Thanksgiving in Northern Germany

Between Jetlag & Turkey – Thanksgiving, Northern Style

Prologue – When India Still Hangs in the Spice Rack

Some journeys linger like golden dust on the soul. India is certainly one of them. A faint hint of saffron still clings to our luggage, and from time to time a distant “honk-honk” drifts through my thoughts, as if Delhi were just one doorway away.

And then suddenly Thanksgiving appears at the doorstep – a holiday that truly belongs to America, yet slips into our northern German November like a warm, wayward sunbeam. Perhaps it is this friendly nod between two worlds that makes me smile. Gratitude knows no borders. It lives in temples, at kitchen tables, in rice fields, and between German potatoes.

And so this story begins at our own table, while the colours of India still shimmer quietly inside us.

An Indian thali like a tiny compass of flavours: small bowls, big spices – and a golden plate whispering where we’ve just come from.

A Celebration That Belongs Everywhere

Thanksgiving – whether in Canada, the United States, Liberia or in quiet German kitchens – tells the same story everywhere: to pause, to look back, to give thanks. The long arc of the Pilgrims is mentioned often enough; what truly matters is that brief moment in which the world seems to exhale and say: Good that you are here.

The Scent of America

In the United States, the entire feast revolves around the big bird: sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, stuffing – and a slice of pumpkin pie that laughs in the face of any diet. Between memories, conversation and a touch of chaos lies the particular charm of this day – half tradition, half family folklore.

Germany & the Turkey – A Cautious Encounter

We Germans are familiar with turkey – grilled, schnitzel-style, cut into strips. But a whole turkey? It tends to remain a supporting actor, while goose and duck dominate the stage this time of year.

When I first told our friend Inge that I wanted to roast a turkey, she looked at me as if I had announced a tap dance on the kitchen table. “Well, you’re brave,” she said.

Once, in Connecticut, Reinhold and I argued about the size of the bird – a dainty little turkey for three people? Reinhold just laughed. In the end, a massive Butterball won, feeding us well into June.

And yes – some years later, Reinhold actually travelled back to Germany with a frozen giant turkey as hand luggage. In Detroit, the frosty creature was scanned several times. “Don’t you have turkeys in Germany?” the officer asked, puzzled. “We do,” he answered politely, “but only small ones.”

The Butterball travelled in the overhead compartment, carefully stowed – one doesn’t want to injure anyone. And it was, of course, fully defrosted in time back home.

Butterball towers in the supermarket – the American turkey cult in all its glory.

Our Little Tradition

These days I order the turkey fresh from a local farmer – no drama, just good advice. And by now it has become a tradition to invite Heidrun and Jürgen. This year even more so: Heidrun was eager to hear everything about our India trip.

Sometimes it’s the evenings without any highlights that wrap themselves around memory like a warm wool scarf. For hours – between starter, main course and dessert – we talked, laughed and reflected. Heidrun searched her mind for her own trip to India, sometime in 1999, yet her travel diary has vanished like a postcard without a stamp. “I was there – at least I think so,” she said, laughing, and in that laughter lay a whole world of remembering and forgetting.

When she asked whether we had also crossed Lake Pichola in Udaipur, Reinhold nodded and casually mentioned that scenes for the James Bond film Octopussy had been filmed there. And as he explained all this, it dawned on me like scales falling from my eyes: when Binny had told us the same thing back then, I hadn’t thought of Octopussy at all, but of Loriot’s Ödipussi. I seriously wondered how Loriot of all people might have ended up in Rajasthan.

So I simply said, without the slightest embarrassment: “Oh – I thought…” The three at the table laughed tears. And in that laughter lay everything at once: India, memory gaps, misunderstandings – and the gentle warmth of an evening that was simply right.

Images from the hottest moment of the evening: Reinhold carving, the turkey gleaming – and me holding the platter so nothing cools down. Our annual turkey finale: briefly chaotic, always delicious.

Epilogue

And eventually only the dishes remained in the kitchen, and a last hint of saffron and oven warmth in the air. India stepped back a little, Germany moved a little closer – and there we were in between, grateful for all that stays and all that carries us forward. A quiet Thanksgiving, a luminous November evening. Nothing more required.