Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving 2010 was a holiday of firsts: certainly the first time I'd ever been tan in a sundress at the end of November. It was also the first time I ate Creole sausages instead of turkey, hosted my own Thanksgiving, and (literally) had people banging down the door for more.
For the past month I had been offhandedly inviting friends and acquaintances to my little ocean view studio for this happiest of American holidays. As friends began following up to ask what they could bring, I sat down to count the confirmed guests. Suddenly I was eying a list of 35 people and wondering whether my pint sized patio could handle the masses. Even as the event approached, I was receiving daily requests: "Can my friend come?" "Is it alright if my boyfriend's sister's brother comes?" "Can Uncle Claude come because he once ate a turkey," etc. Of course Reunion's social code of conduct requires that you turn no one away, and the numbers kept rising.
Two days before the Thanksgiving Apocalypse, a large package arrived in the mail from my dear parents filled with cans of the staples: pumpkin puree, cranberry sauce, turkey motif table cloths, napkins, and plates--everything needed for an authentic Thanksgiving in the tropics. My landlord's mother sternly delivered the box to my door and sweetly stated, "If you and your guests so much as crush one blade of grass in my daughter's garden, we will evict you."

The fear was ultimately unfounded. Our lovely little Reunion Island Thanksgiving embodied all of the wonderful togetherness that the holiday is known for. There were Creoles, Cubans, Austrians, Germans, Frenchies, Indians, and one and a half Americans! Many nationalities, colors, creeds, ages, and walks of life gathered to discover the holiday and support me in my home away from home. There was music, art, dancing, laughing, delicious food, and plenty of wine.

We did not have any turkey, but with the help of my landlord's daughters, we constructed some mighty tasty turkey cookies (which my pal Eliot is modeling above). All of the guests were responsible for bringing a dish to share. I initially tried to keep it as traditional as possible. When people asked what they could bring, I would e-mail a mashed potatoes recipe, for instance. The response generally followed like this: "Actually, I'm sorry, but I really don't want to make mashed potatoes. I have no idea what that is and I think it will be too hard for me. Would you mind if I make a mixed spiced pork roast with a curry vegetable sauce and fried banana plantains instead?" Of course I threw in the towel after a while. Thanksgiving was Creole cuisine heavy, though yours truly did all in her power to keep some of the root vegetables alive and well on the otherwise non-traditional table.
The party lasted late into the evening; even those with the most skeptical view of the whole affair ended up being the last to leave. Of course no Thanksgiving would be complete without a little bit of drama. At 4am, after everyone had departed and I had long cleaned and gone to bed, a still enthusiastic guest returned with hopes for more, banging on my door and ultimately falling asleep in our driveway until my landlord and I sent him packing at sunrise!