The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving has been drunken cranberry night since I learned, that first year I was entrusted with a dish, that you can't hurry along the gelling process, no matter how much you swear, cry or plead with the side-dish gods. I remember having to stop at the local 7-11 to buy (gasp!) canned sauce because mine was a sloppy, liquid mess. As I got of out the Ford Escort Pony and hurried through the doors, I said to myself, "As God is my witness, I will never eat canned again!"
So it is with great glee that I announce my drunken cranberry prowess IN METRIC. Tomorrow I go to Thanksgiving dinner with many American gourmets who probably will poo-poo my traditional whole-berry compote, but who cares! It is Wednesday, I am fresh from a canal boat party (with wigs) courtesy of one of our clients, and my sauce in now gelling on the counter. So Happy Thanksgiving everybody!
Mimi and Bill were here last week for a visit. So strange how a mom makes anyplace feel like home. We wandered around and I tried to show them what my normal life looks like -- bike routes, my wacky office, markets, etc. A pleasure to see their smiling faces here.
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