I know that I am a week late (and hence, probably 7 dollars short) but my Mom crossed an ocean to visit me, which means that the blog writing had to take a hiatus. I fully plan to detail her trip in a series of posts (because let’s face it, one long post is fairly daunting) but I intend to start from the very beginning: our Thanksgiving.
In my family, Thanksgiving has always been the really big holiday. It was the holiday where everyone gathered to eat food and generally comment on the growth and the progression of the grandkids, nieces, nephews, etc. The trials and tribulations of the past year would be rehashed, and yet somehow everything always ended in a laugh (maybe it was the beer, I don’t know…) There would always be the awkward first few days when I couldn’t remember half of the faces, but yet somehow everyone knew not only my name but also my entire life story. Then, there was that year when I finally got to sit at the big kids table, and I truly felt like a grown-up. (Yes, I know 18 definitely calls to mind the idea of an adult, but I was excited.) Granted, my family lives all over of the United States, so this very large reunion didn’t happen every year, but this is what I always think of when we say “Thanksgiving.”
This year, of course, I would be spending my holiday in Morocco. Therefore, when we combined Lufthansa’s fabulous one-day sale and Ryan Air’s always cheap tickets, we discovered that my Mom could fly to Morocco for less than $1,000 during this illustrious holiday. Granted, it wasn’t my entire family, but at least a small part of home could cross the Atlantic ocean.
She got here the night before Thanksgiving, so I’m sure a majority of her day was a blur of Jet Lag and way too many faces, but for me, it was one of the best Thanksgivings that I’ve ever had. The various American communities that I am part of in Fez decided to put on their version of Thanksgiving, which means that my mother and I partook in three different turkey-oriented festivities. The first was a potluck, where my mother was a huge hit, mostly because she brought the American staples: Jiffy cornbread mix and cranberries; both of which are impossible to reproduce in our Moroccan kitchens. The second was fancier set-menu kind of deal, where we enjoyed Quince and Apple pie and quite a lot of wine. The third was a small feast cooked entirely by a friend of mine on the following day (again my Mother was a hit because she brought the Stove Top.)
Although all three thanksgivings were fabulous and were perfect examples of people getting together to eat, drink, and enjoy in each other’s company, I am going to steal a story from the final Thanksgiving because it’s just too entertaining to pass up.
Here in Morocco, if you want meat of any sort, it is still quite normal to go to your local butcher and have it killed in front of you, especially when it comes to poultry. The concept of buying a back of frozen Purdue chicken breasts still escapes the majority of the population, except of course for the upper class. Either way, if you think about it, this is one of the most organic ways to eat an animal because it has a very open and healthy life until that final moment. Anyway, my friend (who cooked the entire thanksgiving by herself) bought a live turkey a few days before the event, in a typical Moroccan fashion. She lives on the top floor of an 8-story apartment, so she just kept the turkey on the roof, and the butcher would come by the day she needed. Until then, he had pretty free reign on the roof of this building, where he even had a little turkey pen.
Now, I have always wondered if animals bred for consumption are aware when they are about to meet their maker, and this turkey gave me the answer. On the eve of Thanksgiving, he climbed on the ledge of this apartment building. The only other landing, besides the ground 8 stories away, was at least 150 m across the street and probably a 5 story drop down. He climbed down when my friend noticed his actions and went back into his turkey pen. The next morning, he had finished contemplating his options. Death was near and maybe those big wings could make the distance. Therefore, as my friend climbed onto the roof he climbed back onto the ledge. He took one final look at his would-be predator and set to flight.
Upon landing safely on the other ledge, said turkey finally grasped his freedom. In another bold move he flew to another nearby landing placing him and his captor even further away. My friend stood there and watched from the balcony until her Thanksgiving dinner was well out of sight.
Granted, another turkey was not so lucky because we will had a fabulous turkey dinner that night, but at least one very large bird had one thing to be thankful for this season: freedom.
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