Instead, the table groaned under the weight of wild boar, Jerusalem artichokes, sauteed carrots, and a very nice gravy. Still, I couldn't help but feel deprived. Thanksgiving was the one holiday when I didn't want to eat a German dinner. I loved celebrating Thanksgiving with my father and his wife in Boston, where there was always a big turkey, my stepmother's chestnut-sage stuffing, hashed Brussels sprouts that tasted even better the next day, and at least two pies. I saw no reason to ever change anything about it. Even after I moved to Berlin.