And shopping at the market in order to cook fuels me with more anxiety than belaying naked from Mt. Kilimanjaro.
I know I looked completely stoic and unbothered on the outside, but on the inside my organs were feverishly dancing. I wore my long, winter coat (with fur around the hood), mall-walking shoes, and my hair tied back to prevent myself from ripping it the f**k out. In my ears was Disney music “in the circleeee, the circle of life…” – the carefree, innocuous melody helps calm my nausea as I lethargically float through the market aisles.
You think I’m being overdramatic, don’t you? Good! Because I also think this is completely absurd. But there’s good news, so read on.
The Menu:
The 5 Day Prep:
I started on Sunday. In advance to help subside the stress. The method of attack was to find ingredients most familiar to me and most universal in physical features and Latin roots. On Sunday I purchased pineapples (how could they really be confused with another piece of produce?) and vodka.
I also allowed myself to take advantage of my time at the market and walk through the aisles with ZERO pressure to cross ingredients off my list. This was merely a desensitizing (and learning) opportunity.
And in no time: tears came trickling down my face, steam blew out of my ears, and I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth shattered. No, just kidding, my teeth are still intact. These emotions are completely normal for me in markets in the states (even the ones I’m most familiar with – this includes Whole Foods), so with the addition of the Estonian language that includes about… -8 (negative 8) Latin Roots, you can imagine how this challenged my antiperspirant.
Thankfully I was rewarded immediately after with my favorite meal (penne pasta + 10kg of parmesan cheese) and a showing of The Lion King in 3D at a friend’s. Talk about positive reinforcement, B.F. Skinner.
Tough day, I know.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday:
Yep, they all happened. In that order.
The good news, however: By Thursday, I totally made the market my Witch. Except replace the ‘W’ with a ‘B’. Keep the ‘B’ a capital one.
I also now know the following ingredients are rare and difficult to find here:
- celery
- graham crackers
- egg noodles
- candy corn
- white marshmallows that aren’t in the shape of Angry Bird’s or Daisies
- cranberries
- disposable cooking pans
One can say I got “creative” in the kitchen. Never will One say that about me again, methinks.
If you cut toffee into triangles it can do a candy-corn’s job; serve as the nose to truffle+waffle baby turkey’s. Duh.
If you can’t find disposable cooking pans because you only have 3 oven-safe dishes in your apartment, you can use the top to your Pyrex dishes. They’re shallower, of course, but they do the trick.
When in doubt, buy a nice block of cheese, kalamata olives, nuts, and some decent bread. If all the other food fails, they will save Thanksgiving (or any other celebration involving food). Don’t forget the booze.
Thanksgiving Day:
Thanksgiving is my absolute favorite day of the year. Wings down. It’s one of the few times I enjoy being in Dallas – as terrible as that sounds. Eek, don’t hate me Dallas folk.
At home, Thanksgiving begins at 6:00am on the last Thursday of November and doesn’t end until the weekend is over. Slices of tradition permeate the entire day on Thursday. The first piece is the Turkey Trot Run in Downtown Dallas (my dad and I would get there first thing in the morning to get the same parking spot every year), the next piece is going to my old neighborhood to play touch football with friends and family, onward to watch (and smell) mom finish cooking, and leaving home for multiple feasts with multiple groups. The final feast involving liter’s of pineapple vodka, friends I’ve known since I was in diapers, and acting like I’m interested in The Cowboy’s game. And still, year after year, I don’t know the rules of football or my blood alcohol content.
I had never missed a Thanksgiving in Dallas until this year. Before I left for Estonia I was determined to offset my potential Thanksgiving separation anxiety with a day full of amusement ; amusement in the form of cooking more than eggs, pasta, oatmeal, and placing cheese symmetrically on a plate.
And this is how it turned out:
Nobody got sick.
The turkey was a bit dry, but dry turkey calls for fresh cranberry sauce – and that’s exactly what it got.
And we ate the pineapple infused with vodka.
And we watched the Thanksgiving episode of Friends with Brad Pitt. In Russian. (Even though they wanted English).
And we did all the things I would normally do minus a few minor exceptions, but most importantly, I am so happy I had people to share my favorite holiday with. Good friends.
“Well, how do you feel?” a friend asked after everyone left my flat stuffed and energy-less. I slammed my body onto the couch; limbs sprawled in every cardinal direction – desperately wanting someone to put me into maternity pants.
“Shocked”, I replied starry-eyed and confused.
“You should be proud of yourself” he said, also being a 2-month victim of my minimal cooking abilities.
Before this week, I had trouble confidently cracking an egg yet alone dry brining and roasting a Turkey. I have grown (in more ways than one) from this experience, but not enough to continue this cooking spree. After all, I am my mother’s daughter and my aunt’s niece; neither of which cook, so I am obligated to continue this tradition regardless of what holiday changes my ways.
Santa is coming to town:
And we all know that once Thanksgiving is over, Christmas begins! Hip hip hooray!
I watched Elf, I went to the Xmas market in the Old Town, I drank warm, spiced wine (Glogg) with friends, played Scrabble in Estonian and multiple games of Janga, and I skipped around town and listened to Mariah Carey’s Christmas album. I love Christmas. And guess what?
THE HIGH IS NEGATIVE 5 ON FRIDAY. IT’S SUPPOSED TO SNOW TOMORROW!
‘Tis the season to be jolly,
Jenstonia – fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaaaaa
P.S. I also successfully delivered a sweet spudnik.
:: jenstonia :: 