Guess what I'm doing tomorrow?

Yep, this.

Guess where I'm going?

Yep, here.

(not Puerto Rico)

So we were sitting in a restaurant last night, having some din and listening to some music with a couple of our Thanksgiving participants. They were Maberga virgins before last Sunday, now they can't get the place out of their minds.

In fact, the husband was talking all about his journey to the top of the world for American thanksgiving at work the other day. His colleague says, "yeah. I know Maberga! Ya know how it got it's name?"

Here's his story.

During the Roman times, Taggia (the town at the bottom of the mountain, our mother town, if you will) was a prosperous, reputable town (not that it isn't now, but I guess it was more so then...2000 years ago). Being an honourable, high class place, Taggia needed a place where they could send their undesirables...you know in the same way England needed Australia.

So these unwanted misfits were banished to a place far away in the mountains where they had to fight the elements and search for water and grow their own food. They called this place Mal Bergo, which of course in Latin means "the bad town" or maybe "the town of the bad" or, you know, something like that (my latin isn't what it used to be).

Over time, it's become known simply as Maberga...home to misfits who fight the elements, search for water and grow their own food.

Thanksgiving - Mal Bergo style



I'm just kidding. That's a 5 star hotel somewhere in Piedmont.

Ours looked like this

It's the coolest damn thing. You wake up on the day before you are having guests and your house is TOTALLY CLEAN, spotless, like I'd-eat-off-the-floor-and-you-have-dogs clean. That's just freakin amazing....

Yeah yeah yeah...thanksgiving planning at Casa Cornwell continued today with me brandishing the mop, vacuum, and dust rag for about 10 hours straight. How is that possible in a 900 square foot house, you ask? Actually, right now I'm asking myself the same thing. Let's do the math...

umm...ok, let's not.

Trust me, it took all day to clean my house. Thank goodness David did the last minute shopping and then cooked for, well, 10 hours straight.

We're having 8 people for dinner. I wonder what my folks are doing given that they will be hosting somewhere around 45 people on the 25th.

On a related note I'd like to report that our turkey arrived today...it's a girl and she weighs a bouncing 6.7 kilo.

...you do the math, I'm too tired.

If you're passing by Maberga tomorrow around 3, stop in. I think we'll have enough.

Turkeys

Oh my God, I forgot, I have a blog.

Thanksgiving planning is well underway in Casa Cornwell. We will have two Thanksgivings this year, one in the States and one here.

So the other day I went to order the turkey. You have to order a turkey in this country if you want to be assured of having one. They aren't just piled floor to ceiling in every grocery store from Nov 1 on. Oh no...

So I went to the butcher who is called "Barba Rossa" (Red Beard...he doesn't really have a red beard but he does have a beard and it's redder than, well, say, mine). Barba Rossa is the most awesome place to buy anything that I've ever been...seriously, Barba Rossa is to meat what Skyloom Fibers was to yarn (sadly closed now - some of you Denver readers will surely remember it).

So I illegally parked my car outside Barba Rossa's shop (everyone does this, it's just part of the shopping experience) and went in. I walked directly to the cashier and said, "I was wondering if maybe I might perhaps be able to get maybe a turkey?" She turned to the guy with a machete behind her (Barba Rossa's brother, he's got dark hair and no beard).

He said, "no problem. I can get you a whole adult 'maschio' (male) which would be about 14 kilo."

Ok. Time out.

Since this is a Thanksgiving story, I'll like to stop here and interject a few things that I'm thankful for:

1. I'm grateful for having had the presence of mind before going to order a turkey to look up what size I would want. (yes, at 41 I am for the first time in my life cooking a turkey - by the way, I read 1 to 1.5 lbs per person...if this is wrong, please don't anyone tell me because it's too late)

2. I'm grateful for knowing that 1 kilo is 2.2 lbs.

and

3. I'm grateful that I don't need a freakin' 14 kilo turkey. In case some of you are slow with the math, 14 kilos are 30.8 lbs.

Oh, and

4. I'm also grateful that we don't have 14 kilo turkeys running wild around Maberga.

Back to the butcher...

"um, wow. yeah. that's great. um, there will just be 8 of us."

"I'll get you an adolescent female"

I hope she's got breasts.