I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite holiday, I think. It’s truly a thing that everyone can do together, without worrying about offending anyone, unless it’s because it’s a typically American holiday. And let’s face it: If that offends, then I’m happy to offend.

I cooked a turkey this year, for the first time ever. Being until recently a vegetarian, I was baffled by the various organs that I pulled out of the carcass, all neatly delivered in a little plastic bag. I realized that it was all probably edible, but I balked at eating the bagged innards, in the fear that one of them was the gizzard, which supposedly leaves a bad taste.

Treating Europeans to Thanksgiving is an enormous responsibility, but I think I pulled it off without disgracing my ancestors. By all accounts, my Southern Cornbread Dressing was not only edible, but delicious. I never realized that the defining taste of Thanksgiving Dressing is sage, of all things, and I was struggling Thursday afternoon with a tasteless mash of cornbread and gravy. But a few panicked phone calls to Mom can solve almost any crisis, and she finally, after all these years, spilled the recipe.

The in-laws were over, and I was able to feed and water them. There was French wine, German beer, and Southern American food. In short, there was much to be thankful for. And that’s what I like about Thanksgiving: That reminder to sort out the things that make you happy, and be thankful for them. It’s a good tradition; there’s plenty of time to sweat the small stuff.

Hugs,
Rube.

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