There are a few things I've done in the past few weeks, besides getting kicked out of my house, that are worthy of note. I introduced my Aussie mates to the mother of all American excuses for gluttony, for example:
An Australian Thanksgiving in July has no football. There are no leaves to rake or apples to pick and there is no looming threat of snow.
There were no cranberries either, fresh or frozen. Our cranberry sauce had to come from a jar. There were no premade pie crusts or canned pumpkin, so the pie was made from scratch by someone who'd never seen a pumpkin pie. And as there were no temperature markings on the oven dials, the turkey was roasted blindly by someone who'd never seen a roast turkey. We forgot about the sweet potato and marshmallow casserole sitting in the fridge until halfway through the meal. The gravy never really thickened and the whipped cream turned to butter.
But you know what? The turkey was fantastic. So was the pie. Everybody loved the sweet potato concoction. In fact, everybody loved everything. I converted a dozen Aussies, Kiwis and Brits to diehard Turkey Day enthusiasts.
In fact, I'm willing to bet that many of the most anti-American of hearts could be converted with a really big pile of turkey and potatoes and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie. For future reference. In case you're American and aspiring to take over the world. Ahem. Note to self. Seduction by gluttony.