Billy Tserenbat of Bibuta in Minneapolis

How Minnesota's Foreign-Born Chefs Celebrate Thanksgiving

Our favorite non-native chefs can cook anything. Yet nothing can prepare someone for the weirdness and abundance of an American Thanksgiving.

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You have to have mashed potatoes, don’t you? Or maybe green bean casserole represents your must-have Thanksgiving dish. Of course, your choice reflects a personal and family tradition, rooted in the many, many Thanksgiving meals you’ve packed away over the years. 

But what if your first Thanksgiving came when you were already in your thirties?

For people in our food and restaurant community who weren’t born in the U.S. of Apple Pie, Thanksgiving represents an exotic feast. We asked a few immigrant restaurateurs to talk about the bizarre foods they encountered for the first time in the carpeted wilds of Wayzata, Minneapolis, or Silver Bay.

Is This Thanksgiving or Groundhog Day? 

Billy Tserenbat is a Mongolian chef who owns a Minneapolis sushi restaurant, Bibuta, and a Wayzata Mexican-inspired spot, Baja Haus. He came to America for college in the late ’90s to study geology—his father’s profession. Didn’t stick. Tserenbat left school to work in restaurants and found a welcoming community. 

“They all felt bad for me,” Tserenbat recalls. “Everyone invited me to Thanksgiving, so to all I said, ‘yes, I will be there.’ But I didn’t know that they would each have a big meal and expect me to eat at each house! So I ate at the first one, because I was so hungry. And then each one after that, they kept putting plates at me, and it was the same thing every time: turkey and mashed potatoes. I didn’t understand it, so I just kept eating.” 

You won’t see a lot of turkey on his dining room table, ever since he married Tenzin Tserenbat, a Tibetan Buddhist. “When I killed four sheep, she cried, so I had to change it and we have all-new rules,” he says. “Two years ago, we decided to do just seafood. And now we really think about what it means, that I’m thankful that my kids are here, thankful that my wife is there, thankful to the animal that is our food.”

Glop It Out and Cut It 

John Ng and Lina Goh, the  owners behind Zen Box Izakaya, in the Mill District, were born in Hong Kong and Malaysia. They met in San Francisco in 2003. Goh had been living in New Zealand when she came to America for a corporate job. 

“My first Thanksgiving was with people I worked with,” she says. “It was really weird because none of us had family there or knew what to do. We had to google it to see why Thanksgiving was such a big deal. I think it was in the company canteen.”

Ng’s first feast played out at his cousin’s house, in San Francisco. “It was my first time seeing turkey. I thought ‘What is that giant chicken?!’ And I didn’t like it: It was so dry and had no flavor. 

“Also, I still don’t get canned cranberries! They glop it out and cut it?” 

These days, the couple is more likely to put together a traditional Chinese New Year’s meal for Thanksgiving. Goh says, “It’s a time of celebration, and we honor that.” As for the bird on the table: “We always do a chicken.” That is to say, Goh enjoys the privilege of any American on Thanksgiving: She gets to eat what she likes.

The Volume of Everything Was Kind of Shocking

Belen Rodriguez is the owner and chef behind Quebracho, an empanada-and-charcuterie business that bakes out of the St. Genevieve kitchen during off-hours. After growing up in Argentina, Rodriguez moved to Minnesota with her husband, Rob Cone. In 2012, she first drove up to his mother’s house, in Silver Bay, for the holiday.

“I love Thanksgiving,” Rodriguez says. “In Argentina we have these huge family gatherings every Sunday, so I was ready for it. Or I thought so.”

She adds, “The thing that I remember most about that first one is that I called my mom to tell her that we were having dessert for dinner! I think it was the yams in marshmallow topping that confused me. I’d never had turkey. It was so impressive. We have mostly French-like portions where I come from, so the volume of everything was kind of shocking.”

It’s not like she hadn’t been warned. “Rob and everyone told me that we’d eat a lot. And that turkey made you tired, so you’ll want to nap. And it was true! We ate until we couldn’t breathe, then we knocked out, and then we woke up and started eating again. And then there were the pies. I’d never seen pecan or blueberry pies before.” 

Belen describes her mother-in-law as the perfect MN mom: She cooks the whole meal, for 25 guests, by herself. So even though Rodriguez is an accomplished chef, when she heads up north, she embraces a different job: eating like a Minnesotan. 

Why on Earth Would We Do That? 

November 2006 marked the first American Thanksgiving for French-born Nico Giraud, one of Twin Cities’ best-known sommeliers and the food and beverage director at the Minikahda Club. 

“I was invited to my dear friend Jamie’s house,” Giraud recalls. “Her mother, Betty Bundul, was our host. I remember it as a gorgeous day, that we got to sit outside and have drinks. They have this tradition where they throw an apron up in the air and someone has to catch it. I caught it, but they didn’t tell me it meant that I had to carve the turkey! I thought it was insane: this giant bird. And I had to cut it apart at the table? Why on earth would we do that?”

These days, Thanksgiving is one of Giraud’s favorite holidays. “I love it because it’s the one holiday I don’t miss my family. I’m not nostalgic for days past. I get to make it new, how I want it every time. Now I host all my expat friends, like Burgundy Bob, and we have the best bird and the best times.” 

The best wine too? “Well, that depends on who’s at the table. But at least it will always be a very good wine, usually a Beaujolais.” 

Asked about his best dish, Giraud turns a bit sheepish. “People rave about my stuffing, but I am ashamed to say it has White Castle sliders in it. You can’t print that.” C’est la vie.