Red Wine Reduction in a Hostel
It’s been almost a year since we left Mothership America. There have been brief bouts of homesickness, usually related to food and family and friends. Thanksgiving in New Zealand stirred about a bit of homesickness in both of us.
We reserved the last available (hostel) room in the village of Franz Josef, home of the Franz Josef glacier. It’s the kind of settlement that only exists for tourists. No one is from Franz Josef, and no one lives there aside from those working in tourism. A place that faux-outdoorsy hippies love, and the kind of town I can stand for approximately 30 hours before running for the border. We planned on a holiday feast at a proper restuarant, but the choices in Glacier Country were slim. So we took over the hostel kitchen.
Hostel kitchens are accustomed to easy, cheap fare. The Brits and Germans are always making sausages, the Italians and anyone who speaks Spanish are always incorporating canned tuna, and the few young Asian girls struggle with anything…due to foriegn ingredients and the cultural tradition of living with their mothers (who cook for them). Last week I couldn’t resist an intervention as two young Japanese girls attemped to make pancakes without oil or butter in the pan. Domestic nightmare.
Turkey wasn’t an option, but we did score the last roast chicken off of the supermarket’s warming rack. Then I asked the manager if they carried canned pumpkin. He let me down, but proudly delivered me to the produce section where they sold fresh pumpkin. I stared, bewildered, at the orange squash wrapped in celophane. Who the hell makes pumpkin pie with fresh pumpkin? I’m willing to wager that even Martha sticks with Libby’s. Supermarket Manager shrugged when I told him it wouldn’t work, and I began sulking immediatly.
Along with the chicken, we whipped up mashed potatoes and broccoli, all drenched in a red wine reduction sauce with mushrooms. Halfway through the meal, we discovered that the store-bought roast chicken was actually stuffed with stuffing. If that’s not proof that God loves America, I don’t know what is. Have you ever encountered a stuffing-stuffed store-bought roast chicken? Of course not! My longing for family and pumpkin pie was temporarily healed with a bandaid of crispy and mushy mystery-ingredient stuffing.
So our Thanksgiving wasn’t depressing, just not the same. No tryptophan-induced nap, no Detroit Lions football, no wishbone, and no Annual Flight of Turkey Tom. (That’s when my mom runs the 30-lb raw bird around the house while making squawking and balking sounds. Just a normal, family tradition.)
We will be home just in time for Christmas…and hopefully my mother will fly the Christmas meat-item around the house to recreate Thanksgiving aura. (The Maiden Voyage of Hank Ham?)
Tags: New Zealand, Thanksgiving, Travel
brooke.pearson8
Turkey without “all” the trimmings: Brooke and JR, we MISSED you at the table this year. Although, it did give me respite from the “green bean casserole” …sorry JR….I know it is your favorite. You are right….Thanksgiving without you bordered depressing….but landed on “just different”. Oddly enough, I invited friends Christine and Paul and their son Alex. I let Alex know he could bring a guest ….and he brought a girl named Brooke! ha….i can officially say I had thanksgiving dinner with Brooke. Of course, she was a skinny little thing that was apparently not used to GOOD food…she turned up her nose at my roasted squash/ ginger soup and a few other gourmet delights. And even though my nest is officially empty this year for the first T-day morning alone….I still gave the turkey just a little flight…couldn’t help myself.
Glad to hear you warmed the kitchen of the hostel and can’t wait to have you warm my kitchen again. Love you both. Marm.
p.s. still eating leftovers….pie for breakfast again! oink oink.