An African Thanksgiving

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Nothing makes you feel more American than living in another country. Which is perhaps why it was so important to me to celebrate Thanksgiving this year. That or the craving that started about a month ago for turkey and dressing and sweet potatoes and green bean casserole with those little crunchy onions on top…alas, I decided to take on the task of preparing a mini-Thanksgiving feast for Roger and myself.

But as usual, the wine got me into trouble. A few bottles with Gary and Laurel gave me the misguided confidence I needed to invite everyone to my house to celebrate “my” holiday.

At the time, I wasn’t considering the fact that my kitchen cabinets contain exactly one frying pan, one pot and one roasting pan. I own a single bowl and two wine glasses. Oh, and I come to discover that you can’t even get sweet potatoes here. Or cranberries. Not to mention, where was I gonna find a turkey?

What the hell was I thinking?
The question runs through my mind more than a few times as I scour the aisles of four different grocery stores. Yes, you heard me right – FOUR different stores. Memories of Kroger flash through my mind like a cheesy montage in a movie. Sigh. Apparently, this country has not yet heard of “one stop shopping.”

Wednesday night, Roger and I start the preparations. We spend most of the evening in the kitchen, but Roger makes everything fun. Thursday morning, however, I begin the serious stuff. Armed with the only knife I own, the chopping begins…and never seems to end. In fact, the only thing I’m doing more than chopping is washing. Yes, trust me when I tell you, you should not attempt to cook a big meal with a single knife and one bowl and one pan. I think I washed that bowl seventeen times. It won MVP of the meal prep. And it’s not even a very big bowl. I ended up mixing the stuffing together in the roasting pan.








Needless to say, my turkey did not look like this one.

I know, I know. I’m boring you with the details, but suffice it to say – cooking a Thanksgiving feast for eight is no easy task. And I’m sure you hadn’t noticed, but I tend to get a bit stressed about, well, everything. But when Laurel and the kids arrived, she promptly opened a bottle of champagne and suddenly I realized that everything was under control. I did it. Pretty much anyway. I set the food up buffet style and everyone piled their plates with food. We sat down to eat and with that first bite, the season of gluttony began.

Now, in the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I had numerous people ask me what Thanksgiving was all about. I had explained how the Pilgrims struggled upon their arrival in America and the Indians helped them through a hard winter and afterwards they all sat down together for a meal to give thanks that they had “made it.” This little blurb sounded about right. Wasn’t that what I had learned in school? Except it occurred to me that we celebrate Thanksgiving in November which was leading into winter so why would they be giving thanks before it even started? No one called me out on this (probably because in this hemisphere, November is the beginning of the summer), but when I realized the contradiction I immediately went to the internet to get to the bottom of it.

Turns out that yes, the Pilgrims had a rough first winter, but the Indians shared a few crop-planting secrets which resulted in a fabulous November harvest (assuring plenty of food for the coming winter). So they all sat down together to give thanks. It’s actually a really cool holiday, when you think about it. People putting aside their differences and helping each other out. The Pilgrims and the Indians probably weren’t giving thanks to the same God, but they weren’t worried about that. They were simply expressing thanks.

Laurel asked me to explain the significance of the day to Connor and Dale, which I did in far too much detail. I then asked everyone to go around the table and say something that they were thankful for. We were thankful for family, friends, health…the normal stuff mostly. Except my father-in-law, of course, who said he was thankful to be such a wonderful person. I said I was thankful that I didn’t burn the turkey…and that Roger didn’t say he was most thankful for his X-Box and Guitar Hero 2.

It was an excellent evening, if I do say so myself. We sat around the table for hours just talking and laughing and being together. We drank wine and ate turkey and then apple pie (Dale had seconds of course). While the sadness that I was not celebrating with the rest of my family in Washington DC was ever-present, it did not consume me. I looked around the table at one point and was comforted by the fact that I was still celebrating with family. A family very unlike my family in America, but they are my family nonetheless. And I am thankful for them. All of them. And it was nice to have an evening to tell them so.

So now I’m going to keep the sappiness going and tell you the same thing…
I am thankful for each of you.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!!