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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, Every season has its glamour vegetable.Summer gets tomatoes. Spring gets asparagus. Fall gets a basket of dirt-covered root vegetables and pumpkins, and it is still the season people talk about.They're not flashy. Nobody's writing love songs about rutabagas. A sweet potato comes out of the ground looking like it came out of the ground, and a pumpkin is downright homely until a knife goes into it.But give them forty-five minutes and real heat, and the sugar at the edges turns to...
Hi Reader, I don't trust a house without a cookie jar.Not because I expect it to be full every minute of every day. I'm an optimist, not delusional. Is it that an empty cookie jar reads as a message? The baking has stopped. Life's been a little too busy. That coffee breaks have become...efficient.September is when I remedy that.There's something deeply comforting about knowing there are cookies tucked away in the kitchen. They're not for the company. The company gets a cake. Cookies are for...
Hi Reader, Pears give you the narrowest window of any fruit in the produce drawer.An apple looks ready when it is ready. A pear gives you nothing. One day, it's hard enough to hammer nails. The next, it's buttery and exactly right. Blink, answer two emails, and it's like applesauce.It gets me every time.I buy pears because they're beautiful. Elegant necks. Freckled skin. They belong in a Dutch still life beside a wedge of blue cheese and a glass of wine. Then I forget about them for a few...