This may be a cautious Christmas for the consumer, but it is tradition that every year two friends and I take a day off to celebrate Christmas in the city, which means heading down the freeway on a midweek morning for the Larkspur ferry to skim across the bay and deliver us to San Francisco for a day of eating, drinking and shopping.

We’ve been doing it pretty faithfully for more than 20 years. First there were three, then four, then five of us. Now we’re back to three stalwarts honoring the ritual and we’re not going to let a recession get in the way. It costs nothing to be with friends, and every woman knows you can shop without spending.

It costs nothing to be with friends, and every woman knows you can shop without spending.

We go to the city to join the festive swarm. You don’t get that shopping from a catalogue or ordering online or going to a mall. Like it says in the song, you need city sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, lit up and loud. You want street musicians, glossy red shopping bags and fantasy windows. You want to be part of the bustling crowd.

This year there was an apparent lack of bustle. Two weeks before Christmas the streets were tame. Lines were short. The cable car guys were so glad to see riders they invited us inside where it was warm and there were seats aplenty.

The crowds were thin but the spirit was there. A young violinist played on the corner, her instrument case filled with dollar bills and a bouquet of white tulips.

We had no problem making merry. Our ritual includes starting off with a Ramos Fizz, a cocktail that one in our group long ago christened Stepmother’s Milk during a challenging period when four of us had acquired young stepchildren and found that leaving town and drinking in the morning is an ideal way to commiserate. The stepkids worked out but we’ve continued with the fizz.

Eating and drinking our way through the city provides time to sit and talk which is really why we do this. Shopping has always been secondary. During a whole day together, with no real agenda, we catch up on dogs and partners and kids, current health status and favorite book and movie recommendations. We’ve known each other since our hair was naturally brown and blonde. We make each other laugh.

We have our route, our designated stops at hotel bathrooms and favorite stores. We look. We touch. We try on shoes. I lusted for a $1200 red leather swivel chair. Our total take was one Christmas ornament, one fancy ginger grater from the kitchen store and three pair of sensible but cool-looking shoes.

Another part of the ritual is the late afternoon martini. We like to search out bars that feel like old San Francisco with lots of wood and preferably a sunset view. It’s not that we drink a lot but, you know, shoppers get thirsty. This year we found a bar on the 36th floor of a Union Square hotel where we watched the sky go from misty pink to indigo. We toasted to missing friends, to our new president, to rain coming to California and a magician to fix the economy.

Leaving San Francisco from the deck of the ferry the city looked as dazzling as always, reassuringly resilient and vital, the Embarcadero buildings outlined by white lights in their new low energy bulbs. We stood under a lopsided moon, huddled together against the cold and then ducked inside.

Listen to the Eat, Drink, Scale Back radio segment on KRCB’S Another Voice.

Thank goodness for Thanksgiving’s timing. It’s perfect now that we’re officially in a recession. Thanksgiving is the ideal hard times holiday. No gifts are expected. The feasting is relatively low-cost. The food is traditionally simple. And even though it can be an over-eaters’ holiday, Thanksgiving can be good practice for the belt-tightening ahead.

You have your economical big bird centerpiece and some root vegetables. Nothing fancy is expected. There is no item on the menu that would break the bank, were there any banks left to break.

Thanksgiving is a holiday that suits commoners and budget-minded people who know that with a small outlay you can feed the family plus the in-laws and if, if you throw in a couple of extra yams, the neighbors, too.

It is a day to remember that our ancestors, the first American foodies, cooked what they could hunt down in the woods and find in the ground and were grateful. On Thanksgiving we also honor those who came later and discovered the casserole as a way to get the most from a little as long as you mix it with cheese.

On Thanksgiving we resist the trend to tiny foods on little plates with big prices. We stay home and cook big in the name of leftovers, so that Thursday’s turkey becomes Friday’s enchiladas and Saturday’s soup.

Thanksgiving is the ideal hard times holiday.

Thanksgiving asks only that its celebrants get together and share. All contributions to the table are welcome, including Aunt Julia and her jello salad with cream cheese.
Thanksgiving is a humble collection of peasant tastes. The bread we break together does not have to be artisan. The potatoes need only be boiled and mashed. There’s little exotic on the menu, although someone may slip in the special green beans that have been in the family since her grandmother discovered canned mushroom soup in a Ladies Home Journal recipe.

As for that irresistible indigestible menu item called gravy, what could be more of a hard times concoction than flour and water and meat scraps?

Beyond the eating and the talking, and maybe imbibing in a a jug or two of cheap wine, Thanksgiving demands no special entertainment. No karaoke, no tango dancers. Only the free and natural pleasures of TV football, maybe a little nap on the couch, a long walk before pie, perhaps some political give and take as long as the guests are of like mind and stay away from the knife drawer.

Thanksgiving, the least commercial of holidays, has always been a time to remember that true wealth, success and happiness are measured by family and friends. This year, more than ever, we need to keep telling ourselves that.

It is a sentimental time, a nostalgic time, a time to give thanks for what we have been given and are about to receive, and, holy-guacamole, let’s pray the pension fund holds and Obama hurries up with health care. Because this time next year we don’t want to be carving up the Spam.