I love Thanksgiving. Full disclosure, I love the fall with the change in colors, the chill, and the slowdown to the quiet of winter. I love the annual dog show on television in the morning and the Macy's Parade which jabbers in the background while I read and reread recipes and mince, chop, and slice. I get tired of the kitchen that day, but I enjoy the cooking. It is the day that White Christmas may be dusted off, but I don't want to hear any Christmas music or movies before the day after Thanksgiving. It should be autumn music. A little Yo-Yo Ma, perhaps. Autumn should get it's time and we should take a moment to be grateful before the headlong rush into Commercialmas. IMHO.
This year Hubby's working 12hrs, I'm off, HoneyHaired will come home and MissNewOrleans will be in New Orleans. HoneyHaired and I will drive over to the next state and have Thanksgiving with Grandma PatPat and Aunt DebbieDebbie, and with luck will be able to squeeze in a showing of The Life of Pi before coming home bearing food for the working man.
So now, the big questions of the day boils down to just one. The stuffing. I'm going to do it this year. I'm going with the oysters. Always wanted to try a recipe I found years ago, but held off till the kids got older or the guests weren't too persnickety and now that we're having our Turkey Day on Monday with just the two of us and leftovers galore to GladWare away to an off-campus apartment in the heart of Clifton, this year seems as good as any. And, with an unexpected day off work it seems as though the universe is in alignment with this stop-the-press decision.
PS. If you haven't seen it yet, Hubby and I saw Lincoln yesterday. In a word, GO.
...'O Oysters, come and walk with us!
The Walrus did beseech.
'A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each.'
The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head --
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the oyster-bed.
Out four young Oysters hurried up.
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat --
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet...
by Lewis Carroll