The Least American Thanksgiving. Ever.

Happy Turkey Day to all you back in Les États-Unis!  For me, hélas, ‘tis not the same L  Pourquoi you might ask?  Well, malheureusement, I am not able to be home with the fam to eat awesome turkey, mashed potatoes, and such.  Don’t get me wrong, as I’ve continuously said before, the food here is AMAZING.  Even eating duck gésiers was good (if you can’t figure this word out, you’ll have to look it up-I’m not wanting to spoil the surprise).  I told myself that I would try everything that was handed to me in France, and by golly, I’m gonna!  Even if it’s an Autumn traditional dish from what my host father jokingly calls le campagne profond (the deep country—Kinda like “the sticks” in “American” English).

It was really tasty, I'm serious!

However, obviously, France doesn’t celebrate such homeland-American traditions as Thanksgiving.  That’s right, no classes canceled for the holiday, no meeting up with friends and/or family…and no sweet potatoes with marshmallows melted on top. 

Now I’m hungry.

My host family, finding out how much I was going to miss out on this festive occasion, snuck off to the store on Wednesday night, and bought me an apple tart especially to help make up for me missing out on Thanksgiving. 

As I've said before-I love my host family!

I have to admit, I was surprised at how much I missed my Turkey Day.  I’ve even missed out on Thanksgiving back home in the States, having to work the next day for Black Friday at the restaurant after everyone is hungry from buying TONS of Christmas presents.  But this was different.  It was like Halloween, when it came and went without even a French blink of an eye.

These are pictures from this year's Halloween at my parents' house-and my dad and little brother took it LIGHT this year!

Alors,since I wasn’t able to find a turkey to roast for the special occasion (and even if I did, I’ve had a week full of tests, so I wouldn’t have time to make it anyway), I decided to   following a much-anticipated Skype date with my family following a day FILLED (I tell you, filled!) with classes, I decided to try to be as American as possible, and planned a meeting with a couple of friends of mine to go to the Foire Saint-Martin, the local fair, to eat really bad food.  Because going to the fair is almost as American as Thanksgiving, right?

However, pretty much everyone cancelled except for my friend Ross, who, coincidentally enough, invited a French student from our university to come with us.  She brought her friend, who was also French, and the four of us spoke only in French.  This introduces us to the “Least American Thanksgiving. Ever.”  You see, this was also pretty much my first night out with real French people, so this added to the “Anti-American holiday” of it all.

But it gets better (or worse, depending on how you’re looking at it).

Soo….we get to the fairgrounds, speaking only in French and walking, not sitting around watching football or the parade, only to discover that the fair is closed.  As you can tell by now, this is getting to be less American by the minute.

By this time, I’m good and hungry from waiting around all day to get some fair food, and now I’m also disparaged because there is no fair to be found.  No working Ferris Wheel.  No fast rides.  No hamburgers.   

No rien.  I want to cry.

Fortunately, we formed a plan.  Walking aimlessly back up to the main street that is full of restaurants, we work our way into McDoner, a kebab shop (notice the un-American-ness of the name?).  If I’m gonna make this a truly UN-American experience, I’m gonna go all out.  I order a kebab with my friend Ross and my new French friends, grab a Coke Light, and start in on my French fries.  With a fork.  While listening to French rap music on the TV in the restaurant. 

As I said, I’m gonna go out with a bang on this one.

After eating my fill of kebab from McDoner (not MacDo/Mickey D’s), we all walked back toward our respective chez’s, parting ways where I turned down my street.  After a sommersault of Thanksgiving mishaps, I felt happy just being able to share a night out with friends, and thanked my new French friends, and Ross, for the experience.  I came back home, ate a little more of my apple tart, and felt content in being able to make this the most Un-American Thanksgiving Ever, and I didn’t even have to try!