To those living in, well, anywhere BUT the States, Thanksgiving means nothing more than eating a Turkey and putting on maternity pants like Joey does in that one Friends episode.  The American movies and TV series that they have are the only exposure that they have to our wonderful once-a-year meal of acceptable gluttony.  They don´t understand that, on this day and this day only, even the skinniest of supermodels and most paranoid trophy wife/mother eat too much, complain about it, then return for a third helping.

I spent all week trying to prepare by looking up recipes, doing metric conversions, testing them out in the busted Spanish oven that is ¨brand new¨ and then racking my brain to figure out what I had done to create the smoldering coals that should have been delicious pumpkin muffins.  The muffins... made, by the way, in individual metal dishes because a large muffin tin does not exist here... truly threw me off.  The ones that had been in the back were black; I don´t mean burned, no... I mean they were rock hard and black the coal that evil children receive in their stockings.  The the muffins in the middle: burned-ish but the insides were alright... and the ones in the front appeared perfect.  Appeared.  I was going to just use the front of the oven, therefore quadrupleing the amount of time I would spend baking, in order to provide delicious treats for the guests... but one small bite caused me to ditch that plan completely.  I wanted to try the muffin, still warm from the monster that lives beneath the stove, just to be sure that it would live up to my French roommates standards (for them nothing is as good as the products of France... soccer, pastries, wine, cheese, cider, music... nothing... except for our TV shows).  Well, the outer part of the muffin was the perfect texture but then -mean surprise- I found inside a gooey, creamy, liquid-esque center. Gross.  So basically, the oven is cursed and as a result my perfect Thanksgiving feast was too.  Oh and did I mention that the oven, as varied in temperatures as it is, is about the size of a desktop computer. Right.

Friday night Jordan, Katie, Luis and a friend of Katie´s from the UK, Sam, arrived.  We, along with Jessica, started to cook because people were going to show up around noon on Saturday to cook, hang out and eat. We knew that we couldn´t prepare everything that morning with the appliances and ingredients that we had at our disposal.  Can I go on the record and say that it does, in fact, taste better to make the pumpkin pie from scratch (no such thing as canned pumpkin pie), but I don´t know if I will attempt that in the future.  I was left with scalded fingertips and splattered with orange pulp. The French blender that Steph has is (a) hand held and (b) has blades the length of a quarter.  Where is my mother´s KitchenAid when I need it and why wasn´t that the first thing that I packed when heading over seas? (That and a Sam´s Club-sized tub of crunchy peanut butter.) 

We made due with what we had, what we lacked and what ¨could do¨ as a replacement: no measuring cups or spoons, a tiny little metric scale, an overambitious oven with poorly labed Celsius temperatures and ingredients that were similar in, at least, appearance.  The pumpkin pie, compliments of Team Jordan/Celia, was yummy but had the consistency of the pecan pie filling mixed with a sponge.  I had made the pumpkin mash beforehand and so he made the filling while I struggled with getting the measurments right for the homemade crust.  We popped them in the oven, at the correct converted-from-Farenheit-to-Celsius temperature and set the timer for 50 minutes.  17.3 minutes later the tops were burnted and the pie was puffy yet soupy.  Seriously, we should have filmed these kitchen catastrophes... a documentary on a bunch of twenty-something American kids trying to put together their first Thanksgiving in Spain. ¨Tragic comedy¨ may be the more appropriate genre.

Saturday morning I got fed up with trying to keep straight who was in line for the oven and stove so I passed my wooden spoon of control to Katie and crowned her the Queen of the Kitchen.   We ended up eating around 5:00 which may have annoyed some of the guests, but we Americans had fun putting it all together.  It truly was an international deal with representatives from America, Spain, France, Bulgaria, Poland, England and Scotland.  I don´t think we did a very good job at explaining the point of the holiday but everyone had fun and took part in the engorging. So, for those who can still stomach the thought of food after your big day, read on to see what graced our plates... after passing the ¨Is it too burned?¨ test... love to all Happy Holiday Madness!

xoxcr

The menu:

Turkey breast a la Katie

Lamb with some kind of French gravy (Steph)

Sweet potatoes with marshmallows

Mashed potatoes (with enough butter to please the Kentucky crew)

Pumpkin Pie

Salad

Bulgarian cheese crepe roll-up things

English rolls with gravy

Chocolate flan

Apple crumble

Wild rice and cornbread stuffing (the one thing that I made with success)

Apple tart

Pineapple upsidedown cake

Apple cider

Spanish tortilla (a big omlette)

English pigs-in-a-blanket (the blanket is ham not bread)