or by those who have lost their hair due to illness or radiation.

The phrase, “cut to the chase,” meaning get to the point, originated with silent movies.  Most of the early movies ended in a big dramatic chase scene.  These were usually preceded by long romantic scenes that people couldn’t wait to get through, so they were anxious to “cut to the chase.”

Are you bored yet?  You’re doing me a great favor.  I feel ten pounds lighter already.  Here are a few more.

The first Thanksgiving Dinner didn’t include turkey (they hunted other types of fowl), pumpkin pie (there were no ovens) or cranberries (they hadn’t been introduced yet).  Instead, it lasted for three days and consisted of duck, geese, venison, fish, lobster, clams, swan, dried fruit, pumpkin, squash, and other vegetables. Sounds good!

Chihuahuas shiver not when they’re sick, but when they’re excited or stressed. The theory is that they have a higher metabolism, so they dissipate body heat faster than larger dogs. Shivering helps them to generate body heat. And you just thought they were annoying.

The word “boondoggle,” typically used to describe a completely non-necessary but fun trip, comes from a decorative braided leather cord, worn on the neck or on a knife sheath, made by boy scouts or cowboys as a way to kill time.

Ringo Starr penned the line, “writing the words of a sermon that no one will hear,” in the Paul McCartney song, “Eleanor Rigby.”

Okay, I’m done for the night.  Now tell me the names of your three kids.  I promise I’ll remember…I’ve got room now!