Russian Thanksgiving Dinner - Mystery Ingredients
Living for a year in Siberia was bound to results in a few
laughs. There was no funnier time than my effort to celebrate
Thanksgiving.
The Set Up
As an American male, my idea of cooking was dropping by the
local Chinese restaurant on my way home from work. We are
talking about a person who considers cooking rice a culinary
challenge of the highest order. This lack of skill came to the
forefront while spending a year teaching at a university in the
Siberian city of Chita.
Thanksgiving
Experiencing the Russian culture was one of my primary reasons
for moving to Siberia. Experiencing the American culture was
apparently one of the prime reasons the University hired me.
These conflicting view points resulted in every Russian and
American holiday being celebrated, even if it wouldn't have been
otherwise.
As the end of November approached, I started getting questions
about Thanksgiving. My Russian peers and students were
particularly interested in the concept of Thanksgiving dinner.
In turn, I started asking seemingly innocent food related
questions and was pleased to learn most of the necessary food
items were not available in the local market. This included
turkeys, cranberries and so on. Then I made my mistake.
Since the ingredients weren't available, I began to mouth off
about the injustice of missing Thanksgiving dinner. Oh, how I
could cook a turkey. To bad everyone would miss out on it. The
moral trifecta of justice, fate and karma rose up to put me in
my place.
The uncle of someone's brother was flying in from Moscow. If I
created a list, he would buy everything and bring it on the
flight.
I was in deep, deep trouble.
Reverting to the times of my youthful indiscretions, I
immediately did what anyone in my situation would. I emailed my
mother for help. The first response was, "Very funny. You're
going to cook?" After explaining the situation, I received a
very long list of instructions written at a third grade level.
"This is a knife" and so on...
Well, the magic day came and everything went shockingly well.
The turkey tasted like turkey. The stuffing tasted like
stuffing. Heck, the cranberries even came out red. Then it was
time for the gravy.
In Siberia, you do not buy ingredients in pre-packaged bags.
Instead, you buy everything in a clear plastic bag with no
label. In theory, you should arrange everything at home so you
know what it is when it comes time to cook. Thus did the flour
adventures again.
Cooking instructions were read. Turkey juices went into the pan.
Instructions were read. Flour went into the pan. Instructions
were read. Constant stirring was undertaken. Instructions were
read. Water was added.
Feeling cocky, I then did a tasting sample and nearly choked.
The gravy was incredibly salty and exceedingly chunky. I added
more water, but there was no change. For the next 20 minutes, I
kept adding water and stirring. The gravy just kept getting
chunkier, tasted horrible and actually began to smoke!
After awhile, one of my female students came into the kitchen to
find out what was going on. She blanched as she tasted the
gravy. We went through the instructions and I made a passing
reference to my suspicion the flour might be bad.
She took one look at the flour and started laughing.
Hysterically. She was laughing so hard she couldn't tell me the
reason in English and my Russian was pretty bad. She recovered
after a few minutes and gave me the English translation.
I had grabbed the stuff used to paste over holes in the wall,
not the flour. Put another way, I was making turkey drywall.
No wonder it was so chunky!
After the crowd left, I repaired a door knob hole in my
bathroom.