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| Plentiful bounty... |
Another November, another turkey massacre. It’s a joyous time, really, when family can
gather and share another orgiastic meal featuring sweet potatoes with
marshmallows, pecan pie, and all of the glory that is Stove-Top stuffing. It’s also the official debut to the Christmas
season for those that haven’t succumbed earlier to Bing Crosby and Nat King
Cole. It’s the only holiday that can’t
disappoint you because no matter how many family fights start or how many hands
get burned in the oven, your main objective is always surefire – eat until you
pass out.
All of that goes out the window when I wake up and
realize I live in Paris. No family. No Stove-Top.
I spent the day hunting for pecans in Bellevile. I marched up rue des Martyrs after I heard
there were cheap cranberries only to find them later at Monoprix for the same
price. I spent the better part of an
evening trying to figure out how to brine a huge turkey breast and make room for
it in my dorm-sized fridge. Oh the obstacles. Oh
the heartache.
But, hey, I live in Paris.
If ever there was an American who needed to say
thank you, it’s this guy. Chance smiled
upon me and apparently she just had whitening because this year has been nothing
short of gratitude-worthy. Hired by the
Sorbonne, completed my first marathon, organized another successful Cupcake
Camp…the list is a far cry from that of the same boy who only two years earlier
was at the bottom of his game.
