Wherever this was, was not our house. I did take the picture, though. Wherever it was.
Holiday meals are not the same in France. Take Christmas, for instance, as there is no Thanksgiving. Turkey? Ham? Roast Beef? Nah, probably fish. Lots of fish. And on Christmas day? Nah, not really, but technically yes. The traditional meal is after the midnight mass on Christmas Eve, which is, you see, technically on Christmas day. They eat mainly fish, maybe some duck, sometimes other meats, along with some well prepared side dishes such as vegetables. That’s all great stuff, if you happen to be French. For me, I like a ham or turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, stuffing (dressing) of your choice, gravy, buttered rolls, plus whatever else they put under my nose, with something like pumpkin pie for desert. That, my friends, is what I call a holiday meal.
Tami and I did have a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving day. We got a turkey, available only on certain occasions in certain stores, but otherwise normal. Er, well, small normal. This guy was about 4.8 kilograms. At 2.2 pounds per kilo, that’s just eleven pounds (almost.) Some of the birds I’ve helped devour in the US would eat an eleven pounder for breakfast, right? Anyway, we had that, and some vegetables, and mashed potatoes, rolls, and not much else because there were only the two of us. So, for Christmas, we invited “orphans” over, and three people came bearing side dishes and desserts. Two Irish ladies and an englishwoman. So there was a lot more food (two turkeys, from which we are still eating) and, to top it off, Tami got me a pumpkin pie at a café in Civray, which she surprised me with on the day. Of course, our guests had some, but I ended up eating about half of that pie myself, and now, now I feel like I’ve had a holiday meal. At long last!
It’s true that, no matter how long I live here, or how well I’m able to speak French, and follow French customs, I will never be “really French.” But, you know that works both ways. I don’t imagine that any native born French person will ever think about pumpkin pie the way I do. Pumpkin pie is a North American dish (hello, Canada) and a novelty at best for a European. They’re missing out, I think, just as they think I’m missing out because I don’t stay up to eat fish at two in the morning. Although the aftermath of the meal will be similar. After the pie, I had a nap, I mean. At two in the morning I’d be lucky not to land face-down in the soup. Same result, different dish. Not so different after all, huh?
