Thanksgiving #1

 Why is she writing about Thanksgiving?, you might wonder.  It is, after all, only the 24th of October, and Thanksgiving doesn't arrive until November 25th...which means, I'm over a month early.  Or am I?
To properly explain what this post means to me, let's rewind a year and start at the very beginning (a very good place to start...)
Last year, Thankgiving arrived in the United States, and I sat alone here in France, absolutely Thanksgiving-less.  I was pretty devastated.  I'd looked online to see if I could find any American restaurants that served Thanksgiving dinner (I couldn't).  I had exactly one American friend in Paris who was still interested in celebrating the holiday (the others had given up on Thanksgiving after their first two years in France), and the two of us talked about throwing a Thanksgiving dinner.  But the idea of a two-person Thanksgiving seemed pretty bleak, so we dropped the idea.
Thanksgiving arrived in France.  I woke up, and I went to work as usual.  The ladies in my literacy class didn't even stay to have tea, because Thanksgiving fell during their Fête de Moutons, so they were off to the house to prepare for the evening festivities.  Thankfully, the woman I work with had cooked a pumpkin pie or else the day would have passed in complete obscurity.
I ate a piece of pie there after class, took another piece home in a Tupperware container, and spent the evening eating Turkey flavored ramen and pumpkin pie.  Worst Thanksgiving ever.
So, in the year that's passed, I've talked to everyone I know about how sad I had been to have missed Thanksgiving last year, and how I really hope things will change for me this year.
Talking out loud helps, you see, because this year, I'm having three Thanksgivings.
Thanksgiving #1 occurred today with my Canadian friends at Noisy le Grand (you can see now why we're celebrating in October and not November.)

 After church today, we all stayed and ate a traditional North American Thanksgiving together.  Of course, everyone (French people, African people, German people) all brought food, so I'm not sure how "traditional" the food actually was, but that's how it goes...  What did the French people sign up to bring for our traditional meal?
Salmon quiche.  Cheese.  Wine.
"A meal without cheese," one of them said today, "is like a day without sunshine."
But thankfully, despite the differing opinions on what should be included in the meal, we pulled ourselves together, and had a table filled with turkey, corn, salad, mashed potatoes, and sweet potatoes.  Pretty basic, but just what my homesick heart wanted.

 The week before, when I'd signed up to come to dinner, I was asked to bring sweet potato casserole, "American style".  I've never made sweet potato casserole, but valiantly decided to give it my best shot.  I have an American friend who knows her way around the kitchen, and I reasoned that she could help me.  And she did help.  She sent her mother's recipe into my email inbox and said to give her a call if I needed help.
I'd more envisioned her making the sweet potatoes for me, mais fin bref... Life goes on.

 So, I got out the recipe, wrote down what I needed, and began the big shop.  6 sweet potatoes?  I soon realized that canned sweet potatoes don't exist here, so I was going to have to find the actual potato.  After a lot of searching (and insisting that I wanted orange sweet potatoes and not white ones), I found a fat, long potato-looking thing.
The other ingredients were just as much of a question mark.  Brown sugar?  Nope.  I decided to try Cassonade, telling myself, "It won't make that much of a difference."
Pecans?  After asking several vendors for pécans, and all of them understand piquante, I got a little tired of being led to the pepper aisle, and decided that walnuts couldn't taste all that different from pecans.  Again, "It won't make that much of a difference."

And even still, once I was home with my new apron tied around me and my sleeves rolled up, the trouble hung around.  The recipe began with the vague, "Place peeled and cooked and mashed sweet potatoes in a pan."  I looked at the 6 lumps of potato I had on the counter and found myself at a loss.  How did one cook a sweet potato?
Thankfully, google saved the day once again, and I got those potatoes peeled (although, I still wasn't sure what all that talk about removing them from their jackets was about...), cooked, and mashed. 
Somehow, I made sweet potatoes with a walnut (not pecan) carmelized glaze.  Not too bad, if I say so myself.
Although, the French weren't quite sure what to do with my creation.
"It is a cake?" one asked, pointing at the glaze.
"No," I replied.  "Sweet potatoes."
"But it's sweet..."
I nodded.
"On essaie alors?" 
And they all gave a good effort, and whether or not they were all convertis to the American sweet potato ways or not, they cleared out the pan and I left with a smile.  It wasn't quite Thanksgiving in Indiana.  But Thankgiving in Noisy le Grand wasn't anything to complain about either.