A Thanksgiving Story (or Stories)

Thanksgiving is often called the most American of holidays but there is something universal about it.  My daughter-in-law is Romanian.  Yesterday we spent Thanksgiving with her, son and granddaughter and 15 other people, a mix of Romanians and Americans.  The ages ranged from nine months to 75 years.  A soccer game from Eastern Europe streamed on a computer in one room and the Lions battled Houston on the TV in another.  The table held plates of turkey, beef brisket, ham, stuffing, baba ganoush, a lentil dish, stuffed cabbages and sever plates I could not identify but tasted wonderful.  It reminded me of a Thanksgiving many years ago when I took a new job in Chicago.  I had no one to spend Thanksgiving with so a co-worker of Italian descent invited me (I had lived in Italy for 12 years).  Her family, including grandparents who had come from Italy, served a huge traditional American Thanksgiving dinner--Turkey with all the trimmings--with the addition of a half-dozen bottles of Italian wines on the table and everybody was speaking Italian.  A friend who is actually in Italy right now decided to show her family there our tradition.  Her husband, she emailed, ordered the turkey from a local poultry store but made a little mistake in the weight conversion. Thinking in pounds he ordered a 13 kilo bird which is actually 28.6 pounds.  She managed to change the order to seven kilos which is a more manageable 15.4 pounds and she said she roasted her best turkey ever.  I hope you all had a very Happy Thanksgiving.