Tag Archives: Thanksgiving

How to Host Thanksgiving in Spain

12 Replies

Having hosted two Thanksgivings in Spain, I now consider myself an expert, obviously. That’s just how these things go.

IMG_0397[1]

  • Buy a female turkey, una pavita. I had no idea before 2010, but smaller turkeys are tastier

 

IMG_0400[1]

Mario helped too!

  • Have a pinche, a sous chef. Mario’s father, Jesús, was my sous chef, and the best one there could possibly be. He spent the whole morning chopping, cutting, and just generally being helpful. Also, he is totally relaxed. Find one of those.
  • There will be bread. This is Spain, how could there not be?
  • Stand up to the idea of primer plato, segundo plato. Stay steadfast in your American-type meal and have your guests eat everything off the same plate. The horror!

PB270291

IMG_0413[1]

  • Let someone else make the dessert, even if they make it differently than you would. This year, we didn’t have the traditional pumpkin pie; rather, we had a sort of pumpkin cake. No big deal. We ate some pumpkin, okay?!

IMG_0407[1]

  • Drink local wine. Better yet, have another person bring that local wine, especially someone from Toro!

There you go, my recommendations for a Spanish-American Thanksgiving. Go forth, and roast yourself a turkey!

About these ads

Thankful for 2012

4 Replies

In 2012, life changed. Life changed fast. I could say it all to you, in one breath, a rush of words and emotion that would leave you reeling. I could replay the year over in my head, wondering how I got to this point, this place right here—November 22, 2012.

In 2012 I did so many things. So many things changed in my life, in my family’s lives, in my friend’s lives. These things, there were good. They were wonderful and magical and joyful. So, dear 2012,now it’s my turn. Thank you. Thank you for:

  • July 7. On this day, I married Mario. I don’t have words for this day. It was a day full of sunshine and laughter and red scarves and dancing. It was rich with tears and photographs and the grasping of hands. I wore a white dress; he wore a suit. We joined hands, and we said yes.

IMG_0501

  • New family. I’ve gained some new family this year: in-laws, cousins, aunts, uncles. I’m no longer the American; I’m prima or hija. I’m part of this family here in Spain, a grand family who has taken me in without a second thought, who has taught me to cook, lavished me with presents and love and welcome. I couldn’t be more grateful for my mother-in-law, Pepita, who worries about me as if I were her daughter or my father-in-law, Jesús, who emails me to wish me a happy Thanksgiving in his newly acquired English. I am so grateful to them and for them.

IMG_0087

IMG_0809

  • Old family. One is silver, but the other’s gold? I don’t really buy this saying, but I am aware that my family has always been there for me, ever since the rainy Monday almost twenty-six years ago. My family has supported me through my on-again, off-again relationship with Spain, and I don’t think I could have done it without them. They love Mario like their own son, and they would do anything for us and for my brother and his wife. You couldn’t ask for more dedicated parents, the kind that go to every single sports event in high school, the kind that never say a word about driving six hours there and back to pick you up at the airport, the kind that pay for a brother and future-sister-in-law’s plane tickets just so that they can all be together on the most important day of the bride’s life.

IMG_0889

IMG_0163

  • Thanksgivings past. My extended family was never one to fight. Our holidays were filled with food, laughter, and kids’ tables. There was no yelling, no hurt feelings, no real problems. As a girl, I took this for granted. Now I couldn’t be more grateful for an extended family that knows the value of togetherness.
  • New friends. I’ve met some new people here in Madrid recently, and I’m really excited to see where these friendships lead. You cannot underestimate the value of a nearby friend.
  • Old friends. Where would I be without my constant source of encouragement and laughter, Hilary? Roommates in college, friends for life. I cannot say enough about my cousin Bailey, just seven months older than me and already on her way to having her second child. It’s hard to reconcile what was with what is, but our friendships will never shrivel and die, just change and grow as we do.
  • This blog. This blog has been a source of encouragement for me over the past few years. I started it without knowing what would come of it, and I am ever so grateful for the readers who comment, email, tweet, or Facebook me. Thank you, readers! Thanks for reading, for caring, for helping me see things in a new light. Without you, I know I wouldn’t keep writing. Thank you.

So happy Thanksgiving, dear friends! If you’re in the States, please eat some stuffing for me! And—oh yeah—give your mom and dad a hug! They’re the only ones you’ve got.

Guest Post: Mario

13 Replies

Please welcome my second-ever guest poster, the one and only Mario. You all know about him, so there’s no need to say that much about him. I’ll let him speak for himself for once!

Kaley asked me many weeks ago to write a guest post for her blog. I don’t usually procrastinate, but somehow many weeks passed and I still hadn’t been able to find a topic that would be interesting enough for those who read her blog. I knew for sure that my topic choice would be about the USA. But what could I say about it? I know that NYC or LA are a big thing for Spaniards (Europeans in general, I would say) who want to visit the States, and I’m pretty sure there are a bazillion blogs praising the magnificent skyscrapers in Chicago or how cool San Francisco can be or how intercultural NYC is.

Suddenly, as I was watching Billy Wilder’s A Foreign Affair, I had a light-bulb moment. In the movie, Colonel Rufus J. Plummer (Millard Mitchell) mentions he comes from Indiana. That reminded me that in North by Northwest the famous plane attack against Cary Grant is on a road between Chicago and Indianapolis (although it seems to be a movie mistake), and I started to remember all the movies and TV series in which Indiana is mentioned: one of the soldiers in Band of Brothers comes from Kokomo (Floyd Talbert); the Notre Dame football team is mentioned in The Simpsons. In another category would be films about Indiana, where Hoosiers ranks number one. The name Lew Wallace probably says little to you. Maybe the film Ben-Hur sounds more familiar. Before the film, there was a book Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ, whose author, Lew Wallace, wrote part of his famous work in Crawfordsville, which happens to be in … Indiana!

Let’s face it: a European is very unlikely to cross the pond to visit Indiana, unless you are a talent scout from a basketball team and you want to find some exceptionally good players in Indiana University (Florentino, Cody Zellermust be signed by Real as soon as he graduates). You would also visit Indiana if you were my father who has always wanted to see the vast fields of crops he has seen in documentaries.

You know what? It’s a pity a European would never visit Indiana. These are my five reasons why foreigners should visit Indiana:

1. People are very nice.Okay, my view might be a bit biased, since Kaley’s family is super nice to me. Helpful people will open their hearts to you. Whenever I’ve been there, Kaley’s parents have always scheduled all kind of activities so that I could have the best taste of Indiana: Spring Mill State Park, Indianapolis Zoo, a good rib-eye steak, tailgating …. Her dad, a great sports fan, has taken me to a Cubs’ game and Indiana University basketball and football games. I had never owned the Spanish national soccer team jersey, but when Spain won their first World Cup in 2010, they gave it to me, and I will proudly wear it this year to support Spain in the Euro Cup. He also got me a Miami Dolphins’ jersey!

IMG_3584

2. Nature. Not the scientific journal, but the green stuff. You can find it in two forms: wild and farmed. I love hiking and nature, and I think it’s a pity we don’t have more places where you can go hiking. In Indiana, in a two-hour drive you can be in a park. I have been to Brown County and Spring Mill State Parks (I was so excited to see a raccoon), but there are twenty-six more state parks remaining to be visited; there are fifteen state forests, one national forest, etc. Visit Indiana and you can enjoy them! (I sound like Leslie Knope in Parks and Recreation). Indiana, with its large extensions of crops (mainly corn and soybeans), is located within the US Corn and Grain Belts. An interesting visit would be to drive in the countryside and stop to enjoy the traditional red-painted wooden barns. Last summer I visited the farm owned by the Kaley’s brother’s fiancée’s father. Man, it was huge!

DSCN0882

3. Good food.My brother and some friends recently returned from a trip to NYC. They all are on cloud nine but agree that the food could have been much better. American food tends to be tagged as “unhealthy” or simply “not good.” I disagree. My point is that it takes all sorts and that you have to find the right place and know what to order. When I was there and had lunch or dinner out, I only at fast food twice: once at Pizza Hut and once at Buffalo Wild Wings. I’ve been to many other restaurants, and the food has been good. I have to admit I like meat, and whenever I had the chance I ordered a burger. I was never disappointed, whereas in Spain if you order a burger, the outcome is unexpected. I can’t remember the name of that restaurant we stopped on our way back home on Black Friday, but I clearly remember telling the waiter that the burger was supreme. I still salivate thinking about the rib-eye steak at the Steak House in Covington. I have had good Mexican and Italian food. We went to a restaurant in the Amish area, and it was delicious. I have never had heartburn because of the food, and I didn’t gain weight (and—believe me—I eat a lot). Plus, in Kaley’s family there are great cooks, so when we had lunch or dinner at home, I could enjoy great meals. I was there for Thanksgiving, and I was happy because everything was delicious: the turkey, the stuffing, the cranberry sauce made from scratch. And, of course, the desserts—especially cookies. It’s true that you don’t usually find lentils or chickpeas in restaurants, but it’s not that they just have meat on the menu; they do have veggies, and they usually serve a salad as a side order.

318667_551613486341_135000033_31236240_1770199195_n

4. WYSIWYWIF: What You See Is What You Watch In Films.This particular reason applies to all states. People in films usually live in houses with a front and/or backyard; you find that here. Yellow school buses? Check. High schools with these amazing gyms that you can’t imagine in a Spanish high school? Check. Enormous SUVs and trucks? Check. Huge Wal-Mart with long aisles with thousands of different types of cereal? Cheeeeeeeeck. A farmer wearing dungarees and a John Deere hat? Check. Amish people riding in their buggies? Check. A huge green campus? Check. A bake sale? Check. Tailgating? Check.

IMG_3594

5. Basketball. Do you like basketball? If you are a fan of hoops, Indiana is a must—the basketball state par excellence. But forget the NBA. In the States there exists something better: college basketball. Some college kids do the required “one-and-done” to jump into the pro league. Indiana University’s philosophy is quite different: basketball players graduate, so along with their basketball experience they have a diploma, which comes handy in case you get injured and can’t keep playing basketball. Thanks to Tom Crean, the current coach, who is forging a very competitive Cream and Crimson team, Indiana basketball is back. This year they made it to The Sweet Sixteen. Next year? My bet is that they will be in the Final Four.

300039_549299448691_135000033_31223126_1487536123_n

Visit Indiana and remember: it’s Indiana!

2011–To Spain and Back Again

22 Replies

I started 2011 in good old Indiana—my home, my high school stomping ground, the place I always feel the most me.

IMG_4705

Even if it does entail a little snow.

In January, I returned to Zamora, where my high school students still refused to speak to me in English. Not long thereafter, though, Mario and I were off to Belgium.

DSCN1537

DSCN1556

DSCN1602

Although bitterly cold, it was a magical place full of chocolate, waffles, moules-frites, and French. Luckily, Mario speaks French. (Why can’t I speak four languages?!)

February went by slowly, especially as I was now living in Zamora instead of Salamanca, far away from my studious, always-has-his-nose-in-a-book boyfriend. My 30-minute walk to class could seem interminable. As I had received a Kindle, though, I walked to class reading. My fingers nearly froze off a few times!

March meant heading off to what Mario and his cousins referred to as a primada, a play off the Spanish word for cousins, primos. We headed to a casa rural, a rather common thing to do amongst groups of friends. Our casa was located in Gredos in Ávila.

DSCN1906

A cousin with the kids: A Sergio and two Marías.DSCN1910

We explored a cave.

DSCN1918

Visited a castle. You know, typical Spain stuff.

DSCN1925

Like a fairytale wonderland.

DSCN1973

And, of course, made jokes about smoking “el porro.” (Note: one is smoking a cigarette, one is “smoking” some straw, and the other one isn’t smoking at all.)

April brought sunshine and the first hints of warmth back to the mesetas of Castilla y León. Oh, and my parents stepped foot onto Spanish soil for the second time. My grandparents came along for the ride. And what a ride it was.

IMG_6063

We were “those people” who take photos while our waiter stands and watches.

IMG_6083

We visited Segovia and saw the castle.

IMG_6158

We couldn’t not see the aqueduct. My grandma brought along our local paper.

IMG_6207

Next came the coastal town of San Sebastián, home to some of the worlds best pintxos and food.

IMG_6228

Grandma learned how to sit on benches like any good Spaniard.

IMG_6286

We even got some hiking in.

IMG_6539

Next came Salamanca’s Plaza Mayor with my favorite guy in the whole world.

IMG_6763

We met the parents, too. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. Mario’s parents don’t speak English; my parents don’t speak Spanish. Mario and I were the intermediaries. Nonetheless, they hit it off. My dad even hugged them at the end of the trip – not really something Spanish people do, but it worked.

Next came Semana Santa, my first in Zamora. I got to see what it was like to be a member of a cofradía.

P4200011

Los dos hermanos.

P4220058

It’s not as frightening as it looks.

In June, Mario and I headed to a wedding held in the most gorgeous place.

CIMG0056

And yes, I’m one inch taller than Mario, but with my high heels I am an Amazon woman.

CIMG0065

We drank and ate lots of pork products. Claro, hombre.

P6040002

(L-R) Víctor, Jesús, Pepita, Mario…and me!

CIMG0156

Oh yeah, and we went to London. Typical American, that’s me.

CIMG0260

Mario took me to a hummus restaurant. The man gets me.

Finally, on June 15, I headed to Madrid, cried a ton, and boarded a plane. Landing in Indianapolis felt surreal. It’s become normal by now, but I still think about how, this time last year, I was an international. Now I’m just me, not foreign or different.

I helped my brother and his fiancee move to Houston, TX.

And celebrated the good ole USofA.

Went to a baby shower for my dear cousin, who now has a gorgeous baby girl.

We shared some of the world’s most delicious wine…in my humble opinion.

I started a temporary job teaching English to ESL students in my hometown. It was fine, but I needed more—namely, insurance.

My dog dressed up for Halloween. This is obviously important in my end-of-the-year recap.

In October, however, I was anticipating the arrival of none other than…Mario, of course! My blog posts dropped to about zero as I spent 24/7 with him.

He learned about “American rugby” from my dad. Yes, Indiana does suck at football, why do you ask?

We introduced him to the art of tailgating with pulled pork sandwiches, a vegetable tray, chips and salsa, guacamole, and mojitos. Living large.

He learned what the real sport is in Indiana – basketball. Hoosier basketball. Purdue does not matter.

He’s an expert at roasting hot dogs now.

We got to be all lovey dovey, too

When Mario left, I started a new job back in my hometown. I was lonely, so I got a kitty. His name is Sheldon.

IMAG0188

Bazinga!

I don’t have the Christmas photos at my disposal, but it was spent at home with my mother and father, brother, and his fiancee, Colleen. We made hot buttered rum, played Scattergories, exchanged presents, and saw a nice snowfall. All in all, a good holiday spent with great people.

In 2011, I was blessed. I went from Indiana to Spain to Belgium to Spain to London to Indiana to Texas to Indiana. I was in four countries and lived in four cities (Zamora, Salamanca, Crawfordsville, and now Bloomington). Mario visited me and was able to experience Halloween, football, tailgating, mojitos, and Thanksgiving. We ran many miles together and shared many glasses of (red) wine. He’s gone, and of course I miss him, but it’s a good kind of missing, knowing we’ll be back together soon enough and that we have our whole lives to be together, to annoy the other one, to make dinner together, and to watch The Penguins of Madagascar while laughing until we cry.

2011 was a hard year at times, but it it came with a lot of growth. Living in another country is not usually easy, and when it is, you’re lucky. I struggled at times, but came out better on the other side. I realized a lot of things when I came home, too—namely, that I can survive anywhere. I can and I have and I will again someday. Whatever the future brings for that Spanish boy of mine and me, I’m fine with it. I just know that we’ll be together and we’ll fight these battles together.

And if it takes me cursing in two languages, so be it.

Psst – some of my favorite posts from 2011:

And maybe my favorite post: Very Little. Check it out!

My First Thanksgiving

6 Replies

This was not, actually, my first Thanksgiving. It was, however, my first Thanksgiving in which:

  • I was in charge of all the dishes
  • I was cooking in Mario’s mother’s kitchen
  • I was the resident American expert
  • I got very stressed out

Thanksgivings past involved much less stress and much more Cool Whip. The Wednesday before was the baking day. Up to our elbows in flour, butter, and sugar, we’d bake into the night, pie after pie emerging from our poor, overworked oven, the smell of pumpkin, cinnamon, and nutmeg filling our house. My mother always made too many pies, more than even our large extended family could eat in one day. Her staples were pumpkin and pecan. And oh, the crescent rolls, we mustn’t forget those buttery, crispy pastries, the ones that could only be improved by, yes, more butter.

This Thanksgving started unceremoniously with 95% alcohol, a match, and a dead female turkey.

No big deal.

As was explained to me, this is to 1) clean the bird and 2) remove any feathers that might still be lurking. As one who is currently opposed to the ingestion of any and all feathers, I was all for it. Plus, it involved fire in a small Spanish kitchen!

The next four hours involved lots and lots of chopping, weighing, and conversions from English measurements to metric. How much is 6 tablespoons of butter? As Paula Deen would say, NOT ENOUGH. Add more delicious butter, lick it off the knife or your fingers, and again add some more. Butter should never feel superfluous. Not in my kitchen. Not in yours. I only had one small breakdown when Mario’s mother questioned me rapidfire in Spanish until I no longer knew how to say my own name. (I exaggerate.) I was trying to say “Bring it to a boil, lower the heat, and let it simmer.” I knew boil and I knew heat, but I couldn’t say “Bring it to a boil.” Now I know and I will surely never forget it. Ingrained is the word I’m looking for here.

Finally, it was time to eat. Mario’s brother Victor had spent some time designing a menu, which was completely adorable. Unfortunately, he asked me to revise it in the midst of the midmorning madness and I must admit I skimmed it. Thus, we ended up with parsil instead of parsley and pumpkin cake instead of pumpkin pie. Oh well, close enough.

My favorite part includes croutons in quotations because there is no word for it here, smashed potatoes, and the fact that both “piña troceada” and “surtido de dulces variados” mean “sliced pineapple.” Obviously, Victor knows better than that; it was just an error. We mustn’t forget the wines and various liquers either. Victor brought a cognac that Mario invited me to smell in order to clear out my sinus cavity. No thanks.

Turkey resting in the oven

Finished product. I am happy.

The dinner was a success. The two biggest winner were the stuffing and the maple glazed carrots. (I didn’t add the orange juice to the carrots.) Also, the “cranberry sauce” (actually made with raspberries, cranberries, blueberries, and blackberries) was a hit.

María José, Mario’s cousin and godmother, made a pumpkin pie. Actually, she used butternut squash, but, as I’ve informed my mother and Aunt Diane, Libby’s pumpkin is actually a variety of butternut squash (I know. Totes scandalous!), so it was pretty much the real deal. Too bad I’m not pumpkin pie’s biggest fan, but it was very good!

At the end of the day, I was quite happy with how it all turned out. María José kept asking for the stuffing recipe, and I think they’ll eat it at Christmas time, too. The turkey was good and not dry. Good conversation was had, even if their style of discussion seems like a heated argument to me.

After they had all left, Mario and I went out running, which turned out to be just what I needed. However, when Mario’s mother found out, she reprimanded me, telling me I should’ve just taken a nap, there was no need to go out running, you crazy girl. Oh well, you win some, you lose some, right?!