I speak perfect French

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Something about loitering around all day, cooking over a gas flame, sipping wine, and watching football brings up such nostalgic feelings. Growing up, we celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas almost exactly the same way. We had celery sticks filled with roquefort cheese (ROKE-FORT) followed by turkey and all the sides.

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Having celebrated Thanksgiving in a many many places, it wasn’t too exotic to celebrate Thanksgiving in France. A braised turkey leg, mashed potatoes, green beans and sweet potato pie does it for me. Just the two of us, we had a lovely day of cooking, lazing around and a leisurely gray walk.

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Following this, and against my better judgment, I agreed to go to a “Democrats Abroad” celebration of Turkey Day on Saturday. For this, I agreed to make green beans and two apple pies. And bring rolls that I promptly forgot.

To be honest, it was all, for me, terrible. Imagine for a second, my awkward introverted self having to interact with 25 mostly tipsy-to-drunk 50 plus year olds that have pent up Democratic angst. While an annual tradition filled mostly with love, there were also sides of ego, opinion, and competition. I won’t soon forget Sam who spoke “perfect French.” My favorite was the French guy next to me who just wanted to stay quiet and sip his wine. I am definitely on his team.

And yes, I made stuffing five days later with the sole purpose of using leftovers to make stuffing waffles.

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