Sometimes it’s hard to find miracles in everyday life.  But I gotta tell you: this Thanksgiving - if I had to define it in some way – was definitely the Thanksgiving of Miracles.  I mean, when you’re cooking an entire Thanksgiving meal out of a toaster oven (and by you, I mean, naturally emiglia) you’re probably going to need a little luck on your side (and maybe *ahem* an awesome sidekick).  But seriously.  

It all started in the morning.  As any person knows, getting up bright and early to do your food shopping is completely necessary when cooking a large meal.  Now if you’re a really responsible adult, you spend the night before going over your perfectly planned list of ingredients and your carefully delineated timetable (which for the record, did in fact exist).  If you’re smart, you definitely do not have an extended cocktail hour the night before.  You get a good night’s rest and hydrate up.  You certainly do not end the night sipping tequila out of a plastic cup. (Life lesson – sipping tequila at the end of the night, hell, at any part of the night, is probably a bad idea).  But I don’t ever recall saying that I was a responsible adult or a smart person.  And anyways, sometimes someone has to do something kind of dumb in order for a miracle to occur… right?

Hence, Miracle Number One:  no hangover.  At least not for the main chef.  Which is great, because her trusted sidekick totally had a hangover (That would be me.  Oops.)

But seriously, some things really are a miracle.  I mean the Saturday market in France is kind of a miracle in and of itself.  By Parisian standards it’s nothing special, but by any other standard it’s pretty darn great.  I’ve probably already waxed poetic about the charming French people running the stalls, the plethora of amazing food – meats, cheeses fruits vegetables, nuts etc. – all on display down a section of a random city street.  And really, I could probably talk about it forever (as I’m sure some people have), but I have to tell you about the next miracle, dang it!

Miracle Number Two: we were perusing said market, gathering up our wares when, as we walked past the dried fruit, we looked down in amazement at – no, it couldn’t possibly be true! – pecans. 

Pecans, guys!  These little babies are so rarely found, that neither my students, nor their teachers could identify a picture of a pecan pie.  But there, right in that little market, nestled between the dried apricots and the hummus, were pecans. 

And we bought them.  Oh yes we did.  We had to tell the man to keep adding more and more to the bag.  We needed an American sized bag of pecans and we got it.  Amazing.

Finally, the last miracle (you do know that it takes three miracles to become a Saint, right?)

After dropping off our first round of market loot, we headed to the Monoprix for our other, more obscure Thanksgiving necessities.  We hustled into the grocery store section of France’s Target equivalent (but with a more extensive supermarket) and Em, as only she can do, began chucking food into the tiny rolling cart.  Let me tell you, where I wander aimlessly through a store, emiglia practically sprints.  It’s amazing to see her in action, really, ducking past all of the Parisian grandmas, swerving through the cheese aisle like a pro and dodging listless souls mulling over their jambon.  I just follow along and do my assigned Thanksgiving task of Keeping the Chef Sane.  And also occasionally giving culinary advice when asked for. 

Once the cheese, prosciutto and puffed pastry is safely in cart, we head to the exotic food aisle – clearly demarcated with giant palm leaves - where the sweet potatoes are stored along with lychees and various random Asian fruits.  Because sweet potatoes are very exotic.  And as we’re hustling through the produce, commiserating on the overpriced jar of cranberry sauce we’ve been forced into buying, Miracle Three happens in a flash. 

I almost didn’t see them.  But not Em, she nearly made an audible grasp. 

“Cranberries!”

Yes, friends.  Right there, in the middle of Monoprix, in a little plastic container, were cranberries.  I don’t think I have to tell you that the French don’t see many cranberries.  And to find them on Thanksgiving morning (which happens to be Saturday if you’re us and have jobs to attend to on Thursday), well that’s pretty darn thrilling.  And totally miracle-worthy.

So there you have it.  The Thanksgiving Miracles.  And can I tell you that maybe, just maybe, there’s one more? (Because, let’s face it, who wants to be a Saint would you could be a rock star).  So, The Surprise Fourth Miracle.  The Miracle among miracles, if you will. 

A dinner without a hitch.  A group of friends (both old and new) enjoying each others’ company.  Americans, some even strangers at the start of the night, sharing their gratitude over food.  A night to be truly thankful for. 

Now that's my kind of miracle.

As I said, the majority of the food was made by Em, though some people brought a few sides and desserts.  I made brownies and mashed up the sweet potatoes.  Mostly I just documented when the light was good and it suited me.

Amongst most normal groups, my affinity for spending hours in the kitchen baking something up is seen as both slightly crazy and also a little bit weird.  But for the most part, everyone stays (mostly) quiet on the subject.  It’s probably, I’m guessing, because they’re too busy eating all the cookies and cakes to really complain about my weirdness (which, lets face it, they’ve gotten pretty used to at this point).    However, I have found that amongst food blogging circles, running around the kitchen for hours, trying to make something from nothing in this way is considered way less weird.  It’s even considered, well…normal.  Which is probably why I keep doing this darn thing (blogging, that is).

I have to admit it though, my most recent cooking attempt was a little bit weird.

I made pumpkin puree.  Now, generally speaking, making one’s own pumpkin puree isn’t totally an abnormality.  But when you’re in France, poor and don’t have a blender, food processor or any other type of pureeing device, it does seem a bit off.  But I did it anyway. 

And this is how:

Buy some pumpkin.  Fortunately, the French eat pumpkin in soup, so finding it isn't that hard.  But French pumpkin doesn't look like American pumpkin and is normally bigger, more squat  and lighter in color.  It looks like it should be in a Tim Burton movie.  

Once you've secured the pumpkin, bake it with a little bit of water, at 350* for about an hour and a half, until it is tender when you poke it with a fork.  It should look like this: 

You don't need to murder it with the fork the way I did, but if you're a little compulsive, go right on ahead.  This ain't no beauty contest.

Once it's tender, wait for it to cool.  Or if you're impatient like me, scoop it out with a big spoon and try not to burn your hands off.

Now, if you're a normal person, scoop the goodness into a food processor or a blender and blend until it's smooth.  If you're me, buy the cheapest plastic food mill you can find and put it through the food mill. 

You'll have to put it through more than once for two reasons: 1)Your crappy food mill (all 8 Euros of it) doesn't work very well and 2)You don't actually know how to use a food mill and there's a learning curve.

After all that, it should look like this:

Juicy, pumpkin puree.  You gotta strain that shiz.

You gotta make a makeshift strainer with your paper towels, your kitchen knives and your hand-me-down strainer.

And finally, one 30 minute walk to the store, one piece of pumpkin, 2 1/2 hours of waiting, food-milling, straining and one tired arm later you have this:

One cup of pumpkin puree.  Which wouldn't be worth it, unless you got to eat these:

Pumpkin White Chocolate Chip Blondies.  So delicious, they don't make me feel so crazy after all.


These were even better the day after, which makes them perfect party dessert because you can make them ahead!

Pumpkin White Chocolate Chip Blondies (from Made in Sonoma and Martha Stewart)

2 cups all purpose flour
1 tablespoon pumpkin pie spice
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup unsalted butter, room temperature
1 1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 cup canned pumpkin
1 package white chocolate chips

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line the bottom and sides of a 9"x13" baking dish with aluminum foil and spray with non stick cooking spray.
2. In a bowl mix flour, pumpkin pie spice, baking soda, and salt. 
3. Using an electric mixer, combine butter and sugar until smooth. Add in egg and vanilla, beat until combined. Add in the pumpkin and combine. On low speed add in the dry ingredients until just combined. Pour white chocolate chips in and stir until incorporated evenly. 
4. Spread batter out on prepared baking dish and bake for 30-40 minutes or until a tooth pick comes out clean. Cool completely in the pan and then remove by lifting foil out and cutting into even squares.

Start Early.

Gathering ingredients for even the simplest of recipes will undoubtedly take multiple visits to multiple stores, so it’s best to start stock-piling and searching for ingredients at least a month in advance.

Organize yourself.  Just keep the butter, sugar and flour on the counter.  You know you’re gonna need it sooner or later.

Make sure you have plenty of chocolate. (Let's face it, this is really just a life lesson, isn't it?)

Stir.

Make your own pumpkin pie spice.  Just do it.  You know those French people don’t even eat pumpkin pie.

Make something with yeast.  Improvise with all your tiny French bowls and your big soup pot.  That American-sized bread ain’t gonna fit in that baby bowl.

Watch it grow.

Twice.

Bake it, bake it, bake it.  (That's three times!)

Pack it up and find yourself a nice group of friendly Americans (and maybe a few Germans, Brits and French people).  Preferably ones who know how to cook.

Squeeze everything onto a big table.

Fill up your plate.

Eat.  And eat and eat and eat.

And remember: It’s not really Thanksgiving until you've fallen into a food coma.