Talking Turkey

Oh, for a chef as festive as Annie in our little condo kitchen!

Failing that, we've decided this year to go non-traditional.  Having eaten ourselves into a stupor last week while on holiday, and given that the Mister's dratted work schedule precluded him from taking the amount of time and attention his immortal brined turkey requires, we're pretending it's Christmas (and that we're Jewish and live in New York) and going to the movies. I only hope the new James Bond isn't as big a turkey as the one Ann's menacing up there. After that who knows? Maybe we'll go the whole Manhattan route and have Chinese.  Myself, I'm hoping we go find ourselves a little diner - a real one, with a thick glossy menu and a thick glossy Greek host.

Well, in any case, we'll have good fun. We're joining our friends the Superannuated Bikers, a lovely pair of older gentlemen who always seem rather owlish, blinking in the blinding light anytime we're out in the greater wide world of daylight and places that aren't darkened bars.  For people of such distinct and advanced tastes, they lead a surprisingly sheltered life, really...

As for gratitude? Well, that's very definitely on the menu, even if for once we're forgoing corn pudding and port wine salad.  Rarely has the world "heartfelt" seemed more appropriate, for since last year's festive family celebration, I have of course had my heart overhauled, much to my lasting benefit if shorter-term inconvenience.  Every morning's a gift, kids, once you've had a first-hand glimpse of the alternative.  Whether, having spent some time giving thanks for Daniel Craig's... assets, we celebrate the day over a nice kung pao turkey or some turkey spanakopita (since both my favorites from those two cuisines, chow fun noodles and pastitsio, are far too carb-laden - still watching that diet, y'know!), the simple fact that life goes on will loom very large in our thanks-giving.

So the silver remains in the drawer; the pots and pans are pristine in the cupboards.  Last night, unable wholly to up on things seasonal, I did make a very nice turkey-sausage cacciatore, and that should see us through at least a good part of the long weekend.  The solemn feasts of yesteryear are far away, though still in their way treasured and missed, but these days we're resolutely trying to look ahead.

As for you and yours, I wish you every joy, a joy as pure as the kind one feels when seeing Ann Miller tear through a 500-taps-a-minute dance break in a lush MGM spectacular. After this past year - and with all the various darkling clouds on various horizons - today, at least, all of us deserve nothing less.