Dita e Falenderimeve

One of the goals of Peace Corps is to share American Culture with the Host Nation. The greatest opportunity to do this is through American Thanksgiving. It is also the time of year that most volunteers get extraordinarily homesick. An interesting correlation between Albania and the USA is that Albanian independence is celebrated at the end of November, and for good measure Albania has two holidays to celebrate, Independence and Flag Day which is on the 28^th of November, and Liberation Day (celebrating the ousting of the Italians and Germans during World War II to be exact,) on the 29^th. With the official Albanian Holidays celebrated around Thanksgiving, it gives Peace Corps Albania Volunteers time off for what I would call an extended 14 day long progressive American feasting extravaganza throughout the country. Most volunteers have at least two T day meals if not more.

Last year I went to Permet to celebrate the weekend before the T Day, and then celebrated again in Berat with local volunteers at Antonio’s. He went off to another site afterwards and gorged there. With my newly earned position at the Culinary High School, I thought it would be fun to have a combined event with local Peace Corps Volunteers cooking with the students to make a traditional American Thanksgiving meal we could all share together. I based this event on an experience I had in Moscow in 1993 with Earthstewards and Peace Table, where all participants cooked their respective dishes together in one glorious chaotic kitchen to create a buffet of the world.

I had given the heads up to the local (and not so local) volunteers months in advance as I knew people mapped out their Thanksgiving gastro tours quite early in the season and wanted to make sure I had enough Americans to guide the experience. I also set about trying to forage ingredients, as things such as cranberries, yams and other traditional favorites were not exactly available at the local supermarkets. It actually took months of planning, creating recipes, translating into both metric and Albanian. The event also involved intense investigative work, especially in Tirana, where things such as fresh cranberries and pecans might make a one time appearance, but only to the pure of heart and opened of eyes to find. I am sure I snatched up the only two bags of fresh cranberries in the entire nation, of which I immediately froze in preparation for my fresh cranberry sauce recipe. 

Yams or sweet potatoes in Abania are more expensive than beef. I had to purchase one a week, for about two months, because the amount I needed would have blown my entire food budget for several cycles. I calculated that the candied sweet potatoes cost me about $20 in total, and since my entire months food budget was about $100 you can see this was quite an extravagance. The lone seller in Berat where I could purchase the yams always gave me some tips on how healthy they were, full of vitamin C and also high in fiber, whe would always say while weighing the yam and telling me how expensive it was. I am sure I was her only customer, and she was so enthusiastic when I kept buying them, I did not have the heart to tell her I heard her yam-spiel about 7 times already.

Negotiating the kitchen at the school and the students I feel prepared me to do nuclear arms treaties in the future. For those familiar with the culinary world, instructors and chefs are quite a bit like actors, and the kitchen is their stage. Egos and territories had to be navigated with the greatest of care. The concept of having students sign up for a “dish” was also way beyond the experience of organization that these lovely instructors were used to implementing. Numerous emails, conversations and basic American bluster was applied to create the actual experience. My last hurdle was the main event: the turkey.

I am not sure when this very American of birds was imported to Albania, but it has been a mainstay of major Albanian Holiday meals for at least a century. While November in the States features specials in terms of “buy x amount of groceries, get a free or discounted Turkey” here in Berat, I knew it was the holidays when the local turkey farmer herded his wares in front of the main mosque. In stead of coupons, the turkeys pranced about spreading their tail feathers like peacocks to anyone who looked their way. I mused that the turkey sale might be a fundraiser for this particular congregation. I asked the director of the culinary high school if he thought it was a good idea to have a live turkey brought to the school and have the students learn to slaughter and tress it as a skill building lesson. He immediately called Albana the head culinary teacher, to see if she liked this idea, she said yes, she would be happy to lead the kill. My next step was to figure out how to get a live turkey to the school. I asked one of my teachers at the High School if he knew any turkey farmers who would be willing to come to the school on a certain day and time and answer questions regarding his vocation. We secured the date, the teacher agreed to drive him to the event, agreed upon a ball park price, and Albana said she would take over the rest of the “lesson.”

I then produced sign up sheets for the students. I found it most interesting that the girls were the ones clamoring to slaughter the turkey. I also emailed all the Peace Corps volunteers asking them to sign up to lead the cooking for a “dish” and that they would be responsible for a large portion of the ingredients. I provided the cranberries, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie mix, mustard and pickles, the rest was provided by the other volunteers.

Getting permission for volunteers to come to Berat for this experience was mind numbingly complicated. For some reason, sector directors did not see the value in the project, even though I had announced it will full explanations, sent out proposals, detailed instructions, wrote letters on behalf of volunteers to be excused for work leave, and so on. There are mysteries of life, and why staff did not think this met Goal Two will always be one of mine. Numerous volunteers were not given permission to come. Some had already used up their leave days, so that was not an option. At one point, I honestly thought it would be just me an Antonio leading the charge, but enough of the Americans were able to muster up permission that it was a success.

The night before the event, the Americans started to arrive in Berat. I hosted a Slow Food Permet member as well as Laurelin Haas, the PCV from Permet. Laurelin is what one would call perfect in every positive sense of the word. Brilliant, capable, fluent in Albanian and one of the most cheerful people I have ever met, I was so happy she was able to bring the Permet lady with her. We met with the future president of Slow Food Berat, Alma from Castle Park and in the discussions, Alma made some excellent business contacts with the producers in Permet. 

In preparation for the Thanksgiving project, I had already baked the yams, Antonio baked up some corn bread for the stuffing, and we assembled everything needed for the meal. I had printed out the recipes, and had the sign up sheets ready. I confirmed the delivery of the turkey, and prayed that somehow this would all pull off without too much stomach lining erosion on my part. Remember, I do not have a car and everything had to be transported to the kitchen, ingredients and such, in a caravan of volunteer bags and backpacks. Also, the kitchen is relatively new, and for some reason, very few items such as utensils are available, so I felt it necessary to bring things like bowls, whisks, vegetable peelers, pie pans, and the ever elusive but important measuring cups and knives the classroom seemed to lack at that point.

At 9 am we assembled at the kitchen, volunteers ready with their preassigned ingredients at hand. The faculty at the school completely ignored my sign up sheets and were busily assigning students to the stations while the Americans started setting up. I sent Connor and Kellen in search of the turkey farmer, mainly because it would be hard to miss someone wandering the streets of Berat with a live turkey, whose head would be peeking out of a box. They easily spotted him and brought farmer and turkey to the teaching kitchen. I will never get over how docile and resigned Albanian livestock is, the turkey seemed quite content to stand in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by humans with knives, while the farmer answered questions from the students. Then the moment of truth arrived, I was thankful that the slaughter took place outside on the playground, after which Albana and her gals efficiently plunked the headless bird in boiling water and proceeded to pluck the copious feathers away from the carcass.

Then the true chaos ensued. The students quickly spread to their stations, recipes in hand and looked to the bewildered volunteers for direction. Mind you, many of these brave volunteers had never cooked anything of substance in their lives, but I must say I was impressed with the effort. 

I had the from scratch mushroom casserole, where we had to make our own crunchy fried onions and cream of mushroom soup. I had also been gathering green beans for months as one can never count on availability of anything, blanching and freezing in preparation for this most traditional of American Thanksgiving side dishes (which by the way is my niece Olivia’s favorite, at least it was when I was allowed to celebrate the holiday with her years before the great family separation). 

Antonio corralled the stuffing station, making cornbread and sausage stuffing, as well as a traditional mushroom, celery and onion white bread stuffing. Please note that mushrooms and celery are not easy to find, and also the Albanians make their own version of cornbread stuffing sometimes called Pispilli (made of cornbread, leeks and other yummy things) 

 Connor was in charge of mashed potatoes, and it was his first ever attempt. 

Kellen the sweet potato casserole (he brought whole walnuts, but it was not a problem because the students expertly cracked them with various instruments so the walnut topping could go forward as planned sans shells)

Katie oversaw the creation of the most diligently produced cranberry and orange sauce ever made in the entire history of Albania.

Laurelin helped to create “stuffed eggs” since “deviled eggs” as a name for the dish would be a stretch for these conservative Orthodox Christian and Muslim students to own up to making. The students created their own relish from whole pickles, which also complicated the procedure, but they were delicious in the end.

Jenn labored with several teen girls over apple pie and pumpkin pie.

We invited an American expat, Jeff, who brought all the ingredients to make an Albanian fusion mac and cheese dish, using the famous fresh ricotta called Giz here in Berat, which usually is the stuffing for the buyrek pastry and roasted peppers. 

We left Albana to roast the turkey. She thought we had some sort of “American Way” of doing it, I told her no, not really, salt pepper and in the oven. It was the first turkey I had ever seen that had a waist line, but I guess that is what they actually look like when not pumped with hormones and salt water.

The event quickly became a cacophony of shouting of directions, sounds of chopping and stirring, peppered with “Stefania…” because of course I am the all knowing kitchen maven with all secrets to the mysterious making of American food. Most of what I did was try to guide the stirring and chopping, and watched from a distance the interactions between the students and the volunteers. Everything was humming, going along spectacularly well, kitchen fans whirring, pots boiling, ovens being opened and closed, and then, the inevitable Albanian experience happened: all the sudden the electricity went out and everything whizzed and hummed to a quick silent stop. At this point, I think if someone offered me raki, I would have gulped about a pint down with no hesitation. I thought, “oh, I forgot to ask if the electricity would be on……” it is always the thing you forget in Albania, to ask those questions and this particular one was not on my list……. My bad….

I simply took a deep breath, mainly because the turkey was already dead and everything was half cooked. What could you do? I wanted to start laughing hysterically, but felt it would not exactly set the tone for the event. Luckily after about 20 minutes of relative silence, the fans started whirring again, and the oven lights flicked on……. I said a prayer that the electricity would last till the pies were done……

The major impression I enjoyed was watching the slow transition of the cranky culinary instructors who were criticizing every move and food, yelling at the students that they were doing it “wrong.” into the immediate experts on turkey doneness and what to do with the drippings. I felt a respect from the teachers I had in essence been battling to make the event happen. I also thoroughly enjoyed watching the Permet Slow Food representative immerse herself in the experience, helping Laurelin’s team with the stuffed eggs, and talking with the students about Slow Food. The interactions between the volunteers and students through their respective dishes was simply priceless, Connor was completely ignorant of the entire process but his students took over and he simply sat back, grinned and watched everything unfold. It was similar with Kellan. Katie’s charges took to stirring the cranberry sauce with military precision, while she sported a felt turkey hat that later was raffled off as a prize. Antonio is a serious cook, and he was instructing more efficient ways to slice celery rather than stalk by stalk. Jenn’s oil pie pastry shells and pumpkin filling were probably the most difficult, considering the electricity failure, the resulting creation was quite good, although she later remarked that the crust was on the brink of disaster.

I had suggested that the director invite the press, as Peace Corps always strives for visibility. They arrived, and I decided if I was interviewed, we would be there all day with my language skills. I asked Laurelin to speak to the cameras. Laurelin is of Chinese descent and Albanians have a difficult time comprehending that Americans come from all heritages. Laurelin spoke with ease about the American holiday, our project and the purpose of Peace Corps. As she went on with the interview, the kitchen started to get silent as the Albanian students were shocked that a “Chinese” girl could command the Albanian language so well. At the end of the interview, she got a standing ovation from the students. 

We raffled off the felt turkey hat, all the students had to do was write their names on a piece of paper and we would choose winners. The boy that won the turkey hat is a rather sweet and shy teenager. I knew he was an orphan who was living at the dorm, and I was so happy he won. We also raffled off a cloth American Flag decoration (left over from the Fourth of July) 

When all was said and done, the meal came out to be quite amazing. The skinny turkey was DELICIOUS, and quite juicy. Antonio and I made the gravy, and the dishes were put on a counter. I had wanted to have the meal in the demonstration restaurant, but due to those mysterious Albanian event gods, this was not meant to be. We ended up eating in the kitchen, descending on the meal like a swarm of locusts. I found a stool to sit on, but most everyone else stood to eat. I guess this is actually how professional kitchen staff do it, the students and volunteers did not seem to care. 

The Albanians did not like the cranberry sauce, and I had to fight to keep them from throwing away the unused sauce, (especially since it cost me about $16 to make.) They also did not like the sweet potatoes or white bread stuffing. The eggs, cornbread stuffing, mac and cheese and green beans were a hit, and of course, the turkey disappeared as everyone liked that dish the most. 

The students cleaned the kitchen and I assembled leftovers for Antonio, who was hosting an after lunch party at his flat. I went straight to bed after the ordeal, feeling like my life was complete and I could die that moment and be fully at peace. Since my brothers divorce, family gatherings have been all but impossible. This has been in stark contrast with how I was, we were raised. It was always a large family gathering to enjoy one anothers company, eating till bursting and laughing to the wee hours of the night. In the past years, I simply gave up trying to organize mainly because I got tired of being treated like I was a controlling bitch in need of being put in my place for wanting to spend time with my family around the table. Holidays since the divorce have been painful for me, as I have recently just spent them alone either on silent retreat or otherwise. This year was the first year I had experienced joy on Thanksgiving in a very long time. I felt the deep spirit of the holiday, of coming together to celebrate community, diversity and the abundant harvest around a collective table. I had come to Albania to heal my broken heart, and Thanksgiving 2018 was major reconstructive surgery that pretty much closed the gaping wound. I felt full of deep love, gratitude and joy at the delicious chaos of the day. I am not sure what next Thanksgiving will be, but this one I feel will last me to the end of my days.