It’s funny the way life works; how when, the seasons change, the shadows grow shorter along with the days, and rolling over from one month to the next can automatically make you crave the things you don’t think about the other 10 months of the year.
I’m talking about holiday foods: specifically, Thanksgiving and Christmas.
As hard as I try to resist “tradition” every year, it keeps pulling me back. Realizing that all of our time on this planet is short and special, well, I guess that Tradition is having its way with me. Every year I say “No more!” to the hams and turkeys and pots of potatoes and two pies with each meal. I say “uh-uh!” to turning my woefully inadequate (read: small) apartment kitchen into a gastronomical factory. One of these years, Alice….pow! I won’t be there to cook for anyone. (I’ll be on a train heading for …San Diego or something.)
I mean this. As soon as November reared its clumsy head ten days ago, I’ve been slavishly writing and re-writing my Thanksgving and Christmas supper plans. I’ve secretly gotten excited that I will be able to find pfeffernusse any day now, and realized that I will soon have carte blanche to eat seconds on homemade mashed potatoes – just because it’s November. Do I need an excuse for such things? No. Time allows me these luxuries.
As always, as predicted, I am giving in…and giving out. My love of cooking shall not falter, nor will I fail my loved ones this year. These hands will cook, and cook well, and heartily, and with love.