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Published: November 27th 2009
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Conditions are harsh in this part of the world, yet you'll never hear a New Yorker grumble about temperature extremes. The city certainly knows how to embrace a season with a celebratory twist. Summer brings free concerts in the park, picnic-rug delivered cupcakes and rooftop martinis. Fall worships reddish-golden maple leaves with gruesome pumpkin heads and sparkly skulls. Winter is all about Christmas trimmings on steroids, from the 250kg Swarovski crystal star topping the real-live pine Rockefeller Christmas Tree, to outdoor ice-skating rinks bathed in the glow of a billion fairylights.
Smack bang in between the zombies and the snow, however, is the most cherished holiday in the American year: Thanksgiving. Dave and I were on a mission to adopt a family and their turkey feast, but failed in our quest and agreed instead to work the quietest shift of the year at the pub. (Booo!) As luck would have it, low expectations transformed a potentially lonely night into a fantastic celebration of misfits. The boss was MIA (Thanksgiving commitments) so Dave and I ran the pub by ourselves: a fully stocked bar and a kitchen of top chefs at our disposal. Oh yeah! A collection of our Aussie, Latino
Dave and Pen
Top of the Rock and Yankie mates hung around to feast on the most exquisite chef-basted turkey and pumpkin pie to DIE for. I've honestly never tasted a meal so perfect. Dave's cousin Brianna and her boyfriend James were in town and Dave-the-bartender kept everyone plied with a conveyor belt of shots, cocktails and beers. Thank goodness for the 3-day national recovery program afterwards.
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