The little Thanksgiving that was...n't a disaster!

I will not lie.  This past Thanksgiving was a little bit challenging.  The week prior to Thanksgiving I felt okay, but as the days to Thanksgiving got closer and closer, I was a little jealous of all of you back home.  Lazy fall days, coziness, the long weekend, and just overall preparing for relaxing with family and friends.  While you all were having holidays, we over here were working are butts off.

To help alleviate the homesickness, my boss—ever intuitive as she is—suggested we all have a Thanksgiving party.  We decided to have a Thanksgiving party the Saturday after the “real” Thanksgiving.  This party would entail me making all the Thanksgiving foods...for about 20 people.  S***!

You should know that I’ve never made Thanksgiving anything before.  Not pumpkin pie, turkey, nothing.  It’s not that I haven’t wanted to…there just has never been an opportunity, as my mom’s pretty much boss in the kitchen followed by my brother.  So this was my opportunity to make it or blow it.  Just in case I would blow it, I advised people to bring their own food.  In the meantime my coworkers teased me that they would video and post my culinary prowess, or lack thereof, on YouTube.

So the venture began to find all the ingredients I would need.   While I found some ingredients, and substitutions for others, I could not find a turkey.  Actually, I did find one that wasn’t very big for over $100.  No way was I going to pay for that.  As time drew nearer, I asked embassy folk where I might get one.  They have their own commissary, of which you need to be a member.  If I had prepared in a more timely manner, I might have been able to buy one for about $40.  But, time was running out, and the only option I had left was to buy a live turkey and then butcher it.  (My boss refused to accept chicken as an option.)

We  (meaning my boss, her colleague, and I) ended up driving two hours to pick up the turkey.  It cost about $40.  I had to stay in the car when they went in to get it, because the color of my face would drive up the price.  As I waited, fear began to settle in the pit of my stomach.  I became more and more anxious, because for a week, my coworkers had said I would be the one to kill, de-feather, and clean the turkey.  I didn’t know if they were serious or not, but decided I could force myself to de-feather and clean it; but not kill it.  Imagining having to do all these things was like sinking into an abyss of despair.  And then I saw them coming out, carrying the turkey by the feet.

The turkey was stressed, with its legs tied.  During the ride back into town, it stayed relatively quite.  I kept looking back at it, checking to see if it was okay.  It reminded me of Chloe, my conure.  I couldn’t believe I was going to have to kill and eat a bird, when a bird is my pet  (even though I eat chicken all the time…but it’s different when you see it alive before you eat it).  When we got home, it sat in the kitchen until it was time for beheading.

Thankfully, gratefully, sometime while I was working, the caretaker killed and de-feathered the bird.  I found out later that he de-feathered it wrong, as there were still feathers embedded in the skin, and darn near impossible to pluck out, but beggars can’t be choosers.  I also found out that you are supposed to clean the turkey as soon as you kill it.  But, out of ignorance, I refrigerated it overnight with innards and all, which, gratefully (again), the cook cleaned out for me the following morning.  She seamlessly pulled out the intestines, liver, and whatever else is in there.  I did keep the gizzards for the gravy though.

Before:  Head and neck are on the far left.

Saturday evening was our scheduled Thanksgiving.  I began cooking at 6 am, starting with the pies.  The apple went off without a hitch, but the pumpkin didn’t turn out as nice.  I made it from whole pumpkin as canned pumpkin was nowhere to be found.  Although the pie tasted good to me, the crust got messed up because 1) I didn’t have a pie pan, and 2) there are no temperature markers on the oven…so I was guessing.  The pie was not good enough for presentation, but I did make it from whole pumpkin…a goal I have had for quite some time.

By the time I finished the pies it was about 10 or 10:30 am.  By now all the kids are up.  This was also the weekend that the school was preparing for their annual Christmas competition, Sing for Joy, which is televised.  40 of them spent the night so that they could practice all of Saturday.  So, in addition to being stressed about making food I’ve never made before AND making it for people who will judge me and my culture based on it  (truly they will want to know if I can cook, and many have never had American food before), there were a minimum of 5 people at a time in the kitchen, not to mention kids coming through here and there asking for this and that.   The kitchen consists of a fridge, sink, small stove with two functioning burners, a freezer, etc.  It’s a good size kitchen and functional; but with five people plus, it gets a little too close for comfort. To top it off, I am irritable because I am overwhelmed.  Everyone kept telling me, “Don’t worry Amy, we’ll help you.  You won’t have to do everything alone.”  Yeah right.  They were all busy with the kids, and my Pity Pot self took over for a bit…maybe a half hour or so…then I let it go.   

Crowded kitchen.  People hovering, literally…watching every move I make.  I know they are just curious, but it is driving me crazy!  We run out of salt and flour.  I continually can’t find what I put down.  Aagh! While I finish up the pies I start the stuffing.  I season bread for stuffing, bake it and set aside.  Some people try the bread; some like it and some lie and say, “It’s nice.”  Nigerians are not very adventurous when it comes to foreign food.  I think it’s funny that when someone says, “It’s nice,” before it barely touches their lips.  I was surprised though that no one would taste the prepped apples for the pie.  Apples with cinnamon and sugar?  Yum!  To them, not so. 

Thankfully, the staff helps peel potatoes while I surmise the turkey situation.  That was a HUGE help, because I suck with the type of potato peeler they have here. I had wanted to brine the turkey, or at least marinate it in beer for a while to prevent it from being dry.  No such luck.  No beer on hand.  And people are soo busy, I don’t want to ask to send someone to the market.  So, I decide to clean the turkey, and rinse out the insides with boiling water, because it doesn’t smell right to me.  Good thing I did because there was crap, really, inside the cavity.  People wonder what in the world I am doing.  The cook gives me a look, asks, and leaves me alone.  I put it back in the fridge.  Even though it has parts of feather (akin to whisker stubble) in it, and smells a bit off for my liking, I’m still going to cook it.

I take a break for an hour or so, look for a gravy recipe, and go back downstairs to start the turkey.  First, I finish the stuffing.  Then I stuff the turkey.  It is said that if you don’t have a meat thermometer, that you shouldn’t put stuffing inside your turkey.  No can do here; people want it stuffing stuffed in the turkey.  I don’t know how to cook a turkey; and we don’t have any foil to cover it, or string to tie the legs.  Also, you are supposed to fold the wings back to support the neck.  I can’t do it; it doesn’t seem to work.  So I ask my coworker to help me, who also finds some parts that need to be removed.  She twists the wings back, cracks and tears bone out.  I realize that I’m not quite cut out for the bush, as I really don’t like hearing those sounds.

Anyway, she says to leave the heart in and asks where the gizzards are.  I told her I was using it.  Nigerians like organ meat.  Eating liver and kidney, among others, is common.  I’m grateful my coworker was there, and I admired the way in which she handled the bird with such dexterity!  She tried removing feather stubble by sticking it over the gas burner…but it wouldn’t work.  So, into the pan it went, and I basted with butter (there wasn’t much juice from the turkey…it was a scrawny bird), rotating every half an hour.

Potatoes were the easiest; I didn’t have a recipe, but watched my mom enough to know what to do.  I was really pleased with the gravy too.  As a kid I wouldn’t eat the gravy because it was made with gizzards.  Here, though, I depended on those suckers to give flavor and heartiness.  It worked!  I was so happy that it turned out, especially since I deviated some from the recipe to make it taste good, get to the right consistency, etc.

After:  FYI...there was no string to tie the legs together.

We did have about twenty people, with fried rice and salad for those who might be hesitant to try some traditional Thanksgiving foods.  The favorite amongst everyone was the mashed potatoes and gravy, most likely because it similar in texture and consistency to pounded yam (and maybe pepper soup…they kept calling the gravy “soup”).  We all gave thanks, ate, danced, and were merry.  It is always said, “Be careful what you wish for.”  The past several years I have wanted to make a Thanksgiving dinner for friends…for a diverse group of people.  While I envisioned making dinners and meals for friends when I came here, I had no idea it’d turn out like this.  Not only am I grateful that everything turned out, tasted good, was edible  (although the turkey was dry…an apparent genetic marker I did not avoid, and the stuffing wasn’t perfect) I made everything from scratch!  YES!!  AND the oven didn’t have a temperature dial.  Anyway, I am so lucky and incredibly blessed.  I love the opportunity I have and the people I work with.  This truly was a memorable Thanksgiving.