Thanksgiving in Paris

There is actually an American “grocery store” (I use quotes because this phrase usually conjures the image of a large store, but this was more like a boutique) called Thanksgiving in Paris. There was a surprising number of Parisians shopping there, but it had all the necessary cooking items, but for a price. Somehow, I conned my way into Turkey responsibilities, and I also decided to pay for most of the necessary ingredients (only so I could get the cash back from the center).
Luckily we were cooking at the home of Emmanuel’s (my French conversation assistant) Saintly family who had a professional kitchen for massive cooking and were incredibly friendly. Her father and I immediately launched into conversation when I recognized and commented on his photography collection: this included a photo of a young Orson Welles and an amazing photo of Ezra Pound and the cage he was kept in during the war. He also helped me choose the best translation of Dangerous Liaisons (a book highly recommended to me by Emmanuel) and their twelve-year-old daughter, Gabriel, a wonderful pianist. Unfortunately Emmanuel’s parents had to leave for cousin’s boyfriend’s rock concert. They live in this beautiful Belleville apartment, complete with exposed wood beam ceilings, and a fantastic library. Sylvie, the director of our Paris program, whose house I went to retrieve the wine and the turkeys, had another interestingly awesome home.
Justin, our supposedly fearless head chef, came so late that my workload had already been completed. We had to edit our menu, but still had enough to feed our crowd of 17. The pictures of the gathering will be posted, and they inevitably will include the food. It was also illustrate how much wine was provided and how Emmanuel rolls about a cigarette every 3 minutes (without filters).
The worst problems of the night were a spilled pumpkin pie (onto Niki) and Lynn’s allergic reaction to the surviving pie.