By Stephanie
Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay
Moving back to Islamabad, Pakistan from Poughkeepsie NY in the summer of 1993, the five-year-old, the seven-year old, the husband, and our Australian shepherd Himalaya in tow, I was determined not to be deprived of a traditional American Thanksgiving. But finding a turkey--any turkey--in Islamabad back then proved a real challenge. Luckily, the small Kohsar market complex was the go-to hot spot for “fancy” and imported foods. If you really needed a jar of American pickle relish, for example, you might possibly find it on a very good day at Esajee’s in Kohsar market. True, it might cost the equivalent of seven dollars, and yes, maybe it was long past the sell-by date. But you just might find it there.
So when I needed a Thanksgiving turkey, I knew I had to visit Qureishi’s meat shop in Kohsar. Qureishi’s was a Very Special Shop. Unlike almost all other meat shops, it was indoors! There were no fly-ridden mutilated hanging animal carcasses in sight! Perhaps most importantly, the butchers would cut the local meat into kind of recognizable western cuts! While almost all meat markets could slice out an undercut (beef tenderloin) or lamb chops, meat was mainly sold hacked into stewing sized pieces, although you could, for example, specify you wanted lamb from the shoulder or leg. But Qureishi’s would sell you--for a price--a “silverside” beef roast (top round), a “sirloin” steak, maybe even a chuck roast! So if a turkey was to be found, Qureishi’s was my only hope, although perhaps I should have known better…
When we arrived that summer in Pakistan, you could not buy commercial dog food, so I decided we would have to make our own. Armed with MFK Fisher’s WW II gastronomic classic How To Cook a Wolf, I dug out her recipe for sludge, which wisely begins as follows: “The first thing to do, if you have absolutely no money, is to borrow some.” I procured the sabzi (vegetables) called for, and the daliya (cracked wheat) -and then went to Qureishi’s, which to my delight offered a product resembling ground beef labeled “dog meat.” The cook and I boiled up the sludge, and even though the admixture quite frankly stank up the kitchen, I maintained my faith in MFK Fisher and Qureshi’s.
Himalaya puked her guts out on the kitchen floor.
Given that hope is the last thing that dies, and given that I had no alternative, I revisited Qureishi’s that November in search of a turkey--any turkey. Luck was on my side that day because there in Qureishi’s freezer was a frozen bird, 12 to 14 pounds. On the big day, I popped the precious Tom into our oven to roast, to share with the friends and family we had invited. After an hour or so, a strange, un-turkey-like stench began emanating from the oven. Some time later, as the oven began smoking as well as stinking, a quick peek revealed a bird sitting in a pool of fat in the roasting pan. Eventually, when the creature was supposed to be done, we took it out, and to this day, I cannot explain how a 12 to 14 pound bird released seemingly quarts of fetid grease.
Such a festive centerpiece! There on the dining table, channeling Norman Rockwell’s “Freedom from Want” painting, sat Tom, golden brown, gleaming, and perfectly inedible. We dined on the sides, the deviled eggs, and the homemade pies, one of our most memorable Thanksgivings.