The Real First Thanksgiving
As the chief of the neighborhood, it was Massasoit’s responsibility to get rid of the Europeans. They could not be ignored. The Hurons to the North had tried coexisting with their intruders, those who seem to call themselves the “Mondieux”. Now the poor Hurons were being enslaved to strange rituals, serving red wine with muskrat but white wine with pelican.
If these Europeans were so meticulous about food, Massasoit would use their obsessive quirks against them. He would convince these aliens that the local food was disgusting, so they might as well leave. He plotted the most inedible menu and then brought over the abominations as gifts.
The main course was what the tribe called mutant chicken. None of the locals would eat anything that ugly. For a side dish, there were bog berries. Those tongue-shriveling fruits were said to be healthy, but most people preferred scurvy. The most laughable squash and roots were passed off as delicacies rather than weeds. Finally, and most cruel of all, the Europeans were served maize. That alone should have sent them fleeing home for dental floss.
But to Massasoit’s amazement, these Europeans were impervious to this awful parody of a meal. He had failed to realize that these were different Europeans. Yes, the Mondieux would have been horrified; but these aliens were called English, and they had no tastebuds or teeth.
They were here to stay.
Touche!!!!
Wayne,
“Touche” would be the Quebec bistro from where I would have ordered food–if I had been stuck at Plymouth. I might have preferred Mexican, but their delivery boys usually were accompanied by Dominican friars and conquistadors.
Eugene
Excellent!
Happy Thanksgiving to you and Karen.