Last Thanksgiving was kind of special, considering we invited my piano duet partner, Mone, and her family for their first Thanksgiving. She is Japanese, barely spoke any English, and her family just moved from Japan a few months ago. This meant, however, that she brought real Japanese food that she herself had cooked. I still remember coming into the house as I heard the first doorbell ring. The warm lights shone down, casting an orange glow over everything. Warm voices and laughter drifted from the front hall as our first guests were welcomed in from the cold. My dad, brother, and grandma sat in front of the football game, cheering, drinking beer (not my brother, obviously) and talking as they crunch on crispy pita chips and dip. But for me, the highlight of Thanksgiving is probably the food; I get sooo fat. On our table, a giant turkey stands on the end of the table, resting on greens, next to a bowl of bread, walnut, and raisin stuffing. My mom takes the boiling cranberry sauce off of the stove and put it into the freezer in order to chill it before we eat. My grandma's favorite sweet potatoes are kind of like our tradition; marshmallows bubbling on top of delicious warm sweet potatoes. My grandma passed away two years ago, but my dad still makes them, to carry on the tradition. Bowls of various salads drenched in vinaigrette and noodles, as well as spices and cheeses and stuff lie on the opposite side of the table. Finally, Mone's families Japanese dishes, including Sushi, are located in the center. I look at my mom. She takes the pies out of the oven, swirls whipped cream on the pumpkin pies, and heaps ice cream by my cranberry apple nut pie. Yum. After we eat, I'm forced to play a song that a wrote on guitar, Mone and I play our duet, and we all go outside to clobber the adults in a giant game of backyard football. We all go to sleep, wake up as fat balloon people, and don't eat for the next three days.
Wow, writing that made me hungry. Happy almost-Thanksgiving everyone! I hope it's a great one.
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