I’m trying to think of how long back I have to reach to remember the first time I learned about Thanksgiving. In preschool maybe, was when we started drawing pilgrim hats and making hand print turkeys. Or what about those “history lessons” in elementary school, where the teachers spoon fed us silly nonsense about the Indians helping the poor weak colonists survive, and that they all sat down and ate together to celebrate the harvest. Does anyone know the true history behind Thanksgiving? Time to wikipedia that stuff.
Well bringing Thanksgiving to Reunion Island was quite the affair. What originally was going to be a 7 person dinner on Thursday night ended up being a 23 person event on a Friday evening that lasted until the rain came around 1:30 in the morning. As stressed as I was about being somewhat abandoned by my housemates, who the day before told me they weren’t coming at all, what terrified me most was the idea of cooking an entire turkey, with no American support whatsoever. Worse, Dominique and I took the huge bird home, and attempted to shove it into the oven, (it just barely fit), and things started falling apart: the broth spilled into the oven, the turkey leg got stuck on the door, the pan fell….
Dominique yelled in desperation, “This bird terrifies me! I’m just going to cut it in half!!” Fortunately for the turkey Marlene and Yolene showed up just in the nick of time to save the day, with tin foil and expertise that way outshone Dominique and mine….
After 3 days of cooking, and 12 hours of labor on Friday, we had a sort of improvised version of Thanksgiving: “patates douces” instead of sweet potatoes, chicken broth instead of turkey giblets and drippings, red berries with cinnamon and orange zest instead of cranberry sauce….but my friend Sylvain saved the day, when he showed up with two packets of jumbo sized marshmallows. I took the liberty of eating all the pink ones which weren’t fit for sweet potatoes. The final touch: Home made, and when I mean home made, I mean completely from scratch, pumpkin pie.
The moment came when everyone crowded around the food, and demanded for an explanation. I tried the best I could, (apparently it matched up with their Wikipedia research), and said, “This is a special holiday where we give thanks for what we have, and cherish a moment with our family.” The words rang true enough for me, I could only hope that they would make the food taste good. Sylvain cut the turkey, all the plates were filled, and we ate to good ol’ Norah Jones. To my surprise, the marshmallowed sweet potatoes disappeared before the regular ones, and people went back for seconds.
Everyone looked so happy, and I got numerous rounds of applause for no apparent reason, and more compliments on my cooking skills than I have ever had in my life. Everyone was pleased to have a little bit of American cooking in their life, and were pleased to discover that it’s not just Mac Donald’s that we eat all the time. Finally, we switched the music back to Reunion ciga, and I danced in the center of the circle with one of the dads, showing off my new skills. I owed so much of the meal to Dominique and Marlene, of course, who helped me get the shopping, and cooked with me. Dominique and I were so worried, but we just kept dancing like maniacs in the kitchen, laughing all the way. It was nice to share Thanksgiving with my new friends, new family, and indeed, it was the best Thanksgiving away from home, ever.
