Valentine’s Day, I could live without. Halloween could be canceled and I wouldn’t miss it. Thanksgiving, however, is a different story! Je suis fan de Thanksgiving.
Interestingly enough, I don’t remember having such a pronounced affinity for Thanksgiving when I lived in America. I guess there’s something about living across the Atlantic that makes you nostalgic.
For the past few years, I have been blessed enough to celebrate Thanksgiving here in France with some very dear friends. I guess the pop culture term for our yearly celebration would be Friendsgiving, though I’m hesitant to call it such.
To simply call these people friends seems belittling, in a sense. The term friends is tossed around so lightly these days. These dear souls with whom I have laughed, cried, feared, dreamed, and grown with over the past five years deserve a special etiquette.
These precious beings were by my side as I learned to navigate being a mother, loin de chez moi.
They were there when I hated life, when I loved it, and when all I really cared about was getting another cup of coffee and a much needed nap.
It’s only stands to reason, then, that these friends don’t necessarily belong in the same category as the other 650 friends I have on Facebook.
Of course they are my friends, but more importantly, they are my surrogate family.
For the sake of pop culture wordplay then, Surrogatefamilysgiving would be a more appropriate term for our yearly gathering. But, for fear of sounding completely ridiculous and for lack of desire to discount our thankfulness, I’ll just skip the cutesy terms and refer to our feast as our American Thanksgiving, despite the fact that there’s currently a mix of American, Thai, and French nationalities. After all, we’re all American at heart, especially on Thanksgiving!
This past Saturday, we celebrated our fourth annual American Thanksgiving. For the past few years, there have been about 20 people to seat on any given occasion, which meant that my 90 square meter apartment was much too small to accommodate one of our American gatherings. Unforuntately, however, two of our dear American friends – Kat and Irina – and their sweet families moved back to the States this summer, meaning there are now only 11 people to seat. Trying to ignore the sad reality of the fact that our bande de copains is growing smaller, I offered to host our American Thanksgiving this year.
Given that our plans fell in place à la derniere minute, we agreed that it was perfectly acceptable to be slackers in the meat department. To be honest, I didn’t feel like going through the hassle of pre-ordering, picking up, and brining a turkey, only to realize it wouldn’t fit in my french-sized oven. So, in an act of fainéantise that most Americans would liken to blasphemy, we opted for poulet rôti.CONTINUE READING