Saturday morning, we piled the turnips high in the elementary school. They nearly reached the basket ball hoop.
The place was a madhouse. I love the crazy Berkshire Grown holiday markets. I love working them, mostly so I can hang out with so many people who are thinking about cooking for the holidays.
That’s a particular breed of loony, that one.
I’m tempted to bring a bottle of wine with me, so I can hand out little glasses while people tell me about how nervous they are to meet their brother’s new girlfriend, and about how she’s a vegan and have I ever stuffed a squash for thankgiving? I want Joey to make me a T-shirt that says, “Oh honey, it’s all going to be okay.”
But there’s no time for that. I’m shoving change in people’s hands, and telling them how to caramelize white turnips (sliced thin, tossed with salt and pepper and olive oil, 425 degree oven for 15 to 20 minutes), and I’m trying to convince people that broccoli greens are a fitting replacement for spinach on the Thanksgiving table. We sold so many turnips. Endless turnips.
There was serious panic about brussels sprouts. There were not enough in that little gymnasium, and anyone with a stalk poking out of their reusable bag carried it smugly like a trophy. More realistically, we should have probably been wearing shirts that said, “WE’RE SORRY. WE HAVE NO BRUSSELS SPROUTS.” Then, perhaps Elizabeth would not have lost her voice.
Oh, honey. It’s going to be okay.
A few things to remember:
If you are traveling, bring snacks, lots of snacks. Give your kids their own snack supply.
If you are a drinker, drink while you cook. Do not wait until the meal begins to have your first glass of wine. If you are a “no drinks before 6” kind of cook, break that rule.
And while you’re at it, put booze in your cranberry sauce. Put booze in your brussels sprouts. Why not.
Don’t forget the fucking gourds on the table. Even if you’ve read this one before, it merits a yearly rereading.
Oh, no you don’t. Just don’t!
Don’t mess with it too much. Just leave it alone.
Today, I’m packing up for our very first ever family Thanksgiving travel experience. Oh yes, Denver- I’m talking to you.
And if you are one of the millions making there way through the Chicago airport tomorrow night, I’ll be the one with the husband looking for the Chicago Dog (even if it’s in another terminal) while I keep the girls from trying to ride on each other’s rolly bags.
Yes! Here we go!
(You guys are so great, you know that? I’m not sure I tell you enough. All this grateful talk is making me feel, well, particularly grateful. I hope you all are having a good week out there, and… thank you.)