In Which She Manages to Pull It Off

29 November 2008

Thanksgiving, that is! After a couple of weeks of brainstorming, and one long day of preparing and cooking and shaking my head, I sat down at the end of a twelve-person dinner table with five Italians, three Americans, two Germans and a Swede to celebrate a special autumnal thanksgiving holiday. It wasn't seeing people tell stories at the table, hearing compliments about the food, nor sending my guests away with leftovers that made it all worthwhile; after a long night's sleep in my very own bed (explanation to come),
waking up a luxurious two hours later than I usually wake up, the stress of preparation really paid off when I came to the breakfast table this morning to find a sticky note that read,

Dear Lauren,
Thank you 4 everything...
all was great and well cooked! :-)
patrizia e alberto

First of all, you should know that our house has been under renovation for the past two weeks. Painting, knocking down walls, building walls, replacing windows, doors, furniture. Repainting things after one or both of the homeowners realise they don't like the color as much as they thought they would. (Test strips, anyone? Beuller?) Which means that each day there have been strange men -- and the occasional woman, but she's either the architect or the color consultant -- working in the house, making it difficult for me to shower, or dress, or relax, in what is usually my own space. This Monday I was evacuated from my room so they could paint it, and we planned for me to sleep one night in one of the boy's rooms so as not to inhale the fumes. All of my clothes and shoes and books and things were piled onto my bed and covered in a protective plastic sheet, and the painters did their job. But what had been a tranquil blue-green on the paint chip turned out to be a rather sickening institutional robin's egg blue, and one night in F--'s little twin bed turned out to be three nights as we had to choose a new color, wait for the new paint, and then repaint my bedroom. I slept horribly in his room, and had quite a time trying to weasel new clothes and belongings out from under the plastic covering each morning before the workers entered the room. It was maddening, and while I tried to remain calm and positive about being displaced in my own home, I entered Thanksgiving Day with four day's worth of unease weighing on me.

Friday morning I woke at 7,15 because both parents had to catch early trains to Milan, and I was in charge of feeding the boys and getting them to school. Alarm went off. I sighed, "Another day. Lauren, you can do this," and sat up in bed. Looked out the window. Double take-- what?? Snow! Everywhere! Walked across the room to the window to peer further over the balcony, and was astonished to see a layer of snow covering the roofs and streets as far as I could see. The first snow in Torino for a while, I was to hear later that day. Anyway, while it was beautiful in its way, all I could think about was the long walk I would have to take later that morning, home from our butcher, with a turkey of undetermined size in my arms... After I brought the boys to school and made sure the painters would take care of the kitchen before I began cooking in earnest, I sent a text message to my American friend Aubrey to request her company to fetch my bird. I peeled potatoes for Mom's scalloped dish while I waited for her to arrive. Together we took a bus to the butcher. "Sono qui per il tacchino. I'm here for the turkey," I told him, and didn't even have to mention the reservation name since it's highly unusual to eat turkey in Italy. P--- had asked him to please, please find the smallest turkey possible, because when last year's au pair did Thanksgiving they had turkey leftover for days and days, so I crossed my fingers when he popped the huge naked bird onto the scale... 5,8 kilograms! Roughly 14 pounds. Not bad. They wrapped it up in paper, plastic, more plastic, and several bags. I gathered it up like a baby and carried it all the way home through the snow. Aubrey laughed at me, and I laughed at me, and we agreed that it was better to brave the snowy streets than to take the raw turkey - however packaged - onto a public bus. I envisioned myself slipping on some icy curb and tossing the turkey/baby into the street, but Aub kept an eye on me and the three of us made it home safely.

I'll spare you the details of my laborious debate over whether or not to use a Reynolds turkey bag. Ended up using it, which turned out to be for the best because it was the smell of burning plastic that alerted me to the fact that I'd set the oven to "broil" instead of "bake," an error which, had it gone unnoticed, would have rendered the huge turkey inedible! I rubbed the inside with sea salt and lemon, slathered the outside with lemon and olive oil, stuffed the cavity with a slightly modified version of Aunt Kati's stuffing (no raisins, added big chunks of carrot), and tucked sprigs of rosemary and sage against the meat. Baked a big dish of scalloped potatoes, made a bowl of mashed potatoes, and popped two apple crumbles into the oven halfway through dinner so I could serve them steaming, with cream, for dessert. One of my American au pair friends brought a big green salad with tangerines, cranberry, and homemade vinaigrette; another brought a pineapple bread casserole; still another came with a dish of green beans and bacon. A Swedish student I met back in September informed me late in the afternoon that he'd only be able to stay for a little while because he had some guests in town, and I said, "Bring 'em along! We're going to have so much food anyway, and we'd be happy to have them." So they arrived with a humongous bundt cake, and the last guest, an Italian, came with a platter of assorted dessert pastries. What a spread!

I cooked all afternoon. The snow never stopped falling. When the workers went away they left behind them a clean but completely empty living room, and P-- and I hoped against hope that some couches would arrive before our guests did. It was getting on 6pm and didn't look likely. In the meantime, we checked and rechecked the turkey, took an aperitivo (glass of white wine and some sliced prosciutto on crackers), sliced four different types of bread, and tried to spruce up the bare soggiorno - living room - with table lamps and a flower arrangement, as all of the carpets and painting had been removed from the floor and walls whilst the painting was completed. We set the table with our colorful plates from Sicily, nearly all of the drinking glasses we own, three bottles of red Californian Mondavi wine, "hand turkeys" that I had made with the boys earlier in the week (remember those? trace your hand, draw a face, color the feathers), and little cornucopias I'd put together with fresh pine sprigs, autumn coloured leaves, and red berries from our terrace plants wrapped up in brown paper and bright fabric ribbon. The bell rang... first guests? We looked at each other anxiously. No! It was couches!! Yes! Two huge red divans, and a plush purple reading chair. Now we had a real socialising space!

The whole thing was great. The turkey came out moist and evenly roasted; I mixed the in-bird stuffing with some that I had set aside before; a friend helped me made gravy from the drippings; and we all enjoyed a long, lively dinner. The youngest boy complimented the turkey, which was a HUGE achievement-- he's one of the pickiest eaters I've ever seen, and to hear him say, "Molto buono!" almost made me cry. We did a round of "I'm grateful for..."s, exchanged Thanksgiving memories and stories, talked about traveling, and concluded the night with a conversation about Obama, the United States' political system, German stereotypes versus Swedish, and the Torino film festival. All over glasses of grappa, and tiny cups of Italian espresso.

Today, I rested. Tomorrow I run a 10k in the snow, with more than 3000 other participants. I think I am crazy. But I sure am trying to make the most of my time here, and I think it's working...