Living in a foreign country, I’m well aware that on a day-to-day basis my actions are viewed as somewhat absurd by those around me. The sideways stares and furrowed brows have become a bit of the background music to my life. This weekend was no exception.
With ovens being a bit of a commodity here, the silent partner for this whole ordeal was to be my slow-cooker. Factor in the need for specific ingredients, a 5 hour bus journey, two transfers, and a 20 minute walk and we’re looking at a daunting venture. I was met with a few firmer stares than usual as passersby glanced in the direction of the stifled grunts along the way. I guess a redhead heaving under the weight of canned goods isn’t as common as high heels on a hike.
Having served time with hard labor upon arrival, putting the finishing touches on my stuffing felt like a walk in the park. I’m happy to report that the slow-cooker worked fabulously as an incubator of gooey goodness.
This Thanksgiving, I’m thankful to our founding fathers for adding gluttony to the national agenda.