Well.
Thanksgiving's completely swallowed me up this year and if it's okay with you, I think I'll stay down here for a while. There's lots of pie, and a vat of mashed potatoes, and gravy so smooth and rich with pan drippings, I'd like to wade right in. All of my people are here, too, first my mother and aunt in Cleveland, and now the rest of the clan about 150 miles south of there. Oh, and we've got leaves! Piles of them and a baby who knows what they're for.
Last night, around 8:30pm, Eli lifted a sleeping Mia off a sleeping Jess and climbed into bed himself. We all stayed that way until 5:30am, when Mia woke up for some milk. She normally flops around in our bed for a while after that, pulling my ears and patting Eli's cheeks, but this morning, she wedged herself into my armpit and conked right out again, and snoozed unmoving until eight o' clock. It was a Thanksgiving miracle. I can't remember the last time I slept that long or that late. When we all did finally peel ourselves from the bed, the grandparents and aunties whisked Mia away and I got a long hot shower. I swear, someone must have popped out my eyeballs during the night and given them a good scrubbing. Things look different today, brighter and crisper and mellower somehow than they did before so much food, and family, and consecutive hours of unconsciousness.
So, yes, if you don't mind, I think I'll stay right here. For a couple more days, at least. Then I promise, up and at 'em. There's work to be done. On our dining room table right now are five pies in various shades of almost-gone. I assume that you may also be facing a similar scene today, so I'll just go ahead and say it for all of us: We'd better start in on some cookies.
Thanksgiving's completely swallowed me up this year and if it's okay with you, I think I'll stay down here for a while. There's lots of pie, and a vat of mashed potatoes, and gravy so smooth and rich with pan drippings, I'd like to wade right in. All of my people are here, too, first my mother and aunt in Cleveland, and now the rest of the clan about 150 miles south of there. Oh, and we've got leaves! Piles of them and a baby who knows what they're for.
Last night, around 8:30pm, Eli lifted a sleeping Mia off a sleeping Jess and climbed into bed himself. We all stayed that way until 5:30am, when Mia woke up for some milk. She normally flops around in our bed for a while after that, pulling my ears and patting Eli's cheeks, but this morning, she wedged herself into my armpit and conked right out again, and snoozed unmoving until eight o' clock. It was a Thanksgiving miracle. I can't remember the last time I slept that long or that late. When we all did finally peel ourselves from the bed, the grandparents and aunties whisked Mia away and I got a long hot shower. I swear, someone must have popped out my eyeballs during the night and given them a good scrubbing. Things look different today, brighter and crisper and mellower somehow than they did before so much food, and family, and consecutive hours of unconsciousness.
So, yes, if you don't mind, I think I'll stay right here. For a couple more days, at least. Then I promise, up and at 'em. There's work to be done. On our dining room table right now are five pies in various shades of almost-gone. I assume that you may also be facing a similar scene today, so I'll just go ahead and say it for all of us: We'd better start in on some cookies.
It's never too soon, I tell you, to consider the cookie tin, not with Christmas tunes already spilling from my car radio and trees already aglow. Best to start with something simple, something with a hint of virtue, even, though you'd never know it. Best to start with a recipe I've had on deck since Sara and Hugh's cookbook arrived on my doorstep months ago for shortbread spiked with oats. With oats! Not nuts, or zests, or spices, or cheese, or anything else I've ever tried to give shortbread a kick in the pants (not that it needs it; I'll take a plain, pure-butter shortbread any day) but OATS. I love a recipe like this, one that gets me excited about an ingredient I eat practically every day and cook and bake with all the time, but never in exactly this way. They're spiced with nutmeg, rich with butter, sweetened only with turbinado sugar, which adds an unexpected warmth. I like that they have the faintest chew to them within their crisp edges, unlike a more traditional shortbread that's all snap. The oats are a perfect fit. I baked a batch right before I left for Ohio and packed a couple with me for the road. I managed to eat only one of them on the plane while Mia napped on my lap, and I found t