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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, August is generous.Not just with tomatoes and corn and stone fruit, though it's generous with those. It's also generous with confidence. By now, you've grilled enough chicken that you don't need to check the thermometer every thirty seconds. You've made enough tomato salads to know when to stop adding ingredients.You've probably found one or two recipes this month that stopped you in your tracks.The temptation, at the end of a month, is to move on. A new cookbook on the coffee...
Hi Reader, Late August rewards a market shopper who knows exactly what she's after.Which is why I never do.The stated plan was peppers. I leave with an armful of glossy eggplants and peppers in every shade from pale yellow to deep crimson. Basil that smells like it was picked five minutes ago. A bag much heavier than my original list.The best move, I've found, is to stop fighting it.This is the brief moment when the produce is at its best: eggplants glossy under the lights, peppers snapping...
Hi Reader, I'm convinced summer doesn't end because of the calendar.It ends the first weekend you say, "We'll grill next time."There are only so many evenings when the grill is already warm before the sun disappears. Only so many dinners that begin outside and somehow linger until the fireflies show up, or until someone finally, gently, points out that we've been talking in the dark for the last half hour.Every August I make the same promise: Don't let the season sneak away.Not with some...