sábado, 24 de noviembre de 2012


I was rather disappointed this year, knowing that I would not be able to spend Thanksgiving at home.  Every year my grandma makes a fantastic Italian Thanksgiving with capeletti soup, chicken marsala and all the typical Thanksgiving food.  Obviously, the holiday is not celebrated here, so we have to bring our American customs to Spain.  Rather than celebrate my Thanksgiving alone in a Burger King with only a mountain of Whoppers and my self-pity to keep me company, I was lucky enough that my friends' host mom invited me to her own "Spanish Thanksgiving".

I was a little worried, as my friends have tried to have me over their house in the past, but with no luck.  Their host mom has a distinct distrust in men, meaning I had to try especially hard to win her affection.  I accepted this challenge, but not without some apprehension.  With a nice bottle of wine in-hand as a peace offering, I made my way to my friends' house, on a mission.  The elevator in the apartment felt uncomfortably similar to a jail cell, but when I reached her floor, I was stuck; there was no going back.

Thankfully, I had one trick up my sleeve that was foolproof.  The one skill that has never failed me, and has gotten me through many situations, is older women's unconditional love for me.  Somehow, women between the ages of 60 and 110 are always susceptible to my charms.  I knew it was time to make good use of my ability.

The señora was actually very kind and (perhaps most importantly,) an amazing cook.  Taking nothing away from my grandma, I had perhaps the best turkey in my life that night.  I was almost in tears with every bite, but full-on sobbed at the sight of the apple pie for dessert.  It was a memorable night for certain- it's not every year that I could have a Spanish Thanksgiving.

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