Visions of Thanksgiving are likely already appearing in America. Heck, I saw Stollen in some of the supermarkest in France in early October. So American's aren't the only ones getting a jump on the holidays. However Thanksgiving is one of my favorite jours fériés of them all because it's always so much fun to bake all those pies and cakes and cookies and candies, like candied ginger, or churn up a batch of cinnamon ice cream to serve alongside it all. Gosh, I've both excited - and exhausted - thinking about it. And it's only November 1st!
For some reasons, Americans often ask me "What do Parisians do for Thanksgiving?" And I hate to admit it, but it's often hard to hide my astonishment that folks would not know that there isn't a global celebration of the harvest and bounty of the formative years when America was being founded. Consequently there are no jumbo-breasted turkeys or sweet potato pies with marshmallows on top in the markets or pastry shops in Paris. And canned cranberries? Those are usually stockpiled during the year on trips back to the states to avoid having to pay €8/can at the expat stores, the ones which specialize in American ingredients and likely support themselves during the other eleven months from the November sales alone.
(I've been know to fondle the crinkly bags of Pepperidge Farms stuffing mix at them, which go for the price of one of those swanky handbags in the window at Hermès. So I usually sniff them through the packaging, then leave them behind.)
I was planning on perhaps making a quick trip to the states. But something happens to me when confronted with an airline website: My brain freezes. (Kind of like it does when I get a letter from the government.) I sit there looking at all the numbers and prices and cities, and I start searching. Then the overload kicks in, and half the time, if I decide to buy, I click and get an error message that I have to start over. (Whew!) Or else I chicken out, because – as you know – once you hit that "SUBMIT" button, you're committed. So I avoid flying anywhere and just stay home.
But home ain't so bad. I can bake in my own kitchen, I can sleep in my own bed, and I don't have to sit immobilized in a seat for thirteen hours while the seat back in front of me is making a permanent indentation in my forehead.
Since I am the only person in Paris with two ovens, I may be the designated turkey – uh, I mean – turkey-baker, and T-day may be at chez David. Unless I build up the courage to revisit the United Airlines website. In which case, wish me luck!
-David