Expat thanks

I just celebrated my first Thanksgiving in France. My American friend Bea decided that she'd like to have a real Thanksgiving this year, meaning on Thursday not on Saturday, and meaning that all who would be coming would get there at about seven and have to leave by midnight or earlier in order to be alerte for work and school the next day.

I haven't celebrated this holiday since 1997. With it just being Seb and me, I could never see the point. The entire holiday makes no sense to him and we're perpetually without family so what of it? It has always seemed like a recipe for homesickness, Seb, me, the cats sitting alone at a candlelit table. Me defending the merits of cranberry sauce and yams while Seb sits there smirking. Then the flood of tears at the stark realization that no one will ever understand this holiday nor want to. No thank you. Bea on the other hand always has some sort of holiday celebration for Thanksgiving. I think her main reason for it is so she can keep her bicultural children keenly aware of their American roots. I imagine that's why she stocks Jiffy peanut butter and Kool Aid in the cupboard, and always has the best Halloween parties in her neighborhood. "Damnitt to hell if these kids won't understand what an American kid is made up of," is a bit her creed. However I just find it easier to skip it and avoid the misery.

So, this was the first time I've made it to her home for Thanksgiving dinner, and like I said the first Thanksgiving she's ever done on a weeknight. The menu was fabulous. Bea is an excellent cook and loves to scrounge around for offbeat recipes. Here was the menu with stars beside what I contributed.

The starter:

Carmelized Onion Tarte

The main course:

2 Small Game Turkey with Walnut Stuffing (Turkeys bought at Picard by the way)

Cranberry/Apricot Chutney

Green Beans with Roquefort Cheese and Toasted Walnuts *

Sweet Potato Gratin Topped with Toasted Almonds

For dessert:

All American Apple Pie*

Chocolate Fondant

Spiced Pumpkin Rolled Cake

We started with glasses of Péttillant de Savoie* and then turned to a red Crépon de ... someplace. I was too busy to get a good look at the bottle. It was an excellent bottle and I wished I'd looked at it to see where it came from.

The other guests were Bea's good friends, a French and Danish/English couple. They were full of questions about why we celebrate the holiday and what it has to do with turkey. Bea seems to keep a stock of very serious, well researched responses to these question but I informed them that nowadays this holiday is mostly devoted to letting the men drink beer and watch football all day, while the women stay in the kitchen gossiping and cooking. Finally at some point everyone makes it to the table and tries to do the Norman Rockwell thing for at least two hours. Then you get the next day off and eat turkey sandwiches all afternoon and sleep a lot. They seemed to like my answer better. It sounded more plausible.

I really enjoyed myself in spite of all the headache involved in driving there. Seb and I took separate cars since he couldn't arrive until 8pm and I wanted to be there early to help out. On the long drive back home at midnight it began to snow, the first of the season. The twisty mountain roads were a mess and we were sliding all over the place. We drove at a snail's pace with me following Seb's tailights. My real thanks was making it safely home with my family in one piece!