After 24 hours of travel the day before, I wasn't exactly the earliest riser. My Love opted to wait for my input before buying groceries, so at about 1 in the afternoon, we started cooking our Thanksgiving dinner tenatively scheduled for 5 pm. We decided on roasting two chickens (we had absolutely no faith in My Love's oven's ability to cook a turkey even if we stuck it in the oven for 3 days), stuffing, mashed potatoes, broccoli with cheese, and dinner rolls. We had exactly one working burner on the stove, and the chickens took an hour to thaw out under cold water and about 3 hours to cook.
So, naturally, My Love was looking up translations to explain Thanksgiving to his neighbors. The translations he looked up included "food poisoning is an essential part of the Thanksgiving tradition," "you must overeat," and "please call the fire department! my stove has exploded!"
Fortunately, he never actually had to say any of those things in Albanian. In fact, he never even had to explain Thanksgiving. Turns out, his neighbors had watched Obama eating turkey on TV and knew exactly what we were celebrating.
It's not Thanksgiving until you have a paper turkey on the table.
Against all odds, everything we cooked came out perfectly.
Note: 3 bottles of wine on the table, including 1 bottle of homemade wine. (I was thrilled that the
moonshine raki wasn't offered to me.)