I know it’s not a popular sentiment, but I often like my important holidays small. London has made that possible since any family we have in attendance have to be imported.
I am a lover of crowds and people and big meals and chaos and family gatherings and celebrations and toasts and festive frivolity. But I seem to enjoy all that more when taking place on unexpected dates and for exciting occasions or fortuitous scheduling, rather than the two holidays which loom large in American culture as Required Big Time Family Fun and Memory Making. You know how it is with expectations- -so many ways to fail.
This Thanksgiving was us and my brother and sister-in-law. It was fun to think up the menu, strategize shopping, drink mulled wine while cooking and fit every person eating around our modest-sized table. We spent the morning having a leisurely breakfast out and even threw a toy football in the park. We didn’t let the fact that it was a normal work day here dampen our American spirits. Must. Throw. Football.
The food was very, very, very, very good. I was tempted to take photos of it all, but rather liked instead the view of the meal when all was said and done and conquered. There is something about the herculean effort that is Thanksgiving cooking reduced to some tidy Tupperware that gives me a very satisfied feeling indeed.