How the Maid Saved Thanksgiving

Photo: Thanksgiving tablesetting at the Case-Perkins apartment.

After cooking dozens of Thanksgiving dinners through the years, Larry has the meal down pat. At least he does in America, with the usual ingredients. Moscow, however, provided new challenges.

Take the hard-to-find yams. They cooked instantly, leaving the mallow pie a bit more like mallow mush. (It still tasted good.) While Larry's giblet gravy was the best ever, the mashed potatoes were a starchy paste. I helpfully suggested they may be a useful substitute for the dried up modeling clay in our Cranium game.

Meanwhile, I was having problems of my own when my Russian yeast refused to proof. I dragged our maid Lena into the kitchen, and she created an entirely different medium for it than my recipe demanded. As her yeast at least looked alive, I just threw it in, adjusted the flour for the right consistency and hoped for the best. My rolls turned out well which is more than I can say for my traditional pecan pie. While I probably have three pie pans in storage in Phoenix, I have none here. I had to make it in a flan pan as they don't sell pie pans in Moscow. Luckily, my white chocolate mousse with bittersweet chocolate sauce was a tasty dessert alternative.

After dinner, we retired to the family room to play Cranium while Lena did all the clean-up. (Everybody ought to have a maid--at least at Thanksgiving.) Our family beat our dinner guests, the Hales, as they unfortunately do not have any family members who can draw with their eyes closed or instantly spell Hawaii backwards. On the other hand, our family excelled in such skill sets as being able to hum "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog" and portraying Jackie Chan. With such talents, we were able to overcome the Hale's natural ability to get bettter rolls of the dice.

It was a satisfying victory--just like OU beating OSU in the 100th anniversary of the Bedlam Series. Other than having Alec near, what else do you really need at Thanksgiving?

Sneaking in Thanksgiving

While they haven’t gotten around to outlawing Thanksgiving, exactly, in Moscow, it is a difficult holiday to celebrate. The first reason, of course, is that it isn’t a holiday here. Larry has to work. That’s understandable. But Taylor’s school, the Anglo-AMERICAN School doesn’t give anyone time off either. And to add insult to injury, they scheduled the school play, in which Tay has a major part, for Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

But we will not give up Thanksgiving. Instead, we are having friends over SUNDAY afternoon for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. This means I am going into hunter-gatherer mode to get groceries. So on Thursday, while everyone else in the U.S. was enjoying Thanksgiving, I was hunting down a turkey.

In my preliminary grocery survey last week, I had spotted ten Butterball Turkeys at Stockman’s. I couldn’t buy one then as my freezer is not big enough to hold a turkey. I considered taking it home and hanging it outside my window on a rope, but decided that was kind of a risky thing to be doing with a six kilo, $80 bird.

When I was ready to buy it yesterday, Stockman’s was sold out. They did have some kind of French-branded turkey so I lugged that into my cart. I could have also found a turkey farm somewhere, but with bird flu rampant, I rejected that alternative.

Stockman’s was also sold out of sweet potatoes. They also didn’t carry Karo Syrup. And if Stockman’s didn’t have it, nobody would. I made a mental note to call my friends to see if I could borrow some from someone’s personal stash.

Next on my list was yeast. They had little packets of it but all the directions were in Russian. I have no idea if this is an equivalent amount to a packet in the U.S. I guess I’ll find out Sunday if my rolls overrun the pans or fail to rise.

I surrepticiously slipped a $5 box of Betty Crocker instant pie crust mix into my cart. (You try making a decent pie crust with Russin flour!)

I did get a medium size jar of Kraft Mayonnaise and some President’s whipping cream for about $8 each, as well as most of the salad and stuffing ingredients I needed. The only exception was the tinned oysters. Maybe Larry can make sardine, rather than oyster stuffing this year.

Next, my driver and I drove out to the suburbs to Metro Cash and Carry, the Moscow equivalent of a Costco. There I bought a huge bag of walnuts, a bag of pecans (which I’ve never seen before in Russia), some dried cherries, assorted chocolates, bacon, a huge sack of potatoes, a case of apple juice, and two new wool scarves. (No, scarves were not on my list. But like at Costco, any money you save at Metro just gets spent on something you weren’t planning on buying.)

I also bought a huge box of peppers and some eggplants to put in one of my Chinese baskets with some herbs to use as a centerpiece. I had wanted to use gourds and pumpkins but there are no gourds and pumpkins available now. And a potato and cabbage centerpiece just didn’t hit my idea of festive decor.

Metro didn’t have sweet potatoes or sage either. So as a last resort, I headed to the local vegetable market. I approached one of the vegetable vendors at the large enclosed building. The following conversation took place in Russian:

Nancy: Do you speak English?
Seller: No, do you speak Italian?
Nancy: No, do you speak Spanish?
Seller: No. You don’t speak Russian?
Nancy: Only a little.

Having established we had NO language in common, I moved on to the herb guy. In the meantime, I had called Larry’s office to get the word for “sage” in Russian. The good news is the herb guy completely understood what I wanted. The bad news was there was none to be had in the market. I know because the seller left me at his table while he checked everywhere else. If he’d found any, he would have bought it and resold it to me.

I had no better luck at the potato section, which offered a wide variety of tubers, but no sweet potatoes. How would melted marshmallows be on turnips? Not good.

It was dark and snowing when I left the market. I thought longingly of my extended family, all gathered today to feast in Ponca City, and reminded myself that I chose to live in Moscow. What was I thinking?

Ornament Your Life, Part One

Photo right: My Eiffel tower ornament reminds me of our family picnic in its shadow in Paris. When I look at it I can practically taste the fresh baguettes.

Two years ago, after Christmas, I bought a beautiful pre-lit tree. It’s never been out of the box. Instead, we moved to Moscow and the tree, along with my collection of stunning gold cloisonné ornaments, went into storage in Phoenix. After all, we would always be back in the U.S. for Christmas. Who needed a tree?

Apparently I did. I had brought a few special ornaments to Moscow. And since then, I’ve added to my collection. I realized I just couldn’t bear to have them languish unappreciated in a box under my bed any longer. Even though I have NO PLACE to store it, I bought a Christmas tree.

As we leave Moscow on Dec. 17, I don’t have much time to appreciate it either. As a result, even though we haven’t yet celebrated Thanksgiving, I’m decorating for Christmas. If department stores in the U.S. can do it, so can I.

Since I can’t have all of you over for mulled wine, I decided to show off my ornaments online. As you will see, they aren’t just decorations. For me they are a collection of fun memories—much too special to be neglected.

Big Ben: Larry and I first went to London for our 15th wedding anniversay. We liked it so much we went back and took the boys. I couldn't find a Big Ben ornament on either of my trips there, so years later I talked my sister into giving me hers.

Llama: I bought this in a market in rural Equador. On the way, we stopped to pet the real thing.

Saguaro Cactus: I bought this during our first stint in Phoenix. It's a bit worse for wear but reminds me of all the great hiking I did in Arizona, particulary when training with my family for our two big Grand Canyon trips.

Taylor: The only thing as cute as this ornament is the one I have of Alec at the same age with Santa.

Plastic Bell: This was from Larry's Christmas tree when he was a baby. My mother-in-law gave it to me the first year we were married. I was so clueless I wondered why she thought I would why I'd want that old thing instead of some shiny new ornament.

Equadorian Mask: This is a miniature of the wonderful wooden animal masks we bought for Taylor in Quito.

Ornaments Part Two

Statue of Liberty: Bought from one of those cheesy souvenier stores near Times Square during our 2005 trip to New York City.

Russian doll: With real fur, just like me!

Chile wreathe: From our family trip to Tuscon to see Katchner Caverns.


Ball from Turkey: At the factory near Kusadasi, Taylor and I selected just the right hand-painted ornament.

Pagoda from China: My friend, Kim, and I each bought one of these on one of our many shopping trips in Beijing.

Russian Orthodox priest: I bought this at one of the many handicraft bazaars here. This guy is hand-carved and comes with his own icon!

Russian Aerobics

I was really looking forward to the English-speaking aerobics class at the American Embassy Family Club. But it wasn’t quite what I expected. For one thing, the class wasn’t aerobics and for another, it wasn’t conducted in English. Instead, a Russian instructor led a class of me and some hefty-looking Russian women in toning and stretching conducted almost entirely in Russian.

While I can spit out “Is the pork fresh?” or “He had to work on Saturday” in Russian, I have not yet covered words like “inhale,” “shoulders down,” or “feel the burn.”

But I don’t think it really mattered as no one seemed to be making a continuous effort. Unlike the go-getters at American health clubs, my classmates did about half the repetitions and then stopped to wait for the next exercise. (No reason to exert themselves.) Even the teacher, who was not the least bit hefty-looking, only did enough repetitions to demonstrate proper form before letting the class carry on.

Because of the harsh climate here, the Russian culture was built on working very hard for a very limited amount of time. (They had to make hay while the sun shone, literally.) But I didn’t realize this philosophy also applied to exercise classes.

Ladies Who Lunch

At the PTA Mums' luncheon Wednesday, I sat next to Stephanie, who had lived in Chicote, China. This is where my good friend, Sharon had lived. Stephanie had moved there right after Sharon had moved to Beijing. In fact, Stephanie had moved into Sharon's old house! (It's moments like these that that annoying Disneyland song, "It's a Small World, Afterall," keeps playing in my head.)

I cannot tell you the number of times that I meet fellow expats and find intersections among people we know. It's like the same group of expats keep circling the globe, running into each other at PTA lunches.

Fighting Words

While I belive America is the greatest country in the world, I do not always think we have the greatest leaders. As a lifelong Democrat, I am hardly a fan of George Bush.

At a recent luncheon, I happen to sit next to a woman from India. She began spouting on how she HATED George Bush and how he was a buffoon. Then, to add insult to injury she threw in that he had BAD TABLE MANNERS!

Bad table manners? Now them's fighting words. I turned to her and coldly said, "I doubt that very much. He was raised in a political and diplomatic family. I do not see Barbara Bush raising a son with bad table manners."

Another American added, "And Laura Bush is a lovely person."

Now, I cherish the American basic rights of freedom of expression. I guess I irrationally think this should only apply to Americans. Sort of a "Nobody can criticize my family but me" philosophy.

It didn't help that this woman is from INDIA. I would never have dreamed of saying to her over crepe suzettes, "Too bad about all your country's problems with basic santitation." Which is probably just as well. Things would end up escalating and we'd be attacking each other with our fish knives.

What's Cookin'

Until I turned 40, my cooking mostly insisted on dialing for Domino’s Pizza or picking up takeout at Chino Bandido. (It’s sort of hard to be a master chef when you work 60 hours a week.) I could also burn microwave popcorn but that doesn’t really require a lot of talent. Luckily, my husband did all the cooking for the family so we didn't starve.

After I shocked everyone by quitting my job, Larry and I reshuffled our family responsibilities and most of the domestic jobs, including cooking, fell to me.

For some obtuse reason, I decided if I was going to cook, I should cook only "health" foods. If there’s anything worse than a bad cook, it’s a bad cook with a repertoire of bean sprouts and tofu burgers.

After we moved to Singapore, I decided to give my family a break and signed up for cooking lessons. The only ones available were Chinese cooking lessons. Most of my classmates were accomplished cooks exploring a new cuisine. I was the remedial student, who slowed every class to a crawl.

For sweet and sour soup, the teacher said, “First, you take chicken stock.”

Nancy: “Excuse, me, chicken stock from a can?”

Teacher: “No, you make it.”

Nancy: “And how do you make chicken stock?”

Teacher: “You take some chicken parts…”

Nancy: “What KIND of chicken parts?”

Teacher: “The skeleton of a chicken.”

Nancy: “And what, specifically, is that? What does it look like? Where can I buy it?”

I was lucky everyone didn’t attack me with chopsticks. But I learned. I went to more classes. I watched my friends, all of whom were good cooks, preparing their family dinners. I abandoned the health food cuisine. Eventually, I developed specialties. People even started asking me for my recipes, which had NEVER happened previously.

This week, I went to my first Indian food cooking class. The format reminded me of my Chinese cooking classes with about eight ladies gathered in someone's kitchen. This class was a little more complicated because the ingredients all had to be introduced in three languages: Hindi, so we knew the real name; English so we had familiar terms; and Russian, so we could shop for this stuff in the store.

This time, I was relieved that I didn’t have to ask remedial questions. In fact, I preferred my recipe for aloo ghobi to the teacher’s version. Want my recipe?

Competive Newsletters

I enjoy Christmas newsletters. You know, the kind where you hear about how their kids had the lead in the school play or made straight A’s, while hubby is Mr. Important at work.

Because I live in Moscow, I could put out a really obnoxious Christmas newsletter. I’d probably start with hitting the ski slopes with my extended family last year. Spring events included a dinner party with the Swedish ambassador and wife and the Embassy Ball. After that was our fabulous trip to Manhattan where we stayed at chic-chic Royalton Hotel, dined at a Jean George restaurant, and saw the original cast in “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels” on Broadway.

But who could top this summer? With trips to Istanbul, Prague, and St. Petersburg, I’d like to see them try! As a bonus we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary with a vacation in Vienna and Budapest.

Fall brought more high-toned social events such as a tea at the Irish Embassy. I, myself, hosted the Canadian ambassador’s wife at my ultra-modern apartment overlooking the Moscow River. A few weeks from now, I’ll be going to the premiere event in the American expat community in Moscow, a cocktail party hosted by the American ambassador and his wife at their lovely, historic home. Blah, blah, blah…

But, unfortunately, these do not come close to being the highlight of my year. That special moment occurred when I got the washing machine fixed and after months of trying, got the clothes dryer delivered last spring.

As fabulous as our trip to Istanbul was (and trust me, it is a truly magical place), it does not compare to being freed from hand washing all our clothes, setting them out to dry on radiators all over the apartment and then trying to iron the wrinkles out of garments that are so stiff they can practically stand up by themselves.

My friends and family would probably rather hear about the thrill of seeing the Amber Room in St. Pete or exploring a wine cave in Austria. But that’s nothing compared to having functioning major appliances.

And by the way, newsletter fans, Taylor had the lead in the school play, Alec made straight A’s, and Larry is Mr. Important at work.

Football Fans

In Taylor’s Sports Studies class, each student must teach the rest of the class a sport. Possibly because he’s American, Taylor was assigned to teach American football. He’s not overly qualified.

I think Taylor’s seen one football game. While he’s never personally owned a football, he has tossed one around on several occasions with his friends in Phoenix. This is enough to give him the edge on his classmates, all of whom are much more familiar with soccer. Just to be on the safe side, Taylor asked Larry to explain the positions and scoring.

Having both grown up in football-crazed Oklahoma, Larry and I seemed to learn all the rules by osmosis. Unlike us, Taylor’s life, has been heavy on multi-cultural experiences, sometimes to the detriment of regional American ones.

I guess when he’s older, he’ll have plenty of time to explore his Oklahoma “roots.” While I don’t mind if Taylor never owns a pickup truck or goes squirrel hunting, I would hate for him to miss out on the joys of Country-Western music, cowboy boots, and Friday night football games.

Let There Be Light

Photo: My view of the British Embassy.

As I start my winter blues season, I decided to cheer myself up by making a list of the things I LIKE about living in Moscow. However, every positive I came up with was instantly followed by a negative. Here's my list:

1. I love the view of the Stalin Buildings from my windows. / I hate the view of the ugly British Embassy.

2. Great local instant oatmeal /A small box of American cereal costs $10.

3. I get to wear fur coats. / It’s relentlessly cold outside.

4. The Caviar, while still not cheap, is really excellent. / The rest of the cuisine is awful.

5. I’m learning a lot of Russian history. / I will never understand the Russian mindset.

6. I’ve been able to visit Prague, Vienna, Budapest, and Istanbul. / I had to fly Aeroflot from SVO to get there.

7. The Metro is convenient. / I am unable to go anywhere NOT accessible by metro as I can’t drive.

8. Our utilities are dirt cheap. / I have to make do with miniature-sized “major” appliances.

I'm not the only one slowing down. Apparently, SAD is inherited and I realized that Taylor was experiencing the symptoms as well. He leaves for school before dawn and comes home after dark.

I can keep my symptoms in check by dragging myself outside every day for at least 30 minutes of daylight. Daylight also seems to be the only cure for my carbohydrate cravings. But just to be on the safe side, gummy bears are no longer welcome in my home.

After Christmas, we are heading to Arizona where we can absorb plenty of sunshine. Plus we'll be bringing some back some light with us. I'm buying a SAD light to bring to Moscow. Despite the high latitude, they don't sell them here. I think Moscowvites expect to be depressed. But us Americans, if things aren't peachy all the time, then we fix them.