In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. "Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone," he told me, "just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the turkeys that you've had."
Bear with me here but before Madeline and I even begin to think about telling you the story of American Thanksgiving we need to hop in our time machine and discuss the day before.
Friday November 27th
12:30 pm
I rolled out of bed with a terrible tummy ache. What time was it? CRAP. I had overslept by about three hours. I stumbled down the hall wiping the sleep out of my eyes and knocked on Madeline's door. She was watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia (or True Blood, or 30 Rock. You can't expect me to remember the details). She had not overslept. She was also not dressed. I felt a bit better about myself.
Today was the day Madeline and I needed to purchase a turkey for our annual American Thanksgiving dinner. The dinner was the next day. T-minus 30 hours and counting so it was time to get down to business. Unfortunately we were a little behind schedule and I felt incredibly sick but we take our job as thanksgiving coordinators very very seriously. DEAD SERIOUS. Because of that, and despite the depressing rain the city was experiencing we walked to the metro.
I would like to point out at this point that neither Mad or I had an umbrella. Or a hood. Or anything to keep our heads from getting wet. The whole situation was displeasing.
Once we got off the metro and headed above ground we realized that neither of us actually knew how to get to the Jean Talon Market. We meandered around for a while until we happened upon a parking lot that lead us to the market.
It was at this point that we also realized neither of us had cash on us and we (stupidly) assumed that the meat store at the market wouldn't take debit. There is, and I kid you not, not a single bank or guichet automatic within 4 blocks of the market, in ANY direction.
We wandered around this area until we eventually found a bank and withdrew money. During our magical adventure to find a bank we accidentally found a butcher. We decided to buy our turkey there since we were already outside of it. We walked in and Madeline whispered to me, "I don't want to ask. I don't know how to buy meat. YOU do it". I sauntered up to the counter with misplaced bravado and stared the butcher straight in the eye.
"Hi," I squeaked
"What can I do for you?" He asked me.
"Well, we need like maybe 7 kg of turkey...in like total...I mean it could be one giant turkey...or like two smaller ones...or something...you know...what I mean...right?"
"Uh, well what if I have a 7 kg turkey?" He said slightly confused.
"YES. Thats fine. Uh perfect. That's just perfect." At this point my face was a bright shade of red and I felt incredibly stupid.
In my defense though, what 20-year-old girl understands the subtle nuances of purchasing poultry?
As we watched the butcher hack the neck off our turkey wincing, we could see the younger male staff in the back laughing obviously at us. A few minutes later, outside the shop, we could also see them cackling at us as we swung the turkey in intentioned circles trying to stick it in a bag, inside another bag. We were probably the most entertaining customers they had had all day. I guess I'm ok with that. It's nice to have an appreciative fan base.
The rest of the day I carried around the 7 kg turkey cradled to my chest like an infant child (that was cold and smelled strange).
Later that day after we had made some impulse purchases of green grapes (with SEEDS!!! urgh!) and almonds, we decided to buy cheese to put on a pesto tart we were making for dinner. Now, let me start by saying my mom and I often buy cheese when she takes me to the market so I know how to buy cheese, by the slice. Typically, this cheese buying adventure would not be that easy. We needed to buy the cheese by the chunk so it could be grated onto the puff pastry.
Madeline and I walked into the cheese shop, exchanged a look, turned around and walked out. We regrouped near a garbage can by the door and exchanged whispers.
"How do you buy cheese? I don't know how to buy cheese! Do you know how to buy cheese?" Madeline whispered to me.
"Oh my God I have no idea! We always buy by the slice. Can we do that?"
"I don't know. Are we supposed to buy by the pound? Is that a thing? What kind of increment do I ask for it in?"
"Can you mime it? Maybe make hand gestures to measure?" I offered unhelpfully.
In the end Mad texted her dad (HI BRAD) hoping he would answer quickly. He did not so we both just took a deep breath and marched right up to the cheese counter and ordered. We now know that they just cut a section of cheese and ask you if you want more or less. Embarassinly it's a very simple process.
Mr. Sinclair eventually did text Madeline back. His response? "Generally speaking 1lb of cheese is A LOT of cheese".
We know that now Mr Sinclair. We know that now.
The day ended with Mad and I taking the metro home and chowing down on a pesto pastry. Here the recipe:
What you need
-puff pastry
-a type of hard cheese
-tomatoes
-olive oil
-salt and pepper
-pesto OR make homemade pesto (here's a recipe online: http://www.newitalianrecipes.com/pesto.html)
Madeline made our pesto from scratch
1. Roll the pastry out onto a cooking sheet
2. poke it along with a fork to help it rise
3. cover the pastry with pesto
4. place tomatoes on top of pesto
5. add cheese
6. cover the edges with olive oil
7. season with salt and pepper
9. bake until golden and serve
Well story time is over for today. I'm really tired. It was hard to remember all of that and I'm sure I forgot something hilarious that happened. It was a pretty absurd day. I promise I'll tell you all about thanksgiving dinner very soon. Maybe I'll procrastinate studying for exams or something like that.
xo Class Mansion
PS. Here's a picture of a happy bagel
This blog has made my life so much better.
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