Hello, blogosphere. I’m back. After a year hiatus, *shamefully bows head* I’ve returned to ramble on about everything and nothing. And I’m excited. Now that I’m in the process of revamping my previously rather antiquated site, I feel encouraged to make an early New Year’s Resolution and get back to the keyboard. That’s right, you heard me; I’ll be blogging much more frequently now. Starting today.
Today, I will bask you in the glory that is Thanksgiving. Specifically, one amazing facet of the holiday that rocked my world about eight years ago as a newbie immigrant to the US of A. Sure, it’s a lovely tradition to profess what you’re thankful for around a table laden with whining family members, an over-sized turkey and fat-saturated side dishes. There’s no better time to celebrate the mass slaughter of the country’s indigenous people. Nonetheless, I’m incredibly grateful to be living in this country, with a job, my family, a wonderful boyfriend who seems to think rather highly of me (how silly of him), and a great group of friends. But there’s one thing that sends me into a frenzy of happiness at this time of year; one morsel of goodness that you just can’t find in the U.K. Or anywhere else around the world, for that matter.
Behold the green bean casserole. Since my first Thanksgiving in America (oh, the irony), I haven’t been able to think about anything else but the perfect blend of canned green beans, cream of mushroom soup and dehydrated onion pieces. Pumpkin pie repulses me. Turkey barely amuses me. Mashed potatoes bore me. It’s all about the beans. Since my first bite, my poor aunt has been burdened with my requests for an entire dish of the stuff every year thereafter.
Whoever came up with this recipe is a genius. It must have been an exciting day. I can see it now: an old, silver-haired lady with a checkered red and white apron tied around her waist searching through her pantry for ingredients to make a side-dish for her ravenous family: “What’s this?” she exclaims, “A can of green beans—that’ll do. Maybe I’ll heat up this mushroom soup, too.” She pauses in contemplation.“Eureka! What if I mix the two ingredients together and sprinkle some crunchy junk on top? Perfecto!” Perfection, indeed.
I look back on this hypothetical day as reason enough to celebrate Thanksgiving. Even as a Brit doing her very best to impersonate you delightful Yanks. Thank you, America, for your strange combination of ingredients, ingredients that happen to be rather displeasing to my senses on their own. You have melded them into the perfect, tummy-warming side dish. And I can’t thank you enough.