My father's father was a district attorney. He put someone in jail who had been harassing a Chinese gentleman. The Chinese gentleman felt himself deeply indebted to my grandfather, and turned up, regularly with gifts. (I have some lovely chinoiserie about my home. I just have to find it. But I digress.)
After several years, my grandfather decided to run for judge. He didn't want the press suggesting that he was in the pay of the Tongs, so he told his Chinese friend to stop the gifts. All went well, until Thanksgiving when someone showed up at the kitchen door with a turkey, cooked Chinese style, complete with head and feet. The delivery man spoke English only slightly better than my grandmother spoke Chinese. He kept bowing and smiling, and, finally grandmother just took the turkey and put it in the icebox.
That night, when great grandfather started to carve the American style turkey, it became obvious that the bird was rotten.
Which is why my father's family had Chinese turkey that Thanksgiving, and why I like to put water chestnuts in my turkey dressing. (That and I like water chestnuts.)
The turkey was the last of the Chinese gifts.