- Joined
- Sep 27, 2008
- Messages
- 20,281
Sea/air/war story time. What is that Thanksgiving you remember as odd, challenging and memorable because of what and where the needs of the fill-in-the-Service took you that Thursday?
Among many off-beat Thanksgivings, for me it was the one I hosted as a single Navy lieutenant in Naples, Italy. I had stood in line at the Commissary for the hard-to-get items, pre-ordered my bird, had my mom send me pecans from home state of Georgia, and invited the single officers from my command and many of the Italian staff. Everybody brought something. I had a gas "bombola" stove (hooked to a gas tank on my apartment kitchen balcony, similar to a BBQ grill set-up), whose oven, typical of Italian stoves, had just two heat settings, High and Low. I sat on a stool near the oven, watching the oven thermometer I had stuck inside, opening and closing the oven door to regulate the temp to roast the bird with some hope of success. My landlord's wife was fascinated, and she was excellent at refilling my glass with her family's homemade wine from the slopes of Vesuvio. There was a crazy hodge-podge of food, but the Italians totally understood the concept of "family feast." They gamely tried corn pudding (corn is livestock food in southern Italy) and sweet potato pie (potatoes for dessert?), and the Americans enjoyed homemade sausages from various "parts," and many other Italian dishes. We sent around the corner to the gelateria for gelato for the various pies. We cleared out my living room and set the tables in there, because I had French doors that had an amazing view of the Bay of Pozzuoli, adjacent to the Gulf of Naples. I had no TV, so it was all about conversation. The bi-lingual noise and general family feeling were wonderful, and though I missed home, it was indeed Thanksgiving.
Among many off-beat Thanksgivings, for me it was the one I hosted as a single Navy lieutenant in Naples, Italy. I had stood in line at the Commissary for the hard-to-get items, pre-ordered my bird, had my mom send me pecans from home state of Georgia, and invited the single officers from my command and many of the Italian staff. Everybody brought something. I had a gas "bombola" stove (hooked to a gas tank on my apartment kitchen balcony, similar to a BBQ grill set-up), whose oven, typical of Italian stoves, had just two heat settings, High and Low. I sat on a stool near the oven, watching the oven thermometer I had stuck inside, opening and closing the oven door to regulate the temp to roast the bird with some hope of success. My landlord's wife was fascinated, and she was excellent at refilling my glass with her family's homemade wine from the slopes of Vesuvio. There was a crazy hodge-podge of food, but the Italians totally understood the concept of "family feast." They gamely tried corn pudding (corn is livestock food in southern Italy) and sweet potato pie (potatoes for dessert?), and the Americans enjoyed homemade sausages from various "parts," and many other Italian dishes. We sent around the corner to the gelateria for gelato for the various pies. We cleared out my living room and set the tables in there, because I had French doors that had an amazing view of the Bay of Pozzuoli, adjacent to the Gulf of Naples. I had no TV, so it was all about conversation. The bi-lingual noise and general family feeling were wonderful, and though I missed home, it was indeed Thanksgiving.