How to do Thanksgiving abroad – and have a turkey spend the night in your tub

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/nov/28/thanksgiving-while-living-abroad

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You never truly appreciate Thanksgiving until you spend it in a part of the world where turkey in November (among other times of the year) is considered disgusting – or, at least, highly bizarre – to locals.

My first Thanksgiving abroad was as a student in Oxford, England. My plan was to eat a turkey sandwich in solidarity with my people, but a fellow American convinced me to do the full ordeal with her. I'd like to say it was a moment of great patriotism, but I only agreed to it in an effort to impress a boy, reasoning that grandma's old adage that the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach must hold up in any time zone.

Of course, my partner-in-Thanksgiving-madness happened to be vegetarian and didn't want to go anywhere near a turkey. I was about as clueless on what to do, and those were the days before Pinterest.

Just locating a giant turkey in November was an Arthurian quest. Grocery store managers just couldn't understand why I wanted one so far before Christmas. I finally found a frozen one and brought it back to my dorm, where, of course, the miniscule British refrigerator had no freezer. Seeing no other option, I put the turkey in a mop bucket and sat it in my bathtub. Every time I went to the bathroom, I came face-to-face with a giant hunk of meat oozing questionable liquids out of it.

I made the mistake of mentioning my plans to my parents. I expected they would have great culinary advice. Instead, they shouted down the line that I was going to give half of Oxford food poisoning with my "bathtub turkey". Images of my crush slumped over convinced me I needed a plan B.

The local organic butcher said he could get me a turkey in two days, although not before lecturing me that there were so many better meats in England than turkey. I didn't bother to ask for the price. Big mistake.

When I picked up the bird – at £80 (about $130) – it was so fresh it still had bits of feather on it. Mortified, I asked if they could clean it. I had only ever seen bleached ones before. The butcher – and just about everyone else in the shop – chuckled. Someone dramatically handed me a "how to cook your bird" pamphlet.<br /> <br />I put it in the oven with oranges, lemons and bacon (that makes everything better, right?) and anything else I had ever heard could possibly be put on (or inside) a turkey and prayed. I converted all my recipes from Fahrenheit to Celsius to a guestimation of what the single-digit gas markers on an only sometimes functioning university stove must be.

(If you're curious, the "bathtub turkey" met its uncerimonius end when I snuck it out at 3am just before the trash collectors came by. I had to shoo off a dog that was quite interested in it.)

The menu was overly ambitious, a common novice mistake: stuffing and cranberry sauce from scratch, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, a fancy green bean dish, beets, cornbread, gravy, carrots and parsnips. It never dawned on my accomplice and I that we were cooking this meal mainly for people whose national dish is fried fish and chips.

The only thing I was sure of was the pumpkin pie. That was my job growing up, my signature dish. I made it the night before, and it sat in perfection on the tiny kitchen counter, a reminder in my moments of doubt that there would be something to be thankful for.

But even the pie was not without hiccups. A key ingredient nearly got waylaid in UK customs when I was stopped and had the dreaded bag search. As the guard unzipped my luggage, I recalled that I had two cans of Libby's pumpkin in my bag. Was it a "frowned upon" (ie illegal) agricultural import? Fortunately, he just gave me a "who in their right mind would eat that?" look when he held up the cans.

Miraculously, everything but the gravy turned out well my first Thanksgiving abroad. Of course, I was so exhausted I could have eaten anything and thought it was cuisine worthy of a cooking show contract. Most of the 15+ guests probably felt the same way given that the meal was served a lot later than intended.

We went around the makeshift table and had everyone say what they were thankful for. Years later, the only two I recall are the Brit who was grateful for "free food from the colonists" and a young Asian woman who spoke of oppression back home and how wonderful it was to be at Oxford.

Back in America now, I feel an extra dose of thankfulness as I walk down grocery store aisles, tripping over Libby's pumpkin and green bean casserole ingredients, all on sale. I can even earn a free turkey if I play my shoppers card bonus points right.

Yet I can't help but think as I hold my Williams & Sonoma pie-crust blending knife, the kind of frivolous gadget not even sold at Harrods in London (last time I checked), it's all a little too easy now.

I was somehow closer to the real spirit of the day eating off paper plates in an overcrowded foreign apartment with a mix of nationalities as guests, all of whom had no idea how thankful they should be for a bird that was actually cooked and did not spend the night in my bathtub.

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