Thanksgiving in Africa

“Hey Samuel and Caitlin, it’s Rupert. I’m just calling to say happy Thanksgiving and to get your thoughts on Thanksgiving in Africa. Probably isn’t much different than Thanksgiving in L.A., right? It’s sunny and about 75 degrees here . . .”

Well, Rupe, you’re not far off the mark. Thanksgiving dawned a lovely sunny day (thanks #1) here in Marrakech. After a lazy breakfast of French toast with carefully rationed servings of real Vermont maple syrup (thanks #2), Stephanie and I packed up our bags and headed off to a much-anticipated half day at a European-style spa called Bains de Marrakech. We’d tried to go earlier in the week, but the spa was booked, so Samuel and Vladimir grudgingly agreed to shop for Thanksgiving fixings and we promised to channel our inner Iron Chefs once we’d emerged relaxed and sparkling from the spa. At the swanky spa, one hour enveloped in Eucalyptus-scented steam was followed by a slathering with black soap and then gommage, or loofah, that left our bodies shiny and smooth as a baby’s bottom (thanks #3-5). Seriously, never seen so much skin shed voluntarily. Quick reprieve for mint tea on teak lounger next to burbling, rose petal-strewn pool in spa courtyard (thanks #6), then on to hour-long massage tonique with argan oil (thanks #7) and then half-hour soak in grapefruit oil-doused bath. Flickering candles, soft music, girlie chatter from our tandem tadelakt tubs (thanks #8 and #9). Good, good stuff.

Meanwhile, in the Mellah, Vlad and Sam (eternal thanks) are doing some serious damage. Sure, we’d all voiced some traditional Thanksgiving must-haves over breakfast: mashed sweet potatos, pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, etc. But. When it comes down to it, shopping here in Marrakech is catch as catch can. You never know if the vegetable stalls will have fennel, or Jerusalem artichoke, or leeks. Even mushrooms can be a challenge to find. At any rate, confronted with a fortuitous and stellar bounty at the markets, the boys went crazy. Despite, mind you, warnings that we were doing a low-key meal for four, not forty.

When we returned from the spa at a bit after three in the afternoon (worth another few thanks, come to think of it), the kitchen was strewn with black plastic shopping bags spilling over with beets, potatoes, fennel, leeks, rosemary, sage, yellow and red peppers, mushrooms galore, carrots, wild celery, frisee, endives, and on and on (thanks, thank, thanks). Not to mention a large, large slab of crimson beef. Albeit not the usual Thanksgiving meat, but this seems to be our year to break the rules (merci, shokran!!).

Panic set in at the sight of all that food and the dawning realization that we had just three hours to concoct before jetting off to a cocktail party in Gueliz before dinner back at Dar Noury. The boys cleared out (only because our kitchen is too small for more than 2 cooks; despite the fact that Vlad and Sam are both culinary talents), and the girls got to work. Within and hour, mushroom-sage soup was bubbling away fragrantly and Stephanie was turning out beautiful free-form apple and pear tarts. Given our lack of counter space, she rigged up a rolling station with a cutting board and baking sheet on the concrete floor of the dining room! Ingenuity (thanks squared).

Somehow, we managed to get the beef braising with fennel, rosemary, leeks, garlic, Jerusalem artichokes and wine, the table set, and our make-do version of cranberry sauce - a mixture of persimmon and pomegranite with clementines, clove and cinnamon – boiling on the stove. We even had time to change into festive outfits and “powder our noses,” as Vlad teased.



Off to Sandra and Josh’s chic apartment where we learned that Sandra’s straightforward Dutch-ness proved the perfect complement to Vlad’s Turets-like, rat-a-tat banter. Each of Vlad’s uncouth remarks: “That painting over there doesn’t really speak to me,” he said, pointing to a work on their wall, were topped by Sandra’s unexpected innuendos: Upon hearing that Sam and my bedroom shared an adjoining wall with Vlad's in LA, she raised a suggestive eyebrow at Vlad and said, "So, didya get much sleep." If there was a venue for stand-up in Marrakech, these two would have a good routine going. (Thanks for mixing company and finding a match!)



We almost regretfully retired to Dar Noury for dinner. Sandra and Josh (thanks for interesting friends in far-flung places) agreed to join us and we christened our new dining room table with a near-full house. A paucity of spoons (not to mention plates and saucepans and other essentials for holiday feast) had Sam and me surreptitiously sharing a spoon during the soup course. The mushroom soup lacked the depth of wine (we blame Vlad who proclaimed not to like things cooked with wine), the beef was under seasoned and overcooked, the pies flavorful but underdone and the hoped-for mint tea, a paltry lemon verbena tisane. Despite the gastronomic disappointments, and the chill that our double-thick velvet curtains couldn’t quite keep from creeping into the dining room, the evening was filled with chaleur – good friends, good conversation, and good things on the horizon as we toasted the arrival of Vlad and Stephanie’s daughter Iara. (THANKS!)