Today the air was amazingly clear and uncharacteristically fresh and pleasant to breathe. Tonight the air is still clear and there are more stars out than ever before during my time in India. Today was a good day. Today was thanksgiving.
My thanksgiving started with the desire to eat pizza. I asked Alex to join me for dinner in a favorite restaurant of mine in Varanasi; Ashish Cafe. Alex reminded me that it was thanksgiving and remarked that pizza was about the closest thing to American chow we could get here in Varanasi.
We set out in the festive spirit and got a cushion inside Ashish. After inspecting the menu we found out we could order mashed potatoes and creamy mushroom soup. Mix the two and BAM! mashed potatoes and gravy. With excitement at our cleverness we ordered our two dishes as well as a pizza.
The meal was spot on. The taste/texture of mashed potatoes and gravy transported me back stateside. I wasn't sitting on the floor of a small restaurant halfway around the world wearing only shorts and a t-shirt anymore. No, I was wearing a toasty wool sweater sitting at a beautiful table somewhere in the good ol' U.S. of A. about to dive into some turkey and cranberry relish while cold rain spit at the windows and a log popped on the open fire.
As we ate a crew of our friends from our guest house showed up and joined us in the cafe. They sat in such a way that we formed a long table and the feeling of thanksgiving grew more lucid. We talked about thanksgiving and American food and a friend mentioned that he had had apple pie at a nearby restaurant. Alex and I had paid and were out the door on a mission for a couple of golden slices of heaven before our pal had finished the word restaurant.
It turned out we weren't alone in our quest; several of our American cohorts in Varanasi were there as well for their taste of Old Glory.
Our pie slices came out-of-the-oven warm and fresh with heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream sitting proudly on top and melting down the sides of the apply treat. I was awestruck to say the least. My first bite filled my mouth with warm apple filling, buttery crust, and the delicate contrast of cold vanilla cream. Again, as the taste of America exploded across my palette, I was dragged by my tongue into a world of itchy sweaters, loosened belts, icy rain and warm, crackling fireplaces.
The feeling wasn't totally homesickness, nor was it entirely nostalgic. But a lot of pride mixed with a sense of accomplishment and coated with copious amounts of gratitude and bliss.
I had found the essence of thanksgiving halfway around the world and my belly and soul were satisfied.
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