72 Hours Until Thanksgiving

Was I the only one unhinged by having to go through a lovely corridor formed by XMAS trees on my weekly shopping trip to Russo’s on Sunday?  I thought not.  Look, one holiday at a time, please.  Wasn’t it Halloween about an hour ago?  Ring out the old, ring in the new?  Who’s your sweetheart?  Who’s hiding the painted eggs?

Speaking of disorientation, of which there is plenty, only 72 hours ago I was strolling through alleys in Venice still mulling over a pizza with capers and anchovies while trying to ward off whacked thoughts about chefs.

Where does the time go?  The space?

Never mind, answers in another posting.

More immediately: The annual turkey recipes appear everywhere: Is that skywriting I saw this morning?  BRINE THE BIRD.

As if it’s rocket science.  Look, the reason this is a national holiday in a country where people like to eat big is because it’s ridiculously easy to do it.

Butter and salt and pepper the bird.  Brine previously or don’t.  Put fresh herbs under the skin.  Stuff with cornbread, onions, beaten eggs, butter, etc.  Put in preheated oven (350) for three-four hours.  Done.

I mean, honestly.

Until then, I’m building a fire and eating Spanish olives.



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