America turns into France for two days every year – the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and the day itself.  Put aside any negative associations you might have here and think of “France” as merely geographical shorthand for any country that reveres the purchase, preparation and appreciation of food. Alors, for two days, this land of 300 million souls spread out over six time zones, (I never like excluding Hawaii from our national identity), prioritizes food over just about everything else.

Something special happens every year on these two days. We seem to rouse ourselves from the routine and venture out into our favorite food stores rubbing our eyes as we gaze at all the possibility presented in the aisles, counters, shelves and display cases. The sights, the smells, the tastes, the textures all inspire us to think beyond our comfort zones as cooks and as consumers. This meal is going to cost a little more than usual, and it’s going to take some effort to make it all work, but it’s going to be great.

So, thank you,---------------. I leave a blank because those we feel indebted to are different for each of us. And though Thanksgiving commemorates a specific event between specific people on a specific date, I’m especially thankful for all the possibilities and promise that opened up when these two culturally different groups, (Pilgrims and native Americans), sat and supped together. Food as peace offering – uh, I’ll have what they’re having, please.

What I am most thankful for is always having enough to eat. A great deal of our world’s people go hungry, and it almost makes me feel like a sadist being aware of that while I’m not devoting every moment of my being to remedy this situation. The least I can do is think, “thank you for my abundance.”

Food plays the central role in the story of our basic survival. It is also an important supporting player in our life story. Shopping, cooking and eating may be as ephemeral as live theater but it can also leave something behind. What remains?

Consider the many times I arrived at my mother’s apartment after a year’s absence. Sure, the first things we did were to hug and laugh and look deep into each other’s eyes to make sure we weren’t hiding anything. But, the real homecoming was on the dinner table: Leeks in olive oil, stuffed grape leaves, stuffed mussels, pilaf with currants, pine nuts and chicken livers, semolina pudding; the product of extraordinary effort, which would invariably vanish in a couple of days. But this was how my mother best expressed herself. It was those meals that said, “You’re a different person than when I last saw you, but I’m still your mom, and you’re still my son.” And even though I can’t remember every detail and my mom is no longer around to fill in the blanks, the inestimable reassurance that her meals provided are the indelible memories of my homecomings.

So, happy Thanksgiving, everybody – make it a special one. Next week I’ll talk about the joys of uncased turkey sausage from the Union Square Greenmarket. I won’t leave you with a recipe. But I will leave you with a painting of a turkey that my daughter brought home today from second grade.

Umit Celebi is an actor who has lived in neighborhoods all over Manhattan. He currently resides near Ground Zero with his wife, Kate, and their daughters, Ajda and Mavi. His new blog, Eat Me in Manhattan!, appears periodically here on Kitchen Scoop.