A Change of Plans

The announcement came a couple of days ago that this would be a casual affair. There would be no caterers for Monsieur Ex was determined to delve into the mysteries of the American Thanksgiving dinner and prove himself master of Turkey With all the Trimmings. His boyfriend, for his part, had unearthed a very large book of recipes in which the chapter on pies was well-thumbed, and it was his fervent desire to reproduce for our gathering his mother's famous pumpkin pie. It would just be the three of us, they said, and I was immediately captivated by the cosiness this night promised. Charged by the spirit of my two hosts I spent the day before alone in my own kitchen amid quantities of apples and, unobserved and untutored, with nothing more than a few helpful tips gleaned from the supermarket cashier still revolving in my head, I finally emerged with my first homemade apple pie.

I arrived with my parcel at 3 o'clock, the appointed hour, to find my friends closeted in the kitchen which had become ground central in the flat. Pots steamed. Bread cooled. And in the midst of this two grown men wrestled with a turkey the size of a five year old child. Naturally we had drinks. In the living room we sat on plush sofas and sipped strong liqueurs while inhaling the fragrant aromas that wafted through the apartment and seemed to present themselves severally and individually for inspection. We became aware of the exotics first, the cinnamon, the cardomon, the cloves. Then came the savoury scent of roasting turkey, all but stopping conversation dead as our hunger peaked.

Dinner Was Served

We piled our plates with turkey and gravy, with steamed zucchini and carrots, with stuffing and hot buttered bread. All lovingly prepared by the hosts themselves and all absolutely delicious. We sipped the excellent beaujolais and passed the platters round again and again, refilling our plates. Never had we enjoyed such a feast. The hours passed in this very pleasant manner and eventually coffee was brought to the table. It was followed quickly by linzer torte, pumpkin pie and my own apple pie. I can tell you we took our time over these. There was ice cream too and a lovely cognac, which made our heads swim.

Night had fallen and the three of us were flung carelessly on the plush sofas smoking companionably and drinking whatever lay at hand. The homely aura that hung about this scene had allowed us long ago to kick off our shoes, and we none of us felt the need to stifle our occasional yawns.

The Last Act

The time had come for the guest to relieve his hosts of their responsibilities and I did so with gentle tributes and embraces and little pats. I, for one, was most appreciative of the relaxed tone of the day and will forever remember this as my favourite Thanksgiving.