THANKSGIVING TRADITION

Here it is, approaching teatime, and you sadly realize you have no room for scones, clotted cream, and fruit preserves. And instead of tea, you need coffee, strong coffee. It's the only thing that will make the next few hours bearable, as you slump in front of the television with all your male relatives watching a ball game that you, personally, have no stake in. Who is playing anyhow? And why do all their shiny spandex botties look alike?

You imagine what it would be like if, instead of huge apes in shiny arse-hugging spandex capri-pants, it was two opposing flocks of turkeys.
In shiny spandex pants.

That would be excellent.

You aren't that fond of turkey as a food item, in fact after the huge meal you ate two hours ago you cannot stand it, but as sporting heroes, the turkeys would truly shine. They're very energetic.

You are grimly conscious of the fact that there is still forty pounds of roast turkey and the better part of a ham sitting on the dining room table.
Plus platters and bowls filled with customary blandness.

How awful.

Compost.


PUTTING THE  "I"  IN THANKSGIVING

I didn't have any turkey. Nor will I have turkey anytime between now and midnight. Or any time this year. See, I do not have any kinfolk in the Bay Area anymore, and my immediate family are all deceased.
In the years that I have been back in the States, I did not manage to establish a personal Thanksgiving tradition other than enduring the damned day. My ex-girlfriend would always go to one of her relatives, which was stressful for her, and imagine how much more stressful it would have been if she had dragged along the white boyfriend (me) and fessed up to the fact that instead of being a nice demure little Cantonese American girl, she was a thoroughly modern adult woman with hopes and dreams and lusts.

Yeah, no. Somewhat opportunistically I felt that secrecy and pretense was a gambit with a lot to recommend it. No one wants to be the lone kwailo at a fokai jit sik-wui.
It kind of puts a turd in the familial punchbowl.

[Kwailo (鬼佬): less than affectionate term for a Caucasian. Even if he is dating your daughter. Which doesn't happen to good people. There must be something wrong with her. Fokai jit sik-wui (火雞節食會): literally, turkey festival banquet. Thanksgiving dinner. Sik-wui (食會) is a casual descriptive: big eat.]


In the years since we broke-up, my Thanksgiving tradition has evolved.
It's become more or less a personal statement.

Nowadays I simply bellyache, sneer, and try to ignore the occasion as much as possible. Though I will heartily wish my friends a happy Thanksgiving, and thank them for wishing me the same.

Sometime during the day I will end up in Chinatown having a pastry and a cup of Hong Kong style milk-tea, then quietly wander around the alleyways smoking a pipe.

I may or may not go the cigar bar afterwards.

Largely, I avoid turkeys.

[Hong Kong style milk-tea (港式奶茶 'gong sik naai cha'): strong black tea made creamy with condensed milk (煉奶 'lin naai'). Sweet and hot, with an edge of bitterness. Very comforting, very old school.]



So, without further ado, here's my list from several years ago telling you what you can do with the damned bird.

TEN THINGS TO DO WITH ROAST TURKEY

1. Drop-kick it Lord Jesus through the goalposts of life.
2. Use it as a paperweight till "they" start gagging.
3. Re-gift it a month hence.
4. Paint it orange and wear it to Giants games.
5. Put it in the blender and treat it like a frog.
6. It's your baby! Wheel it through town.
7. Airmail it to Africa.
8. Cover it with oil and play 'pervert'.
9. Keep your medications in the cavity.
10. Tinsel and lights for Christmas.


TEN MORE THINGS TO DO WITH ROAST TURKEY

11. Leave it on the church doorstep with a letter asking for a good home.
12. Draw a frowny face on it and put it on your porch.
13. File it under T.
14. Talk to it on the bus.
15. Blame it for your divorce. Then shoot it.
16. Love it tender, love it true; never let it go.
17. Hide it in the attic with grandma.
18. Call it Barbie and give it to your niece, then scream that she doesn't love you when she weeps.
19. At meetings, it's your cell-phone and it's ringing!
20. He's the man you intend to marry and you don't care what your parents think!


Roast duck (燒鴨 'siu ngaap') or roast goose (燒鵝 'siu ngo') tastes better than roast turkey (烤火雞 'haau fo kai'), but turkey is traditional.
I rather resent not having any, but I refuse to go fress at one of the places that cater to the unconnected anti-socials by serving mediocre slop, or pay a high price for pretentious muck in a fancy restaurant.
Thanksgiving turkey by oneself just ain't edible.
Imagine eating cardboard.
Screw it.


Hot scones, clotted cream, and fruit preserves, plus strong tea with milk and sugar. That sounds very nice right now. No ballgame.
Bugger football.


Happy Thanksgiving!



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