Thanksgiving in Paris

The strike seems to be letting up, slowly but surely (slowly being the key word). Many Metro lines have increased capacity, and not a moment too soon. While today the situation had improved somewhat, that's remarkable in light of my worst ride yet yesterday morning – only 6 stops, but nearly one hour on an extremely overcrowded, stuffy train that stopped at least three times in between stations, with shut-down engine, lights off, and a swell of panic rising like a wave at Mavericks. To top it off, a homeless man got on the packed car at one point to vociferously beg for change (of all the weeks). Some prickly passengers actually started haranguing the guy. The worst part was trying to get off the train, as all of the people waiting on the platforms wouldn’t move out of the way and started pushing their way onto the train before everyone had exited. While courteously semi-stepping off the train for a moment to let other passengers off, I got shoved to the back of the waiting crowd before I could defend my turf and almost didn’t get back on the train. Yes, the population has become increasingly irritable and belligerent over the course of the week. The strikers have gotten more aggressive, too – the news broke yesterday of acts of arson on railways across the country.

Thanksgiving arrived as a strange counterpoint to the coordinated acts of violence and Lord of the Flies-meets-the underground. While the French aren’t feeling so thankful right now, we at least wanted to honor the spirit of the holiday at home. N had taken the day off and my workday ended after an hour and a half (due to more strike-related cancellations by students), so it almost felt like a holiday. We headed out for an afternoon of food shopping in order to gather the requisite ingredients for a “poor man’s Thanksgiving.” We knew our options would be slim. Christmas is a big time for roast turkey in France, so shops aren’t yet stocked. You need to special order a bird in this town. Well, we weren’t quite that ambitious, as it was just going to be the two of us dining, and the prospect of so much leftover turkey wasn’t too appealing. So, on the recommendation of my mother-in-law, we resolved to look for a hearty pre-cooked piece of roast turkey from a local volailler (poultry shop) or butcher. Now, if we’d planned ahead (as early as this morning), we’d have been fine. However, by the time we hit the shops, all the pre-cooked turkey had been sold out to American expats in search of the same comfort as us.

We also needed some other TG staples to make our facsimile complete. We went to the Marais store appropriately named Thanksgiving, which sells all manner of typical American products: Cheerios, marshmallow Fluff, peanut butter, Kraft mac and cheese, pepper flakes (which you oddly cannot find here), and more. Seeing all these little pieces of home made me a bit wistful for being with family and participating in the annual tradition. However, the obscene prices ripped me out of my homesick reverie; for one, the small spice jar of pepper flakes cost 7 euros, which these days converts to over $10! Well, they’re imported, after all. We splurged on Stove Top stuffing and gravy, but balked at the 6 euro package of cranberries. OK, we may have to eat food from a box, but it’s the closest we could come to the real thing.

We picked up fresh veggies and rather than feast on roast chicken (blasphemy), we headed to one of the better supermarkets in hopes of something…anything resembling traditional TG turkey. We found pre-packaged, pre-cooked hunks of roast turkey. They looked potentially gross, but at that point our exhaustion from wandering the Marais for over two hours in search of the holy grail of poultry clouded our decision-making. While waiting on the check-out line, I felt a glimmer of empathy with French people stuck in some part of the US where the only obtainable croissants are of the frozen Pillsbury pop-n-fresh variety.

The stuffing and gravy were surprisingly good (I guess that’s what homesickness can do to one’s palate). N made awesome sautéed potatoes, I rocked honey-ginger glazed carrots, and because I need something green in most meals, we had steamed green beans, too. I’d heard N make some minor sounds of doubt while putting the turkey into the oven to warm, but I was more focused on veggie prep rather than fret. Once he pulled the meat out of the oven, though, it was time to be concerned.

As you can see in the picture, the meat couldn’t be farther from turkey, let alone any poultry. In fact, in terms of color, shape, and consistency, it most resembles Spam. And no offense to those who like it, but I’ve never even contemplated trying it. Just…no. Needless to say, I was so disgusted by this so-called turkey, I couldn’t even think about putting any on my plate. Nate served himself a slice, though, and upon one bite, was pretty sorry he had. At one point, curiosity got the better of me and I had a tiny taste. Um, let’s just say there are things that a human should never have to undergo. In the end we had a vegetarian Thanksgiving, which isn’t so bad after all. Even N had to agree, which for him is saying a lot. We felt very thankful we had the means to even attempt a half-assed version of Thanksgiving – not to mention, we’re not in a tryptophan-induced food coma!

But in all seriousness, although the strikes have been a pain and we’re very far from home, we’re very thankful to have recreated our home in Paris and still be at the beginning of this wonderful adventure together. We send lots of love to our family and friends in the States and hope you’re immensely enjoying your feasts, long weekends, and that most of all you have lots to be thankful for.