There’s a crack my tribesmen tell. It goes like this: two Jews, three opinions. That’s how Thanksgiving had started to feel by the time Saturday arrived.
That’s right: Saturday. Three of us had decided to host the holiday for a group of Americans and our South African guests, and for days we planned…and wrangled. I proposed we serve both turkey and lamb but my co-hosts vetoed the idea. One guest emailed that he planned to bring a Peking duck. “No,” we said. To brine or not to brine: that was another question. Thursday or Saturday? I’m still unclear why we waited. By the weekend the back-and-forth produced 59 email messages and left me wondering whether we could pull off the holiday.
Whatever doubts I had dissolved by Saturday. The day began sunny but by nightfall the rain arrived. No worries, we had pitched two tents, one to serve as an auxiliary kitchen and the other for the bar, which we adorned with strings of Christmas lights.
Krista grilled a turkey on the braai, the South African term for barbecue, one of two birds we prepared. Rachel prepared scalloped potatoes that were sliced razor thin and piled layers deep. Jordan made potato latkes – our dinner conincided with the fourth night of Hanukkah – fried in duck fat that we ate with a dollop of sour cream. Thobe baked jeque, Zulu steamed bread. We also had mashed potatoes, two types of stuffing, green beans, cranberry sauce, Waldorf salad, sourdough bread, cheese, wine, coffee, and, thanks to Kate and Amber, three pies: pumpkin, apple and pecan.
I served as greeter and bartender. The specialty cocktail of the night was Jack Daniels – in tribute to America – with dry lemon, in honor of our host country. The combo seemed to be a hit, judging by reactions.
Before dinner we went around the table and everyone said what they were thankful for. For our South African guests, the dinner was both their first Thanksgiving and their first Hanukkah. After dessert we lit the menorah. Everyone took a turn.