Thanksgiving Day

       Three or four weeks back I was
rummaging in our black hole of a
storage space for our forks (which

Two free range Chicken

we at this point assume grew legs)
when I stumbled upon a Ziplock
bag full of powdered American
flavors. Amongst the gravys, taco
seasonings, and ranch was a Gen-
eral Tso's chicken mix. All of a
sudden, I had no qualms about
eating my pasta with a spoon, and
was focused entirely on finding
flour in a town that lacked ovens.

      Our thanksgiving was a mem-
orable one.Two girthy chickens,
a kilo and half or two of "local" flour,
and a small mountain of onions and
garlic were searched out. The little
guys were killed, gutted and cleansed,
& then the real fun began: getting
Ijigu's thrifty stove purchase running
on all cylinders.The stoves fuel feeder

relies on gravity to usher in the needed

gas. But the lines were clogged up like

most wealthy Ethiopians artery's so 

plenty of fiery antics ensued.

                        

Head light, more than just a fashion statement.

        As Daniel and I prepared the fried batter mix created little onion poppers, and prepped the oil,

(our cook and Ijigu sat back in wonder and surprise) we simultaneously gave the glass gas feed a constant shake to lure its content out and into the flames. All was working well enough, until one of the clots broke free... then we had us a real fire. In a matter of comical seconds, the entire stove was up in flames.

Adjusting the flame to just right is a group proces

             The chicken and poppers were really
cooking, but for safety concerns concerns,
Ijigu decided to hoist the fuel source out of
its receptacle,dumping more fuel onto the blaze,
and offeringup a few great photos, and took the
what lookslike a bloated gerbil water dispenser
out the backdoor.We shared a coughing and
laughing fit,and then went back to tasty business.
A sooty hour or so later, the general Tso's packet
was gleefully ripped opened, sprinkled in, and a

nauseating aroma of all you can eat Chinese
buffets filled our smokey mud kitchen.

           Some how, during all the chaos, we
managed  to prepare hot peppers and create
a fluffy mix of  basmati that was still steaming
as the last of the spiced globs of chicken was
pulled from bubbling oil.

The finished product.  Not including our onion poppers and sambosas

        At about 9 pm, we started at 4:30 or so, we sat and ate until it hurt. We then ate a bit more, suffered a few odd stomach trembles, and lurched off to our cots. It was a while ago, so I may have forgotten the finer points, though I am sure we each gave thanks to only loosing knuckle hairs, rather than eyebrows.