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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 cookbook has those recipes.You know the ones.The pages are stained with olive oil. The corners have curled from years of use. There's a splash of tomato sauce that survived three kitchen renovations and two half-hearted attempts at cleaning the page.Notes in the margins: More pepper. Double the sauce next time.Those are the recipes that hold their spot.When I first started cooking, I was always chasing the next exciting thing. A cuisine I'd never tried. An ingredient I...
Hi Reader, It's 5:12 on a Tuesday in mid-August.You've answered the emails. You've walked the dog. You've been to the grocery store twice because you forgot the one thing you went for. The tomatoes are still gorgeous. The basil is still going. But the calendar has quietly filled up, and there's the familiar question again:"What's for dinner?"The cooking isn't the hard part.The deciding is.Some nights you can happily spend an hour on a braise or a pie crust. Tonight is not one of those nights....
Hi Reader, At the best dinner party I ever hosted, I remember almost nothing about the food.I remember laughter that carried well past dessert. I remember the smell of bread warming in the oven. I remember the chocolate cake that somehow disappeared while everyone insisted they "couldn't eat another bite."Nobody has ever mentioned my knife skills.That was the useful discovery. Guests remember the room. They don't remember the recipe.Which means the smartest dinner-party dishes are the...