When I first got to Krakow, I was not only ill but apparently suffering from delusions of grandeur. Even back in September, I had plans, visions if you will, of Thanksgiving and all its glory. People would chide, “But we’re in Poland, why are you doing Thanksgiving?” I would cheekily reply, “What? I can’t be thankful in Poland?” Thus began my dreams of my first Thanksgiving prepared all by my little lonesome.

To be perfectly honest, I had envisioned a feast of enormous proportions. Only my closest 15 friends would be there (remember my 16 chairs?), we’d eat together, there would be happy instrumental music playing in the background. Snow would begin softly falling outside as I would look on at all the happy, thankful people enjoying each other’s company and eating to their little heart’s content. Yes, it would be perfect. I saw myself cooking for days, anxiously trying new and old recipes. I, of course, would be wearing an apron that says ‘kiss the cook’ and great big baby blue potholders, essential Thanksgiving gear. We would all be dressed nicely, it would be a classy event. Wine, tablecloths, candles, and centerpieces, ah bliss.

Well, the funny, and rather annoying, thing about fantasy is that its not real, which really cramps my style sometimes. Approximately a week before Thanksgiving, I realized several things. First, I hadn’t begun preparing for this lavish feast. Second, I hadn’t invited anyone. Third, I hadn’t really baked anything in Lenin the Oven. I began to set to work on my first task.

To say that I had completely forgotten Thanksgiving altogether would be untrue. I was making mental notes in my head as I would go to the grocery store on what I did and did not see. What I did most certainly see was the presence of turkeys, big ole turkeys, in the butcher section. ‘Good’ I thought to myself, ‘that’s one thing off the list.’ I assumed that allocating said bird would be my greatest obstacle. Best of all, it had started to snow, it looked as if I was going to get my ambience delivered in the form of white, luscious snow.

I was feeling pretty good about things really, I had sent a gentle email home requesting certain goods that were a Thanksgiving necessity and not readily available here in Krakow such as stuffing mix, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie filling. Though wringing my hands a bit waiting for these foodstuffs, they arrived with plenty of time to spare. I thus began planning the menu: Turkey, Stuffing, Cranberry Sauce, Broccoli Casserole, Corn, Apple Salad, Macaroni and Cheese, and of course, Pumpkin Pie. What Thanksgiving feast could possibly be complete without a beautiful pumpkin pie? Perfectly browned that gorgeous deep color, the scent of it wafting through the house, oh yes, pumpkin pie was obligatory.

Feeling assured that Thanksgiving would thus go off without a hitch, I tackled my second problem: inviting people. This is where my trouble truly began. It seems that most of the Fulbrighters had already planned to go to Warsaw, so I could count on next to none of them coming here. Fine, other friends would be recruited to partake in my feast. Actually, no, they wouldn’t, they were all previously engaged. By the time I invited everyone, and received polite ‘ooh, I already have plans,’ I was already a bit defeated. No matter, I could cook for the three that were going to be there, just less to prepare I decided. Right.

One of the problems with my planning and my schedule in general is the fact that I’m busy even though I’m really not, compared to last year at least. So, on Thursday, Thanksgiving day, I finally make my shopping list and brave the cold for a trip to the grocery to pick up those last little things I needed for my gracious extravaganza. With dictionary in hand and determination in my mind, I was off. My list: cloves, evaporated milk (or light cream), turkey, other bits and bobs. With my basket on my arm, I began maneuvering through the aisles like a madwoman, picking up things here and there I needed before making my final three stops: baking goods, butcher, dairy section. Then, oh it was then, that it all just fell completely apart.

I decided to hit the butcher first while the line was short. I meandered up in that ‘I know what I’m going up to the counter for’ look to scan the selections to see an abyss where the birds once were. I half expected the butchers to break out into song singing a poor rendition of ‘yes, we have no turkeys today!’ You couldn’t have shocked me more if you’d walked through the produce section naked. I just stood there, reeling, trying to figure out what to do next. I found a turkey filet already butchered and packaged, it would simply have to do. I had guests coming in 6 hours, I couldn’t traipse around Krakow looking for a whole turkey. Unceremoniously throwing the turkey filet in my basket, I trudged on to baking goods.

First of all, I don’t know the word for ‘cloves’ in Polish, I can just barely ask for things at the market, and I certainly don’t use phrases in a restaurant like ‘could you go easy on the rosemary and add a little extra thyme?’ No, I’m lucky if I can work out the menu, pronounce it, and actually get what I thought I ordered, everything else is far too advanced. So, as you can imagine, trying to locate cloves in a section of spices as big as a 7-11 was a bit of a problem. To compound this, there is no translation for ‘cloves’ in my dictionary, only ‘cloves’ as in a clove of garlic. Apparently, cloves the spice isn’t widely used. Twenty minutes later, I realize I’m just standing there, desperate and hopeless. I tried to come up with a solution. I could begin by taking one packet of each spice and laying them in the floor. Then, I could go through them, replacing the ones I could translate with the dictionary to see what I was left with, buy those left and then taste each one until I figured out which one was cloves. However, I realized the fault with this plan. One, I don’t think the staff at Tesco would appreciate my displaying upwards of 300 packets of spices in the floor, then painstakingly going through each one. Two, I would simply just be in the way of mad Polish women trying to buy garlic. Three, it would just take far too long. Four, I don’t really know what cloves taste like. Plan thus discarded, needed new approach.

I figured that I could get by without cloves, I’d just add a little more ginger and a little more cinnamon and hope no one was none the wiser. So, gather my strength and my turkey filet, I plodded on to dairy. The attempt to find ‘light cream’ is farcical. There is nothing in Polish cuisine that could even come in the vicinity of being called ‘light’ so my attempt to find some kind of milk product that would be a reasonable substitute for light cream was a disaster. I stood there for a moment and thought about the situation. I may not be able to have a turkey, a big ole turkey, brown and juicy, with legs and wishbones and things. I may have to cook a turkey filet and just hope for the best in my Lenin Oven that I am completely unsure about. I could handle this, turkey is turkey, by the time it would be sliced there wouldn’t be a problem. The one thing I couldn’t come to terms with, couldn’t be at peace with, was the lack of pumpkin pie. What is Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie? I ask you again! It is the centerpiece, the whole of what everyone waits for, it is Thanksgiving in a pie shell. No, no, there would be no pumpkin pie this year. Defeat, complete and total defeat. I thought about just leaving my basket there in the store, in the middle of dairy, between the sour cream and the butter. I could go home, we could just go out to eat, perhaps we could even find turkey pierogi somewhere. There I was, in the dairy section, hopelessly and completed defeated. When I cocked an ear to one side, I asked myself, ‘what is that sound?’ ‘Well self, that would be the sound of your hopes crashing down.’ I was in no mood for anything else to go wrong. I paid for my purchases, ate a Snickers bar and drank a Coke, demolished by the event.

On the way home, after a chocolate infusion, I decided that come hell or high water, I was having Thanksgiving dinner. Once home, I sent a quick email to one of my guests begging for a little favor and then began preparing madly. I had an agreement with Lenin, he would let me cook properly, or I would disassemble his very bowels, rip his wiring out and serve to Stalin the refrigerator. When all else fails, threats seem to work nicely.

Popping in some good country music, I began chopping, boiling, deviling, slicing, sautéing, broiling, filleting, you name it, I was a woman on a mission. Little by little, the time crept by and more and more dishes were prepared. Nothing burned, nothing fell, nothing was not the way I had hoped. Hours later, steaming hot food was being sat on the table. There was turkey, tender and juicy, moist stuffing, cold tart cranberry sauce, deviled eggs, biscuits, apple salad, macaroni and cheese, broccoli casserole, and more. It all laid out so beautifully. Empty plates and glasses sat around the table. I couldn’t help but be proud of my first Thanksgiving dinner despite it all. There was still something missing, and I knew what it was… the pie.

Before I could despair further, my first guest arrived, bearing what I had begged for. He reached into his bag, digging. I was frantic hoping there was no problem, that everything was as I had hoped it would. When the hand reemerged, there it was, a color print out of a pumpkin pie. We sat it up on the table. Thanksgiving was thus complete.

Hours later, as I was cleaning up, I thought about everything that had transpired, and really, it wasn’t all that bad. Sure there was no music, no snow, and no pumpkin pie, but I really do have a lot to be thankful for this year despite it. People I have met, travels I’ve made, all in all, I think life is going okay. One thing is for certain, my first Thanksgiving will be one I’ll never forget.

LINKS:
Blog:
http://blogs.bootsnall.com/april

History of Thanksgiving:
http://wilstar.com/holidays/thanksgv.htm

Cranberry Sauce:
http://www.oceanspray.com/Recipes/Recipes/sauces/HomemadeJelliedCranberrySauce.asp

The Pumpkin Pie Picture:
http://www.preschooleducation.com/postcard/ecdessert.shtml

Quote for the week:

“In this world of sin and sorrow there is always something to be thankful for; as for me, I rejoice that I am not a Republican.” H. L. Mencken

Latin Phrase of the week (New Addition) J:

Aio, quantitas magna frumentorum est.
Yes, that is a very large amount of corn.