No More Whipped Cream Until You Finish Your Pie

KEYS To Thanksgiving overseas

I’ve now spent more than six years living outside of the U.S. all told, and while it has become clear that many, many elements of American life can be almost perfectly duplicated abroad. In the information age, you can easily stay up to date with latest sports, news, and entertainment. Heck, with a VPN you don’t even have to get local internet ads. You can talk to family and friends around the world while looking at their faces effectively for free, provided you can manage the time zones. The ubiquity of English means you can probably find an English language church service in most places, though I concede, it may not be the brand of Christianity you prefer if you’re a liberal sort.

But you cannot perfectly duplicate Thanksgiving. Even if you can manage to take Thursday off from work and take the kids out of school, replicate the meal perfectly, watch the Macy’s parade, pay the outrageous cost to get football on the TV, and find a Mystery Science Theater 3000 marathon somewhere on the internet, it is just not the same. I think that’s in large part because so much of the essence of Thanksgiving is togetherness, families coming together from great distance to sit down and fight about politics… I mean, share a buttery meal. Whether you’re in Europe, Africa, or anywhere else outside of North America, a four day weekend is simply too short to travel home.

When we lived in Lesotho, we were part of a small U.S. government mission, so the community was extremely close knit. We’d have a potluck Thanksgiving dinner at the Ambassador’s house with the man in charge providing the turkeys. It was spring there in the Southern hemisphere, so everything felt wrong. The weather was both too nice and too wet, the day was too long, and I spent the holiday primarily with people from work. That means only two glasses of wine and not a word about how the country is going to hell. They were warm communal events, and I genuinely cherish the time spent with my colleagues, but a buffet is not substitute for sitting around a beautifully set table with a nice tablecloth, candles, and the people you love… and also occasionally a friend of a friend who you are not crazy about. (Note to people who have had Thanksgiving with me: I swear I am not talking about anyone specific, and I am definitely not talking about you personally or your weird friend. This is a fun Thanksgiving post, so I am taking license. Just like how there is never fighting about politics at the Melendez family Thanksgiving because we are all on the same side—Natural Law Party ride or die.)

That said, there is an upside to the collective Embassy Thanksgiving, which is that you get to try Thanksgiving recipes from different parts of the country and different cultural traditions. Sometimes this is an Asian or Italian twist, but most often it’s Southern, and that means mac and cheese or, if you’re really lucky, hints of barbecue culture. I’m a New Englander so we do not get that as part of our Thanksgiving. We strictly follow the regimen of the Pilgrims and Wampanoags—nothing but venison and oysters for us.

Okay, let’s discuss the Thanksgiving myth. The legacy of the so-called first Thanksgiving is extremely complicated, given the subsequent history of relations between settlers and American Indians, and I know many people who do not celebrate the holiday as a result. I like to call them Canadians. But seriously, it’s a reasonable objection, just one that I don’t have. No, we do not dress our kids up as Pilgrims and Indians the way we did in my youth. Though if Thanksgiving were a thing in Switzerland, they would absolutely do the dress up, because they are very comfortable here with costumes that Americans now regard as inappropriate. And we don’t really recount the story. I don’t necessarily hate the story, I think it’s a semi-universal tale of welcoming strangers, but I don’t really like how it ends—with having to watch the Lions play every year even though this is the first time they’ve ever been this good. I mean, with manifest destiny. Instead, we focus on the real essence of the holiday: the harvest, the spirit of togetherness, and reflecting on the awful bloodshed at Gettysburg. Also on whether Belmont beat Watertown in Middlesex League football. (Note: Before I got to college, I thought Thanksgiving Day high school football was nationwide. I was absolutely stunned to discover it’s a Massachusetts thing. I thought high school games were the reason everyone talked about Thanksgiving football, not the Lions and Cowboys.)

Today, Thanksgiving Day, has really gone ahead for me just like any other day, except I went and bought food for Thanksgiving in France. You can sometimes get very close on the traditional meal here, though getting a turkey and cranberries is a crapshoot. Last year I rolled a seven. This year? Crapped out. When I got to the Grand Frais supermarket, they had three good looking turkeys at the butcher’s counter. I was excited. Sadly, they were spoken for. Apparently reserving a turkey is a thing. I think it’s a thing in the U.S. too for people who want farm-raised high quality birds, but that ain’t me. So I settled for a turkey breast, delightfully called a filet, here and got the last container of turkey legs and a few duck legs too. On Saturday, I’'ll probably buy a large chicken for the presentation part. So effectively, the main course will be deconstructed turducken.

There was also only one small thing of cranberries left. This is my fault. I bought cranberries a few weeks ago and then, in an act of supreme hubris, cooked with them. I have to remember that I am no longer in Massachusetts where I can go to any puddle and scoop up a couple pints of cranberries. (Note: Do not actually do this. I don’t know what they are, but they are not cranberries.)

Ocean Spray swag from days as a cranberry pimp.

The rest of the meal will be traditional enough: sweet potatoes, green beans, dressing, two kinds of gravy, pumpkin pie, apple pie, and Japanese rice (note: got to respect my heritage). I also splurged on 12 euro wine, which I believe is the equivalent of $35 wine in America. We should be able to do things more or less normally. What I will not do, however, is try to force my kids to eat pie. During the COVID Thanksgiving, L just wanted more whipped cream and refused to eat the apple pie. I insisted that she eat her pie before she could have more whipped cream. “NO MORE WHIPPED CREAM UNTIL YOU FINISH YOUR PIE!” I may have declared. I have no idea why I dug in so hard on that, probably loyalty to pie. But if you’re fighting with your kid about which dessert to binge, you are losing.

And so, just as we do with Passover (note: Jewish Thanksgiving), we will celebrate on whatever day is convenient for our guests. This year it’s Sunday, so Thanksgiving in December.

If you’re an American, wherever you are in the world, enjoy your Thanksgiving from Expatriach, and if you are not, then get back to work. This day is not for you.