No Preservatives Added

This is not a Thanksgiving story per se but since it did involve a turkey and since turkey is synonymous with Thanksgiving it will have to do.

Many years ago we were stationed in Belgium when we were in the Air Force. It was really a great experience and it had always been one of my life long dreams to live in another country. While we were there we became good friends with one particular Belgian family. Even though their English was limited and our French was virtually non-existent, we still managed to communicate….somewhat.

One night our Belgian friends had us over for dinner in their home. Let me say that dinner at someone’s home in Belgium is no small affair. They go to great lengths to ensure everything is prepared to perfection, that there is great variety and plenty for everyone to eat. When you eat at someone’s house in Belgium you can plan on spending the entire evening. Often times dinners went well into the wee hours of the morning simply sitting at the table eating, talking, drinking and having a good time. It really is quite an event. At the time, Christophe (Our Belgian Host) spoke very little English but more than the rest of his family. He would usually ask Kathy and I a question and after we responded, he would translate in French to the rest of his family (i.e. parents and brothers). Christophe was very interested in what we thought of this particular meal. His mother had worked very hard on the preparing dinner especially the turkey. It was important for them to know that as their guest we were pleased.

In his broken English Christophe asked “Whut do you tink of the Belgian food? Is Good No? You like Turrr-key?” I was absolutely sincere in my response. I proceeded to tell him how much we were enjoying the food and that everything was wonderful. I told him that we particularly liked the turrr-key. In hindsight I now realize that I should have stopped there. I then proceeded to tell Christophe “Belgian food taste very good, it’s very fresh. It’s probably because there are no preservatives added like there are in American food”. As soon as I said the word “preservatives” everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me. Remember the old E.F. Hutton commercials – “When E.F. Hutton talk’s people listen”. Well that’s what it felt like except when Ron says “preservatives” in Belgium, people stop and stare. Just as the pregnant pause in the conversation was beginning to become uncomfortable everyone burst out in laughter except Kathy and I. We kind of smiled nervously and Kathy gave me a look that said “Oh crap what did you say!”.

The laughter went on for what seemed an eternity. Christophe finally gained his composure and explained to me that in French the word “preservative” (actually“preservatif” but sounds the same) means condom. You know the round things that guys keep in their wallets but never use? At least that explains why the turkey didn't taste "rubbery" (sorry - couldn't help myself). So did I basically just tell our Belgian host that our meal was exceptional because there were no condoms in my turkey? I believe I did. Great. Real Smooth. Very Impressive. I’m a real Ambassador of goodwill aren’t I? I spent the rest of the evening trying to bail myself out and explain what I meant but I don’t think worked to well. Something got lost in translation…..me. I learned I could put my foot in my mouth no matter what laungage. I felt compelled to eat potatoes the rest of the night (they seemed safe anyhow). Oh well, live and learn. I can promise you it's never happened since.

Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving and hoping that your turkey is “preservative” free….Ron