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Hello there Reader, Thanksgiving doesn't have to leave you cursing like a sailor. (Although, if you ever heard Mama Leite muttering in Portuguese while wrestling a 22-pound turkey into submission, you might think otherwise.) As someone who's hosted more holiday dinners than my youthful countenance would suggest―some of which ended with me hiding in the basement, clutching a bottle of wine, and questioning my life choices―I've learned a thing or two about keeping my sanity intact. The One will back me up on this, especially after That One Year We Shall Never Speak Of Again when I nearly burned down the house. But I digress. What I've learned is mastering Thanksgiving is all about strategy. And, unlike how I usually cook―which The One likens to a tornado in an apron―this requires that dreaded word: planning. Allow me to share with you my hard-won five-day plan that'll keep you from ending up in the fetal position behind the washing machine. (Not that I know anything about that.) My Free Foolproof Five-Day Countdown
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Hi Reader, A few summers ago, Alan came home to find every available flat surface in the kitchen occupied. Not metaphorically. Literally.There were jars on the counter. Jars on the table. Jars cooling on dish towels. Jars waiting their turn. Cucumbers floating in brine. Cherries steeping in vinegar. Something involving jalapeños that required opening a window and issuing a formal warning.He stood there for a moment, taking it all in."What happened?" he asked."I had produce," I said, as if...
Every family seems to have That Cake. The one wheeled out with unnecessary drama, twenty candles, and at least one relative insisting, “Just a sliver for me,” before somehow ending up with a wedge the size of a throw pillow. (We see you, Uncle Frank.) A Cake Series Worth Loosening Your Belt For That sweet little memory is exactly what inspired Cake Celebration: Beautiful Cakes for Any Occasion. This is a 5-day email series devoted to cakes that swagger onto the table like they own the joint....
Hi Reader, June always sneaks up on me.One minute I’m standing in the kitchen making soup like some Old Testament widow preparing for a hard winter, and the next I’m barefoot on the back steps with a bowl of cherries, wondering if dinner can legally consist of cheese, tomatoes, and whatever’s left in the crisper drawer.(Answer: yes. Absolutely yes.)When I was a kid, June meant school was out, shoes were optional, and dinner got pushed later and later because nobody wanted to come inside yet....