A Tale of No Turkeys

SUCCESS! Thanksgiving in Spain. It worked. We did it, folks!

The potluck-style fiesta featured roasted chicken (meant to resemble turkeys), mashed potatoes, tortilla española, empanadas, chili (an American twist on a Mexican dish, prepared by a dynamic duo of an Irish friend and a Spanish friend—this chili was so multicultural that, in Irish friend’s words, “it hurts my mind”), pumpkin bread pudding, and a lot of wine (the 13 of us barreled through 11 bottles. Go team).

It. Was. Glorious.

There was a moment on Thanksgiving Thursday morning, after I’d invited 14 people to my house (half Spaniards and half Americans), painstakingly tracked down pumpkin pie makings, and scheduled shopping and cooking time, when I was 99.9% sure that I was in over my head. “Dear Jean,” I said to myself, “You’ve never hosted so much as a sandwich-making party.” In this moment I realized, with 6 hours left before the big dinner, that I didn’t actually know how to make mashed potatoes. Or a whole chicken. Or even, as mentioned in a previous post, eggs. Even if these folks showed up only hankering for an omlette, I couldn’t deliver. By the time Emma, another auxiliar, arrived to start cooking, I’d worked myself into a secret frenzy.

And then, miraculously, with some glasses of while-cooking-wine and some Google recipe searches, the potatoes got mashed, the chicken got roasted, the pumpkin pie-lets got baked, the brussel sprouts got sautéed, and everything started to come together. By the time Emma headed home to get ready and get her roommates going, the dinner had started to actually look like a dinner. And then, just as the oh-dear-god-I-can’t-cook fear gave way to an oh-dear-god-what-if-no-one-comes-to-eat-my-food fear, the phone rang. It was Casey, an auxiliar serendipitously from Pasadena, and his other Pasadena-native friend, Joseph. They had an early train the next morning and had been planning to pass on the characteristically Spanish 9:30 PM Thanksgiving dinner, but wanted to stop by and say hello while I cooked. By 7:30, the two boys had arrived, along with a third American from Campo de Criptana. Shortly after that, my roommate got home, popped some wine (I’m telling you, it was a night of lots of wine), and they all sat in the kitchen shooting the shit in Spanglish. The apartment had that holiday sort of bustle, and it smelled like pumpkin pie, and it didn’t take long for my secret frenzy to become a very un-secret gushy happiness.

And then the Spaniards showed up. With chili and tortilla española (eggs, potato, onion, all packed in a little circle of goodness) in tow. And more wine. The chili especially was a masterpiece of which Jessie (an Irish auxiliar who’s spent three years here in Alcázar) and Miguel (her Spanish partner in cooking crime who spent a year in the US) were very proud. As there is no chili powder in Spain, chili was quite a feat. Miguel took special pains to ensure that everyone ate the chili correctly, complete with cheese and crumbled tortilla chips.

I think I spent the whole night with a giant stupid smile on my face.

I’d expected Thanksgiving to be a tough day, considering how much I like family and food and the meeting of the two. This definitely didn’t feel like Thanksgiving at home. This was definitely not an afternoon with Nonnie and Papa, or an evening at Sue’s house, catching up with old friends over turkey and pecan pie while the sun sets over Silver Lake and Sam plays violent video games. This was its own breed of celebration, and because of this it was far more joyous than tough. This Thanksgiving wasn’t an imitation of a Thanksgiving in the US. We weren’t pretending that we were home, or trying to ignore our situation or our distance from family. Rather, this Thanksgiving was a moment—at least for me—of giving thanks for exactly where I was and who I was with. Usually Thanksgiving is about tradition and continuity. But this Thanksgiving was about the new relationships and new experiences that are dynamically and actively shaping my life.

Then, in true Alcázar form, the whole troupe of us went out until the wee hours. I spent the entire following day cleaning the disaster area of a kitchen, but it was more than worth it.

To top it all off, I even got a little taste of family Thanksgiving on Saturday, when I went into Madrid with Emma for a Thanksgiving lunch with my godmother, Valerie, and her family! Great day, great food, great company.

Life since Thanksgiving has consisted primarily in work and sitting around in the Café-Bar Bodeguilla eating tapas, drinking beer, and learning useful Spanish phrases like “Estás en el mundo porque tiene que haber de todo” (you’re in the world because there had to be one of everything) and “Se cree mierda y no llega a pedo” (he thinks he’s the shit but he’s not even a fart). Needless to say, there is really honestly nothing I’d rather be doing.

More than anything, I’ve been wandering around since T-givs in a sort of goofy haze of thankfulness, for the small experiences that I can feel accumulating into a very important change in perspective.

Also, I have been reminded this week of important things I forgot to include in my previous posts! They are in list form, because this post is already egregiously long, but I have a montón to say about all of them.

1. I’ve been doing a lot of eating.
2. I saw my amazing host sister Bettina in Madrid, which was beyond great. We paid a special visit to San Gines, my favorite churro place and biggest guilty pleasure, we saw my host mother. and will be going to visit her in Switzerland when spring thaws Zurich!
3. I got in a car accident! Before anyone can make jokes about my driving skills, I assure you I was not at the wheel.
4. I’ve been spending probably 65% of my day in bars and restaurants and have become a big fan of tapas.
5. Also a fan of goat cheese.
6. And pig ear (I know, right?).
7. Have I mentioned I’ve been doing a lot of eating?
8. I’m calling it “research” for where to take my mom out to eat when she comes in December. (MY MOM IS COMING IN DECEMBER!)