Thanksgiving Morning

 Sharp streams of sunlight slanted across the thin mattress of the “hide-a-bed” on which I lay.  A perennial early riser, even the previous evening’s late card game couldn’t tempt me to have a “lie in” this morning when a celebration of family and a feast of our favorite foods awaited me; I greeted the chilly Thanksgiving morning with great anticipation as my feet hit the cold floor.  Moments later, cups of steaming tea in hand,   Mom and I laughingly discovered this year’s “missing essential” – celery.  

Today, over twenty years later (???), I still cherish the memory of the chilly walk to the store that followed – the brittle leaf strewn ground underfoot, the glassy blue sky, and the laughter as we trekked in search of the essential stuffing ingredient.   I remember that walk annually as I prepare my own Thanksgiving dinners because --as all American cooks know – the “missing essential” will always make its absence known, and someone will have to make a run to the store before the Thanksgiving meal graces the family table. 

This year, even in a land where “el dia de accion de gracias” means nothing to all but the ex-pats and their friends, I awoke to the chilly morning air and the realization that I would soon by running to the grocery store.  Having no oven, I certainly had no plans to cook a turkey or any of the trimmings.  In fact, the college had arranged for a “real American Thanksgiving” dinner for us all, so I had little need to cook.  However, the anticipated menu del dia pumpkin pie left AJ longing for his traditional apple pie, and I had spent the night wondering how to create that sans oven.  Our amazing brains really do keep solving problems while we sleep, and mine, on this day, had discovered an exciting solution – the sandwichera.

Ah, my American friends.  The Spaniards wonder how we manage to live without this indispensable device.  (Think waffle-iron without the dimple-making protrusions but with four small triangles that mimic the three cornered halves of your mom’s grilled cheese sandwiches.)  My landlord brought one to my apartment in our first weeks here – and after my first tentative use, it has remained in the cupboard.  Quite honestly, I had not found a darned thing this gizmo could do that my skillet could not.  Until this Thanksgiving morning.  

Hopping on my bike, I headed to the SuperCor – the British owned grocery store chain most likely to have non-Spanish food.  It's not the "local" store, and we pay for the luxury of maple syrup and really clean floors.  I usually think it's cheating, but not today!  Initially, I was searching for shortening with which to make pie crust, but an even simpler  (and very Spanish) solution appeared when I stumbled on “empanada” crusts in the refrigerated section where Americans  think to find Pillsbury pie crusts.  Delighted with my find, I then zipped to the Fruteria for five crispy Gala apples, and then home to peel, cut, and slice.   

The familiar stickiness on my hands as I stirred in cinnamon and sugar brought back all the comfort of Thanksgiving preparations, and though you all were still snug in your beds across the ocean, I sent up a “Happy Thanksgiving” wish to all.  Wrapped in the empanada dough and toasted in the sandwichera, these little pies not only delighted AJ, they showed me a real use for the gizmo – maybe I do need one???