Black Friday for me meant not wanting to even be around food until 2 p.m. Colin and I skipped all retail outlets in favor of the National Gallery for a much-needed walk through the really impressive collection of Chester Dale.
Jane and Lars were kind enough to include us in their Thanksgiving festivities, which also included her parents and our friend Rupak, who was experiencing his first Thanksgiving in America. Explaining Black Friday to him was at once amusing and embarrassing.
The dinner was a smashing success, minus the small detail of the power being blown out by the combined exertion of an electric turkey roaster and the microwave. Foiled by technology. I imagine it was a pretty tense scene, with no way to access the fuse box and initially no emergency phone number for the superintendent, but Colin and I hadn’t yet arrived for the fun. By the time we did, armed with our flashlights and all the candles we could find, it was already funny.
Their apartment was lit like a séance, the turkey had relocated to the hallway, and Rupak was sitting quietly in the corner, out of the way and almost hidden in the darkness. “This is how the first Thanksgiving would have been,” we jested.
We had happy hour by candlelight, and my first attempt at not one but two flavors of hummus was a hit. The handyman arrived at 7 and flipped the switch, just in time to eat dinner with the lights on.
We kept the candles anyway.