A slice of home

Or a whole roast bird of it, rather. As I type this, I am sitting in my Barcelona bedroom, cozy and loose sweatpants on, belly uncomfortably yet pleasantly full, and stomach acids churning violently as I try to digest the Thanksgiving offerings I heartily finished shoveling down not an hour ago.

Since it's Thanksgiving and we are in Europe, my study abroad program put on a holiday dinner for us at an extremely nice restaurant, reserving an entire back room and two large communal tables for our feast. I have to admit, though, I tried not to get my expectations up before the meal. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite days of the year, both for the food and the family gathering, and though I knew they would try their best, I was afraid it would just not be the same. Especially over the past week, as I have been thinking a bit more about home than I have over the past few months, I didn't want to build it up too much. I'm happy to say, though, that the evening exceeded all expectations.

Now, I won't say that it was an entirely traditional Thanksgiving. We started off with salad and oven-roasted, garlicy baby artichokes, which I happily consumed. Neither of those fit into my notion of a Thanksgiving day feast, but that's OK. They were both delicious. When it came time for the main course though, the goods were delivered. A beautiful roast bird, or two I believe, was carried out before us, perfectly cooked, perfectly stuffed, and perfectly moist. The dark meat was tender and succulent, and the stuffing was chock full of pine nuts, dates, currants, and raisins. And the coup de grace: ramekins of salsa española; or as you and I would call it, gravy. And this gravy was just the way it should be, nothing more than pure bird fat, fortified with some stock and some butter. Oh, there were mashed potatoes too. But the gravy!

Sure, I missed my beloved sweet potato casserole. And sure, I missed my pumpkin, pecan, and lemon meringue pies (though the apple tart was delicious). But when the centerpiece was so fantastic, all else could be forgiven. As I overindulged again and again, probably eating a full gobbler all on my own by the time the evening was done, I could almost forget I wasn't at home. Between a scrumptious meal and the company of a great group of friends, all equally looking to make a little home away from home, I could be thankful.

Now, as I digest the night, both literally and metaphorically, I'm thankful for a number of other things too. But to focus on just one, I'm thankful for the way I have changed over the past year, both while here in Spain and throughout the year as whole. This time last year, and I mean that quite literally, as in last Thanksgiving, I was out riding as hard as I could to "dig a whole" for the Thanksgiving feast. I wanted to make sure I deserved that indulgence that day, fearing otherwise it would ruin my hard work. That is no way to live. Why can't I reward myself for the determination and dedication I've had over the past month? Why can't I just say, "What the hell? It's Thanksgiving, so I'm going to make the most of it." Well, you know what, I can. At least now I can anyway. A lot has happened for me, and to me, in the past year, much of it cycling related and none of which I will get into now, but I can absolutely say that it's all been for the better, and for that I am thankful. For that, and the turkey that gave it's life to help remind me of all this.

Now, it's off to bed (or into food coma) to hopefully digest the rest of this meat and to pray for no food hangover tomorrow. Some things may have changed, but some things never will: No class on Fridays still means I get to ride lots. Happy Thanksgiving.