Hello! Fat Englishman here…
To any Briton living in America, Thanksgiving comes as something of a bonus holiday – an unexpected break and a mighty feast that unleashes the full and unabashed run-up to Christmas (or “The Holidays” as it is more commonly referred to here in order to be politically correct.)
Norman Rockwell’s Thanksgiving
Indeed with the Turkey and all its trimmings taking the role of centerpiece for the main Thanksgiving meal, one could be forgiven for thinking Christmas (as I shall refer to it) has come early. Of course, said trimmings are somewhat different from those one encounters at home in the UK, but if you squint a bit so that your vision goes all blurry, you might as well be at the family table of your childhood on December 25th.
The illusion is shattered entirely of course as soon as you are confronted by a vast expanse of sweet potato mush topped with mostly melted marshmallows (a gastronomic travesty if ever there was one), but if you stick to the turkey, the gravy, the stuffing – which in my experience can be magnificent – and a few other delights then you can’t go wrong.
Prepping the turkey
All in all, Thanksgiving is a fine old time for we Brits. Lots to eat and few expectations of us as we’re generally in the minority – unless of course we make the mistake of hosting the extended American family, in which case good luck to you.
But we can claim a kind of patriarchal ownership of the whole affair if we feel brave (or sufficiently after a few drinks). After all, it may be a novelty to us today, but let’s not forget, the original repast was put on by a bunch of near starving ex-pats. Americans after all, hadn’t been invented at that stage in the game.
Though I think I’d recommend against pointing out that particular little detail unless you’re very sure of the company you’re in. Of course, if you crave one of those lively conversations populated by words such as “Limey”, “Stuck-Up” and questions about your parentage, in which case go boldly forth (and good luck to you!)
On the whole I would have to say that – from this Englishman’s perspective – Thanksgiving is generally a rather splendid affair.
Looking good!
Not only is the vast array of food mightily impressive (as are the logistics required to manage the whole process), but so is the fact that so many American families make such Herculean efforts to be together to celebrate the occasion.
Literally millions of Americans mobilize for the very same reason at exactly the same time each year to be with their family and eat this largely similar, if not uniform meal. For some that means a short drive across town, but for millions more it means road trips, flights and train rides through the night – sometimes the equivalent of flying across Europe – for two days respite before heading back.
And during those two days together the same secondary traditions of Football and Parades on TV will be shared and the nation will slump into a colossal, Turkey-induced tryptophan hangover.
And while from a distance I think I may have viewed it all through my somewhat English and cynical filters, having lived it for several years I confess I find this uniquely American celebration to be one of my favourite times of year.
Ready for the table.
It doesn’t quite top the Englishness of our family Christmases, or a good Guy Fawkes Night, but it’s a close thing.
But in the spirit of full disclosure, as they say in legal circles, I should declare that I personally have something to be especially thankful for with regard to Thanksgiving and this no doubt influences my opinion.
It was at my first Thanksgiving – as a visitor to Seattle – that I met the magnificent and wonderful woman who was to become my wife. Roughly seventeen years ago to the day, I met the now Mrs. Englishman. We were engaged within a month and married at the beginning of the following April and started a life in London, not moving to the US until around seven years had passed (obviously I got so much more than a bonus Holiday dinner.)
So much good has come from that most circumstantial of meetings that I cannot help but be thankful for Thanksgiving itself – but that’s just me.
I hope yours was especially good this year and that the season ahead treats you well.
Happy Eating,
Fatty
Fat Englishman is fat, English and has lived in the USA with his beloved Mrs. Englishman since 2003. Having landed in Indiana, he now resides in New York’s Hudson Valley, North of New York City – an area he describes as “the Napa Valley of food”. He can be found on Facebook at Fat Englishman. He believes that “Fat and Happy” is less a phrase and more a philosophy for life!