My memories of Thanksgivings growing up are a blur of cozy, informal dinners either in our dining room in Alaska or at friend’s ski cabin – long evenings gathered around tables of family recipes and Southern influences, lighting the fireplace while snow blanketed the ground in the darkness outside. This year, however, was the first year the “kids” of the family (meaning Devin and I, and our cousins) met up for an organized Thanksgiving without our parents, definitely a reminder that we’re getting older. I left Rhode Island on Wednesday and flew to Denver to meet up with Zach, where we were picked up by Elena, who had already picked up Devin and Jordi in Colorado Springs. Although we stayed in Boulder, Thanksgiving itself was spent at Elena and Jordi’s uncle’s apartment in downtown Denver – and an urban Thanksgiving it was.
The building our feast was based at. Not a log cabin in the woods, but certainly… shiny. And fancy.
Zach trying to look enthusiastic about the neon pink jello we were all so skeptical of. Needless to say, this was before we tasted it.
The jello looming in front of the Denver skyline.
Denver at night.
It was probably the most gourmet Thanksgiving I’ve ever had, mostly thanks to the glorious culinary skills of Chef Elena. An evening of games, pie, and wine ensued, watching the city lights of Denver sparkling outside the windows.