This is the last dispatch from giacinta. We would like to give warm thanks to giacinta for sharing her blissful moments towards, on, after the Thanksgiving with us. We are sure a lot of our readers could be found between the aisles at a supermarket sometime this week or next, looking for tins of pumpkin purée just like us.
Thank you giacinta and Hope you enjoy reading the last one from giacinta.
Sinae+Kate
8:37am
I’m up and out of bed, promising myself a nap later on. 2 pills in hand, I throw them both in my mouth, add a little water, and swallow. I think about last night’s festivities and feel a sense of fullness. Onto clean up.
I enter the kitchen with trepidation, but find that most things are in place. Oh, I mean sure, there’s a lot to clean up and put away, but nothing has been too upended and Dan’s tinkering with Tupperware boxes last night has seen some of the more spoilable foodstuffs already away in the fridge. I’ve got this. But first: breakfast!
There is nothing like breakfast after a festive occasion. I head straight to the desserts, of course. My choices are Christmas cake with cream cheese frosting, apple pie, or a scoop of apple, pear, cranberry, oat crumble. Obviously I’m going for the most “breakfast” and “healthy” choice – anything with oats is good for you, right? I scoop a hearty portion of crumble into a bowl. I unscrew my moka pot and fill the bottom with cold water from the tap. Placing in the filter, I pack it with an Italian roast espresso. Nothing as fancy as it sounds and I consider if I should buy nicer coffee next time around. I like dark roasts with chocolate flavors. It seems like fruity flavors – coffee with notes of berries or something wild – have become trendy and I’m left in the past. The moka pot boils and forms a lovely crema on top. I pour the coffee and make an Americano, black, no sugar.
10am
I’ve been cleaning slowly and eating breakfast slowly, as well. I’m still not finished with my crumble and keep losing track of the bowl as I move around the kitchen and back and forth into the living room, collecting dishes full of leftovers and empty wine bottles, sweeping and wiping off tables, and the like. I stop to find it. I put my cold coffee into the microwave with a splash more water. I finish eating and continue cleaning. I snack on some crackers and bits of leftover cheese. I find a delectable combination of Sheesh smoked gouda and Cashew Bleu on a store brand Ritz. I eat far too many of these crackers and stop only when I hear the confused strike-replacement postman knock at the door.
11:30am
I’ve tried to be particularly aware of what I’m thankful for this year. There are, of course, the people who are my friends – my chosen family. The many texts and Instagram stories people have posted to me today full of thanks and deliciousness. There are the friendships forming amongst my friends who I’ve introduced and the loads of people expressing their excitement over meeting a diverse, interesting, and interested crowd at mine last night. I’m thankful for my family back home and being able to talk to them every day without spending a fortune on long distance phone calls, as I would have done in the past. I’m thankful for my health and my work and my luck at being able to live in the country of my choice. I’m thankful, yes.
But, while I’m cleaning today, scraping the last bits of food off dishes and utensils and piling up glasses with the dregs of wine, the only thing I can think to be truly thankful for – in the deepest part of my heart and in the recesses of my soul – is my dishwasher.
Found on the side of the road with a sign on top saying “I work ☺” and dragged back to the house by my old flatmate and me, I’ve spent a lot of time and money on getting it installed. It’s old, it’s not very attractive, but it works and dear me am I thankful for its presence in my life. Thank you, Zanussi dishwasher. You’re a dream.
3pm
Three loads of dishes, a few things washed by hand, several filled takeaway plastic boxes, some shifting around of things in the fridge, sweeping, and vacuuming, returning bits of furniture to their rightful places, and wiping down countertops and tables later, everything is spotless.
I’ve piled my not-for-flatmates dishes into my bedroom and dragged in the pitcher of lilac-colored cabbage roses and white lilies brought to me by guests. I’ve done a load of laundry – my apron and the many tea towels I’ve gummed up with bits of batter and things throughout the week. I’m hungry.
I take out the many plastic boxes from the fridge and line them up on the countertop, taking inventory. Cabbage, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, corn and peas, applesauce, cranberry sauce, and some cornbread. I made 8 bags-worth of Brussels sprouts. How are there none left?
I put the dish in the microwave and pour myself a small glass of 19 Crimes red – one of the leftover bottles with a bit left in. Mashed potatoes are always better the next day and I think how much tastier they’d be having been fried in a pan with butter than microwaved. Tomorrow.
I pop 2 chocolate covered espresso beans for dessert and energy. I make a pile of the odd bits I’ve found around the house that people have forgotten. A pair of waterproof trousers, a glass, a water bottle, a Holland&Barrett loyalty card…I will wait to be contacted.
3:45pm
I forgot about my Covid booster and flu vaccine today and missed my appointment. I jump on my bike and fly to the mosque, which has been the place I’ve gotten all my jabs since they became available. There are only 3 other people getting their vaccines when I arrive so they usher me right in. I peel off my layers and roll up my sleeve when the man at the table in front of me begins talking about the chip shop he runs. I become engrossed in his chat about frying all day and nearly miss the prick in my left arm. I turn to give my other arm a go for the second jab when I hear commotion – 5 nurses running to the chippie man whose passed out cold and is falling off his chair after the needle hit. He’s brought safely to the ground, legs held high in the air, and he comes to with a bit of water. I get my second jab, wait five minutes, and leave.
7:45pm
The vaccines have left me a bit tired now. Yoga class has left me hungry. I layer up, as it’s become quite cold outside, and head to Julie’s Kopitiam, which is the spot where my friend Sean is hosting his birthday hot pot meal. I arrive in the middle of the event with the pots simmering. The windows are frosted from the difference in indoor and outdoor temperatures and candles run along the sill, making it feel even cozier.
Everyone is welcoming and I’m ushered toward the veggie pot boiling away just in front of me. There are so many ingredients to put inside I go wild and choose them all. Wood ear mushrooms, soft tofu, noodles, tofu sheets, a veggie dumpling, vegan fish cakes, cabbage and greens – and don’t even get me started on the sauces! Three bowls later, I’ve experimented and find a perfect combination of light soy sauce, a very briney homemade fungus salad, and Lao Gan Ma chili sauce to bring out the flavors. What a perfect meal for such a frosty night!
11pm
I lay down in bed. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long week. I reflect a bit as I’m falling asleep. I think about Thanksgiving in itself, which conceptually, isn’t an issue. Many cultures have a tradition of giving thanks at harvest time with a feast. The trouble with American Thanksgiving is that we’ve been continually fed an outrageous and highly inconsiderate lie about Indigenous people and Pilgrims putting aside their differences to feast together in harmony. I know Americans who don’t celebrate Thanksgiving because of these terrors. My father, not an indigenous person himself, worked at the Oneida Indian Nation for years where Thanksgiving was not considered a celebration, but looked at as a day of mourning. I acknowledge this and appreciate it and agree there needs to be a reckoning.
I’m torn about continuing this tradition, but for now, I choose to celebrate this holiday, as it’s a non-sectarian, end-of-the-year time to be thankful to my friends, my chosen family so far from home, by once a year bringing with me to my new world a bit of tradition from my old world.
This week we’ve very excited about having giacinta frisillo sharing with us from Glasgow via New York: giacinta frisillo (she, they) (@giacinta_frisillo , @_glovestory_) is a visual and performance artist and community educator. she loves cats and hates capital letters. This week, giacinta is having a Thanksgiving meal, feeding friends, serving them with the best autumnal foods and we are looking forward to hearing threads of her thought processing what Thanksgiving means to her.
As ever, get in touch if you too would like to have a week writing on the Gazette, it’s open to all. Best,
Sinae+Kate