(Self portrait, SoHo)
The recent issue of New York magazine boasts the feature: The Loneliness Myth. I found myself in the face of this challenge. What to do on Thanksgiving? The Fung Wah bus wouldn't take a Pug to Boston, nor would Amtrak. The Metro North wouldn't get me close enough. Enter Max. A former colleague, and friend, he was kind enough to extend an invite to a Thanksgiving dinner party at The New York Wine Company. We met in SoHo, before opting for the subway, over a cab. In the heart of Tribeca, the venue offers cooking classes in addition to a great selection of wines. We had the pleasure of joining the private party- exclusive to friends.
A collection of eighteen people came together. Some native New Yorkers, some from Singapore, a German, a brother and sister, one mother. A few admitted this to be their first Thanksgiving. I learned to shuck oysters. Smoked salmon, champagne and meaty olives lined our stomachs.
Moments before the feast.
Libations.
Assigned seating.
Max to the left, Keisha to the right. Bernard adjacent.
Baby brussels sprouts, homemade biscuits, cranberries with roasted walnuts. The turkey moist and the sweet potato mashers buttery. Three kinds of stuffing. Green beans. No one was too shy. The plates were large. American.
The Uruguayan played his bag pipes. A few asked of his history. He admitted that he had a second Thanksgiving dinner to attend at eight p.m. We went around the table, speaking of what we were thankful for. A tradition I love from home. Most people admitted they were Thankful for Obama's victory- and good food. I'm thankful for good people.
Gourmet chocolates featured at Dean & Deluca, homemade apple and pumpkin pies, a lemon tart and du cafe closed the meal. A few went back for seconds. Hands came together to clear the table and wash the dishes. We walked to the subway and settled in.
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