November 2013

In some situations, preparation is everything. Well, maybe not everything, but it can make the difference between an occasion that is relaxing and fun and one that is borderline hysteria. Yes, I'm talking about Thanksgiving, which is less than 3 weeks away. My sister-in-law and I got on the phone earlier in the week to plan our menu. Every year we do our best to inject a bit of newness into the proceedings. Some years we succeed more than others. It's now part of our tradition to make two turkeys—one roasted and one deep-fried. This way, we are not challenged for the all-important leftovers.

Since we're going to have a king's ransom's worth of hot peanut oil on hand, I though I would take advantage of it to make David Kinch's drool-worthy herb beignets to amuse our bouches. I've been reading about them for a couple of years now, and finally have the recipe from his newly published Manresa cookbook. Don't roll your eyes at me. I'll also be making some easy standards and—new this year—a ginger pumpkin cheesecake. More highlights follow...
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The redbud tree, a beautiful native species, is the first to offer its blush of pink blossoms in the early spring and it holds onto its large, heart-shaped leaves right up until the killing frost. On that very day, they fall slowly to the ground like great green tears. It is a sign that winter is upon us, like the wolf at the door.

There were not a great many garden posts this summer, so you'll have to take my word for it that it was a banner year. I harvested enough mint, chamomile, lemon verbena and anise hyssop to make many tins of my own "Garden Variety" tea. And we are fully stocked with frozen tomato sauce and zucchini. Remnants of its glory remain: the crisp dried globes of hydrangea, blackened peony leaves, a few wild grasses still standing tall. They bring to mind the concept of wabi-sabi, an aesthetic that derives from Buddhist teachings, centered on the acceptance of imperfection and impermanence. I learned about it years ago, from this book a friend gave me, and it resonated deeply right away. I have always loved the patina of age—on leather, on wood, on bronze, on human faces.
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