I had not expected much out of a Thanksgiving in Paris. And then one of my friends I made here in Paris, invited me to hers.
The place was decadent. Not in the overwhelming white linen table cloths, five or more pieces of silverware kind of way. But in the way where every candlestick somehow has charm. The ceilings were painted, like Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. And the whole room was vast but somehow quiet, and warm. It was a welcome reprieve from the bitter Parisian winds and I took my place at this long table full of family members I did not know, but who welcomed me like an old friend.
Bottles of wine made their way around the table, and deep red wine glowed cherry inside my goblet. For my entrée, I ordered escargot followed by duck topped off by crème brulee. Thanksgiving redefined, as one of the girls on my program said. It was sumptuous and wonderful and I felt at home especially when the girl's mother assuaged my confidence, now shaken, of my upcoming job hunt, as I'll be graduating soon. Pay it forward? I hope one day I can one day be in a position where I can help the next nervous senior as others have helped me. And they have helped me. And I am infinitely thankful for that.
So this Thanksgiving I have to be thankful for new friends, their families, for brilliant and talented Parisian cooks, like artists, and for my own family and friends waiting for me back home. Family comes first, and being abroad has made me realize that. I'm thankful that I'll be home soon.