Deauville Dispatches: Squanto chez nous

Like the detective novelists of old, I am guilty of leaving you with a cliffhanger. What was Thanksgiving like on rue Victor Hugo? Who showed up? Were we able to fit all our guests at the table or did we have to resort to the dreaded "second class citizen table"? And, most importantly, how did the coq turn out??? Lest you expire from waiting too long with bated breath...

Thanksgiving was wonderful! Though I would definitely have liked to be home for Thanksgiving, our celebration was the next best thing. I came home from taking care of Felix, the 8 year old that I watch on Tuesday nights and Wednesday mornings, to join in the fury of cleaning, chopping, baking, and stirring that soon took over our kitchen. I nearly had a nervous breakdown about 30 minutes before our guests were supposed to arrive because I became distracted by the oven timer going off and accidentally added too much milk to the biscuits, resulting in a gluey mess and (somehow) flour all over the floor that I had just mopped. YIKES! Ivan has a particular love of biscuits (remember his request for us to bring him Bisquick from the US?) so I didn't want to give up. So, a few deep breaths and quite a few gros mots later, I made a new batch (cut out with the heart cookie cutter we found in our cupboard--30 years of this program leads to the accumulation of some interesting things in the house) which, luckily turned out. In addition to the biscuits and the rooster (which isn't quite as delicious as turkey but was still pas mal), we had: corn pudding, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, tasty fig and sausage stuffing, and for dessert pumpkin pie, apple crisp, and ice cream.

Our neighbors Patrick and Murielle were the first over, and once I saw how flattered they were to be invited I was very pleased that we thought to include them. Next over was our vocal friend Annie-Laure, who, it turns out, is a good match for Patrick who is quite chatty too. At this point word must have gotten out that 28 bis was the place to be because the doorbell rang a few moments later and I opened it to find a cardboard Native American cutout and almost died laughing. Wielding it, of course, was Ivan (who had also donned an Uncle Sam-style hat); he told me Squanto had decided to join us. And right behind that troublemaker was the ever-smiling Sebastien. Alors, c'est parti. After a bit of milling about we got people to sit down and we served the food; there were quite a few impressed exclamations about the number of dishes we had prepared. Murielle continued to voice how impressed she was with the meal the whole night, actually: first, she commented on her surprise that Americans eat such good food, then that we listen to such good music (I had turned on some classical music that I had on my iPod). Never being one to let a good quip go unsaid, Sebastien responded to her comments with his shock that Americans knew how to hold themselves upright at the table and that we used silverware. Thanks for that vote of confidence, Seb.

The mix of French and American did me good. Before dessert, we went around the table saying what we were thankful for, the Americans (sauf John) saying it in English and in French. I don't know if our guests truly comprehended what we were doing (they seemed more concerned about their ice cream melting) but I was glad to be able to show them that this holiday is more than just getting together with family and friends to eat a lot (as lovely as that is). In general, it was wonderful to be able to have a reason to strengthen our friendships with our colleagues and neighbors and to share our culture, and a lot of fun to get to talk to them all in such a relaxed and chaleureux setting.

Other highlights of the evening:
-When I began putting jam on my delicious biscuit only to notice Murielle staring at me as if I had hopped on the table and begun dancing. It seems she had never seen anyone do something so odd at the dinner table (I guess I missed the memo that jam is only eaten between certain hours here?). Girl needs to get out more.
-When Patrick nearly impaled Sebastien with the American flag he had brought over from the hotel. Le pauvre.
-That our coq was not burnt or too terribly tough!
-Getting to share this bon moment ensemble. I'm thankful for French friends!