Thanksgiving

I love Thanksgiving. Really I love any activity that encourages the consumption of delicious food and adult beverages, but I particularly love Thanksgiving. It's a lazy day, nothing significant or exciting ever happens at our house, but my memories are always pleasant ones. I mean, really, what's not to love? Family and friends, a massive home-made meal, giving thanks for all the blessings in your life, delicious leftovers for a week, and football.

At the end of September, I was talking to my friend Danny about how weird it's going to be not eating turkey on Thanksgiving. Danny, a professional cook from Staten Island, said he was planning on finding and cooking a turkey for the holiday, even if he had to eat it by himself. Meredith and I immediately suggested a big Thanksgiving meal at our place. If Danny could find the bird and cook the meal, we would get a bunch of people together to eat and help fund the feast.

True to his word, Danny found a 27-pound turkey and all of the supplies he needed for stuffing, gravy, yams, etc. As he was preparing the meal, Meredith and I invited friends from all over Latin America and, of course, our American friends. For most people it was either their first Thanksgiving ever or their first away from home. Per tradition, we went around the room and said what we were thankful for this year. As I looked around the room, I couldn't help but think of how we'd all come from such different parts of the world, each person with their own story of how they came to be in Buenos Aires and/or how they'd met Meredith or myself. And yet, there we all were in a little apartment on Montevideo street celebrating an American holiday together. This year I was thankful for the amazing family I've found in Buenos Aires; thankful that, through chance or fate, each of these people had found their way into my life.

The 27-pound beast

Danny preparing the bird with one of his magical recipes