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Guest Post: Cooking for Baby

Kate — Tue, 22 May 2012 14:30:17 +0000

The Nuni as a baby

So guess what I’m doing today? I’m off having a baby! I’ve set the camera to auto, so hopefully I’ll be back soon with pictures, but in the meantime, I wanted to leave you with a guest post by my wise and wonderful friend from law school Cat. Cat has shiny hair to rival Kate Middleton’s (maybe it goes with the name) and is a fantastic writer. She still considers herself a novice cook, but wanted to tell you about her cooking inspiration, and I thought today of all days this would be appropriate!
–Kate

Cooking for Baby
Catherine Cugell Rombeau

When Kate graciously invited me to guest-blog here on Savour Fare, I pitched myself as an outside voice: someone who doesn’t cook, posting on a cooking blog! Oh, the anarchy of it all. But what else did I have? I am not a good cook. I salivate over the food porn on here as often as anyone, but at the end of the day, I end up setting the water to boil for Annie’s Organic. And I am a fearful cook, which may be the worst kind. I measure obsessively, am afraid to substitute, and have an unfortunate tendency to pull things out of the oven just a little too early. Once in a while I will venture into slow-cooker land, but I have to be feeling particularly girded.

When I got pregnant, I did consider that my current culinary acumen wouldn’t manage to keep our child alive once she joined us on the outside. But I figured I had plenty of time before she needed real food. And didn’t reading food blogs count as preparation? Turns out, though, that many folks feel very strongly that unless you scrub, peel, steam and puree every morsel that goes into your beloved babe’s mouth, you are one sorry excuse for a parent. I have a knee-jerk reaction to this sort of dogma; it makes me want to push Ellie’s stroller right up to the McDonald’s drive-through already. I was determined to dig in my heels: my daughter wasn’t going to miss out on any life-altering culinary experiences just because I didn’t mash up her yams myself.

And yet, somehow, I’ve ended up making all of Ellie’s baby food after all. I know it doesn’t actually count as real cooking, but I’m still sort of astounded by my enthusiasm for it. To the great skepticism of my husband, I went and bought one of those baby food processors to steam and puree all of Ellie’s fruits and vegetables in one easy little machine. And I actually use it! All the time! Unlike, say, the mixer taking up space on our kitchen counter, or the bread maker hiding in our basement (what can I say, my husband did our wedding registry). I’m not sure why–so I can claim the moral high ground? Save money on store-bought options? Conserve time by freezing trays worth of food at once? Use up leftovers? Maybe all of those hold some truth (bananas going bad? Smoosh them up for Ellie, she won’t know any better!). But I think in some small way, making Ellie’s food myself has allowed me to connect with her and with the safest edges of cooking, without feeling so afraid.

My parents didn’t cook much for us. Anyone remember Steak-Ums? Staple of my childhood diet. I often feel at sea in the kitchen, without instinct or experience telling me how long to bake or how much spice to use (note to self–do not double cayenne pepper just because you are doubling the rest of a jambalaya recipe). But it’s nearly impossible to screw up pureeing peas. And when I feed them to Ellie, and she smacks her lips in appreciation, I think: I did this! I made something that fills my daughter! I can take care of her! Somehow it gives me hope that I can come up with 18 years’ worth of meals for her that don’t necessarily consist of Velveeta Shells & Cheese (well, not every night anyway), and that Ellie will be more excited to try new and unconventional foods than I ever was. Perhaps she will not be 24 years old and have to move to Manhattan before she tries sushi, for instance. And maybe one day we will cook together. Today, steamed and blended broccoli, tomorrow, mother-daughter dinner parties for 12! Or maybe I’ll settle for baking her a first birthday cake that doesn’t collapse in the middle. Baby steps.

The Attachment Parenting and Breastfeeding “Controversy”

Kate — Sun, 13 May 2012 14:00:47 +0000

I’ve been watching bemusedly as the latest “battle” in the “mommy wars” has exploded over the internet. First, it was a controversial statement by a French sociologist that attachment parenting is anti-feminist. (For those not up on their parenting terminology, “attachment parenting” is a term coined by Dr. Sears and is characterized by parents or caregivers creating an attached relationship with their children. Some practices that are typically considered “AP” include breastfeeding, extended breastfeeding (after age 1), babywearing (carrying baby in a sling or carrier instead of a stroller), cosleeping (a family bed), feeding on demand, responding to a child’s nighttime cries instead of “crying it out”), and other practices that aren’t necessarily AP as Dr. Sears defines it but are often practiced by parents who practice other AP practices, including elimination communication (early toilet training by following a baby’s cues instead of diapering), unmedicated childbirth, vaccine avoidance or delay, cloth diapering, homeschooling, unschooling, etc.) This was picked up by the New York Times in a ludicrous “Room for Debate” feature in which various “experts” (note to the NYT – just because someone writes a blog called “PhD in Parenting” does not mean that she has, in fact, a PhD in parenting) weighed in, mostly with arguments as nuanced as “Attachment Parenting is best!” “Attachment parenting is pointless!” or my favorite “Feminism is bad!” (Thanks, NYT. I feel so educated.) Then Time Magazine joined the fray with this provocative cover and the even more provocative headline “Are you Mom Enough?”

The argument is that a) on the one hand, the principles of attachment parenting cause Mothers (and don’t get me started on where fathers are in this whole debate) to subjugate themselves to the whims of their children and lose everything in the process. Breastfeed? You can’t work. Cosleep? You’ll NEVER HAVE SEX AGAIN. Babywearing? YOU WILL NEVER BE FREE OF THE MONSTERS. On the other side, Mothers (again) should follow the principles of attachment parenting because it’s best for the delicate psyches of their children, and Mothers (again) should recognize that mothering is their most important job and putting their child’s needs comes before all else in a Mother’s world.

I am here to tell you that attachment parenting is not that far outside the norm. It does not automatically create a choice between the child’s happiness and the mother’s. I know this, because by many measures, I am an attachment parent. The dirty little secret that the media isn’t telling you is that most mothers are attachment parents to some degree or another. It’s not an all or nothing proposition. Parents adopt the parenting strategies that work for their families. And the other dirty little secret is this: nobody really cares what you do with your family. When it comes to surviving and thriving as parents, there are no “mommy wars.” We’re all just trying to get along and raise our kids the best way we can.

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Eight Great Board Books to Read with your Child

Kate — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 23:27:01 +0000

As part of my Lenten obligation to give up stuff (I’m going through our house and trying to reduce our load of things in an effort to focus more on what’s important), I’ve been doing a sweep of bookshelves. Books are particularly hard for me to cull — I am a bibliophile and a re-reader. I also grew up with two professors of English, and I want my bookshelves to be the resource for my kids that my parents’ bookshelves were for me. Still, we had plenty of books that will never be re-read (and some that were never read in the first place — ahem, I’m looking at you, college Sociology texts!) and that I have no need to pass on to my kids. So, four banker’s boxes later, out they go. Then I tried to do the same with the Nuni’s bookshelves, and this proved even more difficult. I took the opportunity to adios a few books I considered twaddle to begin with (too many princess books), and ones that neither the Nuni nor I particularly liked (children’s Bible stories are not a fave in our house. My favorite nativity story has the actual text from Luke).

The plus side of this exercise is that I was able to rediscover some of my favorite books from her babyhood, that were read over and over again and beloved by both mother and child. Right now most of our reading together time is spent on chapter books (right now we’re enjoying The Magic Faraway Tree by Enid Blyton), and her solo reading time is spent on early readers, like Mo Willems’ excellent Elephant and Piggie Series. So it was fun to revisit these old board books (from the time when chewing was a very real possibility) that I’m looking forward to reading to Roo.

Here’s a list of my favorites:

Moo Baa La La La by Sandra Boynton

A twist on your classic “animal noises” book, this one never failed to elicit a toddler laugh. All Boynton’s books are silly and delightful, but this one, with its simple words and lilting rhythms, is my favorite.

Each Peach Pear Plum by Janet and Allan Ahlburg

This is a wonderful “I spy” book containing multiple nursery rhyme and fairy tale characters. Babies will love the rhythms and rhymes (Cinderella on the Stairs I spy the Three Bears!) and toddlers love finding the hidden characters in the detailed illustrations. This was one of my favorites from childhood, and I’ve loved sharing it with my child, too.

ABC: A Child’s First Alphabet Book by Allison Jay

There are a million and twelve ABC books out there, but this one is just BEAUTIFUL. The words are simple (A is for apple, B is for Balloon, etc.) but the illustrations, done in Jay’s signature folk art style, are gorgeous and intricate. Each page is its own “I spy” game, with B standing not only for balloon, but also for beehive, butterfly, and ball (and can you see the C cows?) The pictures also tell a charming story, making this a wonderful book for children to look at on their own, as well.

Dr. Seuss’s ABC

While we’re on the subject of ABCs, I would be remiss if I didn’t also point out Dr. Seuss’s wonderful version. There’s a reason the good doctor is beloved, and this book, full of bouncing rhythms, nonsense words, and a secret lesson in phonics, pretty much sums it up.

I Love You Stinky Face by Lisa McCourt and Cyd Moore

I was given this as a gift at my baby shower with the Nuni, and I love the message (mothers give unconditional love) and the execution (EVEN if you’re a green alien who eats bugs instead of peanut butter). My girlie girl found it hilarious, and I’m sure this little boy will be just as tickled.

The Paper Bag Princess by Robert Munsch

Every parent of a girl must own this princess tale, in which the princess in question exhibits bravery and a can-do attitude and demands respect in return. Every parent of a little boy should read it too — we could all stand to benefit from the lessons about gratitude and what’s important (hint: it’s not wearing a nice dress).

First Book of Sushi by Amy Wilson Sanger

One of my girlfriends gave this to me before I was even pregnant with the Nuni, and it quickly became a fast favorite. How could I not love this whole series (which includes Yum Yum Dim Sum and Hola, Jalapeno!)? The brightly colored collage pictures are fun, here, and the rhythms are addictive (Miso in my sippy cup, tofu in my bowl. Crab and avocado fill my California roll). What a great way to introduce tiny kids to a variety of foods!

Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown

THE classic baby book. But classic for good reason. Nothing beats the soothing rhythms of Good Night Moon for talking a child down to sleep. You’ll read it so many times you’ll have it memorized, which comes in handy when you’re driving and trying to calm an excited child in the car seat behind you. Baby hypnosis of the best kind.

Wuv, Twoo Wuv.

Kate — Fri, 02 Mar 2012 00:37:26 +0000

This is my husband. I started dating him when we were both 19. NINETEEN! Can you imagine? If my daughter came home and told me she had met the man she was going to marry at 19, I would laugh in her face. We were infants!

And yet, 9 years ago today. Getting married. No longer 19, but 24 doesn’t seem that old either, now that I think about it. Children!

Nine years, two children (one and a half, really. Or one and 7/9, to be technical), two law school graduations, five apartments, one house, two states, three cities, two dogs, six jobs, four cars, several hundred books, and several thousand meals later, here we are. Married. And now we’re parents, and homeowners, and gainfully employed, and all those other things that are markers of being grownups. And I still like him. I’d marry him again.

He supports me, he challenges me, he sometimes annoys the hell out of me, and he loves me, too. He does laundry, and housekeeping and he fixes things around the house. He is an active and involved father. He is half of what makes our lives as we live them, in all their fullness, possible. And most of all, he interests me. I like spending time with him, and seeing how his mind works. He keeps me alert. A friend of mine recently said that 90% of your happiness comes from who you marry.

I’m pretty lucky, that’s all.

Yes, You Should Seize this Day

Kate — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 22:40:04 +0000

My Facebook feed has been awash with this piece on the Huffington post by Glennon Melton entitled “Don’t Carpe Diem.” (which might tell you quite about about my Facebook friends). In it, Melton rails against well-meaning busybodies who tell her to enjoy every minute of raising her children. Instead, she claims that she doesn’t love parenting, she loves having parented. And she loves those moments out of time (usually involving sleeping children) when she is grateful for the wonder of her children.

Now, I, too, love those moments. Who doesn’t love those moments? Those moments when the sweetness of your baby, the fullness of your life, just takes your breath away. I’m not disputing that those moments are great. But the rest of this parenting gig doesn’t have to be the hard slog that Melton makes it out to be. (She likens it to climbing Mount Everest. Really? I’ve never gotten frostbite parenting.)

I think there’s been a trend, exacerbated by the internet, of “Keeping it real.” No, parenting isn’t all roses and choruses of angels. Changing diapers is never fun. Sleep deprivation is rarely fun. Trying to find childcare when your kid has the sniffles and you and your husband both have “can’t-miss” meetings at work? Not fun. But this constant complaining I see about how HARD parenting is doesn’t provide the real picture either. I say this: If you aren’t having any fun, you’re doing it wrong.

I am lucky in this way. I realized when the Nuni was VERY tiny that my most miserable mom days were ones where I was trying to get us to conform to some idea I had about parenting. I’d spend the entire day in the house, trying unsuccessfully to get her to nap, only to have my husband arrive home at 5 pm to find a wild-eyed and haggard wife and a cranky baby. On days when I packed us into the car and took us some place — any place — where we could see something together, I would be rewarded with bright-eyed interest and a sound sleep on the car ride home. When I’m trying to accomplish things, whether it’s cooking a meal or running errands or doing laundry, a 4 year old can get in the way. She wants attention, she wants action, she wants her mom. But when I dial down my expectations and actually parent her — let her help break the eggs, or choose the groceries or fold the clothes — we start doing things together, and we have a lot of fun.

I genuinely enjoy my kid. I enjoy those sleeping breathless moments, but I also enjoy the funny conversations, the stories about her school day, the play games where she is “Hermione, and mama can be Pwofessor McGonagall, and Agnes de dog can be Neville.” And I do have to remind myself to enjoy them, like when she’s been in bed 45 minutes and she’s still cycling through her repertoire of songs, making up new lyrics to old favorites. Yes, it would probably be better if she were asleep, but frankly, there’s nothing I can do about that, so I might as well sit in the next room, giggling at her made-up words. The Nuni LOVES going to movies, and her thrill at the big screen and a bucket of popcorn makes up for a mediocre movie. She LOVES shopping for shoes, and going to museums, and mixing batters. If I can let go of some of my expectations and find ways for us to be together, parenting time seems more like playtime, and less like an exercise in frustration.

Kids are fun. Do you remember being a kid, how fun it was? The games you played, the fun and excitement in even the most mundane things? Parenting a kid lets you relive all that. To put away that critical voice from time to time, and just be in the moment. You should carpe that diem. Stop what you’re doing and think about what neat people your children are. Find ways to be with them that’s fun for both of you. Things still need to get done, but with a little attitude adjustment (which, I fully admit, I’m not always capable of), sometimes the “Must do’s” become “Get to do’s” because we get to do them together.

I don’t enjoy every second of parenting, but when I look back over the past four and a half years of time spent with my kid, I think I had fun more often than not. And if I’m not stopping to notice that, I’m missing out. Carpe Diem, indeed.

Happy New Year and Roast Goose

Kate — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 23:17:16 +0000

Happy New Year! How did you spend the holiday? I’ve been laying a bit low — a pregnancy complication (now hopefully resolved) kept me off my feet (and out of the kitchen) the week before Christmas, and then sciatica (extremely painful lower back and hip pain, unfortunately not uncommon in pregnancy) hit right before New Year’s.

By the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, I was ready to get back into the kitchen.

We’ve given up on going out New Year’s Eve — spending a fortune so that we can fight traffic (remember, we live in Pasadena, which tends to be a zoo on New Year’s Eve), stay up late and drink inferior champagne with strangers sounds like less and less fun as the years pass. Instead, we cook a celebratory meal and eat it at home. With good champagne (this year replaced by Q ginger ale, which was quite good, but not, alas, champagne) and family.

And this year, I decided to roast a goose. I had never had goose before, and most of the people I surveyed hadn’t either. But I was curious, and I love duck, which I figured was similar, so I thought I’d spend the exorbitant money for a special New Year’s Eve dinner. I used a Julia Child recipe similar to this one

It turned out pretty well.

Goose turned out to be a lot like duck, but with darker meat, a stronger flavor, and more fat. The skin is crisp, the meat was flavorful and tender. We all enjoyed it (even the Nuni) but because it’s so rich, we ate small portions. We ate our fill, and there was enough goose for probably 3 more adults. (My mother is turning it into cassoulet).

I decided to cook it using Julia Child’s method, which was really a steam, followed by a braise, followed by a brief roast. The result was that most of the fat was rendered out (and eagerly collected by me.) Some is safely in my refrigerator, but some was siphoned off to make the most glorious roasted potatoes imaginable. The goose was good, but the potatoes were UNBELIEVABLE. It’s worth roasting a goose just to get the fat to roast potatoes in.

(Recipe here.)

We set the table with our wedding china,

and dressed for the occasion.

Agnes of Dog must have some retriever in her, because the scent of roasting water fowl made her want to join the party more than usual.

We ate shrimp and celery remoulade (my dad’s special recipe — we all miss him especially right now), goose, potatoes and salad, and chocolate mousse for dessert. We toasted East Coast New Year’s, and then it was off to bed.

East Coast New Year’s is a perk of living in California.

The next morning we weren’t overtired, or hung over (I suppose I can attribute that to the ginger ale). We woke up to a glorious day (Pasadena always puts on a show for the Rose Parade. Makes the tourists want to move here), went to church, and then ate a lucky New Year’s Day brunch out on the patio. (It was 75 degrees and sunny).

Greens (symbolizing prosperity – that’s Tuscan kale, sauteed in olive oil and garlic), poached eggs on toast, Irish Bacon (pork is lucky because pigs move forward), and tiny yellow tomatoes that looked like gold coins or sunshine. (Nothing says yellow tomatoes are lucky, but look at them — how could they not be?)
We spent the rest of the day being low key, and doing things we hope to do in the coming year — read, spend family time – we even had a date night.

I hope 2012 brings you and yours luck, prosperity and happiness. Happy New Year.

Dinner with Friends and Serve by American Express {Sponsored Post}

Kate — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 01:30:20 +0000

This post is sponsored by Serve from American Express. Sign up for Serve and receive $10 credit towards your first use. Comment below within the next 7 days for your chance to win an extra $100 credit to your account!

When I first moved to L.A. 6 years ago, I left my group of girlfriends behind in New York. I needed some friends, stat, so I joined a book club. Six years later, these ladies have become my group. We’ve seen each other through weddings, divorces, childbirth, house fires. We meet every six weeks or so at each other’s houses, to eat snacks, drink wine, and even, occasionally, discuss a book. The size of our groups waxes and wanes — people leave the area, or get busy. People have other commitments, or go on vacation. But once a year we splurge and hit the town — no reading obligations, no hosting obligations. Just our sparkly shoes and the company of good friends at a great holiday dinner. That meeting is always the best attended of the year. These women have become such an important part of my life, I wanted to give you glimpse.

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The Gift Giver’s Guide to Scotch Whisky

Kate — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 12:52:44 +0000

It’s that time of year. Yes, peace and love and joy and family and cookies and all that, but also the time of year when you find yourself looking for gifts for a variety of people. People like your clients, your boss, your brother in law, your boyfriend’s dad.* In times like these, the eager giver turns to Scotch Whisky (note the lack of an “e.” If you’re drinking whiskey, you’re in the wrong country). Scotch is a good gift — it’s expensive enough to convey value, but not so expensive it will bankrupt you. It’s sophisticated, a little exotic, implies that you know a lot about the finer things in life. The question becomes what scotch to buy. This guide will give you a little overview of how to choose a nice bottle of scotch if you are not a scotch connoisseur, as well as discuss it reasonably intelligently with the giftee.

*Although I know many women who drink scotch, I know of no woman who has ever received a bottle of scotch as a gift. I, for one, would much prefer to receive a nice bottle of scotch than either a scented candle or bath products.
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Thankful

Kate — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 16:24:32 +0000

It’s hard to deny that 2011 has been a pretty shit year for my family. We lost my dad in January, our dog in March, and my grandmother just this past September. The Nuni and I were hit by a truck in April (fortunately, we were both OK, but our car was totaled). So it’s nice to have a day set aside for reflecting on what we have to be grateful for.

I spent most of the day in the kitchen (making spiced cranberry sauce, sweet potato gratin, kale with cream, pancetta and walnuts, buttermilk spice pie and chocolate pie. This was added to turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, creamed green beans, roasted brussels sprouts, homemade rosemary rolls, sage stuffing, fennel apple stuffing and jello salad provided by relatives for our feast), which is a great place to reflect on my blessings. I am lucky to have a comfortable house in a beautiful town, a job that allows me to pay for said house and said food, a very loving dog to clean up any food I drop on the floor, and a blog that gives me a creative outlet and even occasionally allows me to be helpful.

But most of all I am thankful for my family. I am blessed to have a loving and close extended family (who are great cooks!) a close friendship with my mother who lives nearby, a loving and helpful and funny husband who is still my best friend and favorite adult after 13 years together, and a daughter who daily delights, amuses, and surprises me.

And I am also thankful that in May, if all goes according to plan, that family will be expanded by one. This is Roo. He or she is currently approximately the size of a large lemon, and moves just like the Nuni does. You may have noticed that I’ve been a little quiet lately — I’ve been battling morning and evening sickness and exhaustion, but we seem to be past the worst of that (knock on wood) and I’m thrilled to share this with all of you.

Happy Thanksgiving indeed.

Last Minute Tips on Hosting Thanksgiving

Kate — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 20:02:45 +0000

OK. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Your turkey is brining, your pies are baking. It’s too early to cook the sweet potatoes, blanch the green beans, or roast the turkey. So we have time to cozy up for a nice chat.

The first Thanksgiving I ever cooked without the August wisdom of my mother and aunts was my junior year in college. I was studying abroad in London, and our study abroad program had been kind enough to purchase the fixings for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner and offer to host it at the center where we took classes (which was a gorgeous Georgian terrace house with a huge kitchen). My roommate and I, filled with the cockiness of youth, volunteered to host. Then the requests started. “We’re having mashed potatoes, right? It’s not Thanksgiving without mashed potatoes.” “My family always had roasted potatoes.” (Dramatic sigh) “It’s hard to be so far away from family on Thanksgiving.” “What do you mean you can’t find sweet potatoes in London?” (It was true — things that proved difficult to make in London in 1998 included sweet potatoes with marshmallows, cornbread, and cranberry sauce.) Even the Brits, who by all rights should have had no skin in the game — offered an opinion. “We always wrap our turkey in bacon.” “What do you mean you don’t know what parsnips are? You have to have parsnips with turkey!”

Eventually we shooed them out of the kitchen, opened (several) bottles of wine, roasted the turkey (sans bacon), the potatoes AND the parsnips, mashed potatoes as well, and even managed to get marshmallows and sweet potatoes kindly brought over by my roommate’s parents who visited the week before Thanksgiving. Dinner was a raging success (if I do say so myself), but it’s possible that I had had enough wine that I’m not exactly remembering correctly. There are a couple of photos from that dinner, including one of my then-boyfriend, now husband (wearing what appears to be an undershirt, which he would never get away with now), and we are DEFINITELY a few sheets to the wind.

It was a learning experience, though. Thanks to that Thanksgiving, and a few more I picked up over many years of Thanksgivings, here are some tips I have on hosting Thanksgiving.

Overbuy on the wine. Family gatherings can be seriously fraught. Tempers run high, people get stressed. Things are said. One year my father in law came to our family Thanksgiving and my grandmother had told our whole family his name was Bruce. Which it is not. Wine is a social lubricant. If your family doesn’t drink, well, spike the punch. Thanksgiving is an EMERGENCY. Just watch Uncle Mort’s glass — there’s just enough wine to make everyone happy and relaxed, and then there’s too much wine. Have some sparkling water or juice to offer as a chaser.

You can’t please everyone. Most people have a VERY SPECIFIC IDEA of what Thanksgiving dinner looks like. I believe that Thanksgiving dinners should be potluck — make it your guest’s problem. If your friend John NEEDS to have green bean casserole on Thanksgiving, tell him to bring it. Anyone can make Green Bean Casserole. Seriously.

Turn off the football. At least for dinner. That’s what DVR is for, right? We as Americans are constantly distracted. There should be ONE meal a year where everyone sits down and focuses on what they’re eating and who they’re eating it with.

Seating Charts are Lame. One year we went to my husband’s family for Thanksgiving, and we were seated at the kids’ table. With the kids of some friends of theirs. We were 25. We were seated with an 8 year old and a 10 year old we had never met before. Rule of thumb: If you are paying taxes, you do not have to sit at the kids’ table. If there are only 2 kids, make their parents sit with them, instead of forcing them on strangers. Or you know, let people sit where they want. I know! A novel concept in this day and age.

Nobody cares about the food. I mean, I care about the food, because I like to cook, and I like to eat good food, but honestly, once you’re sitting down, with the warm glow of wine and family, nobody’s treating this like a restaurant meal. Nobody really cares if the turkey’s a touch on the dry side, the cranberry sauce is too tart, the pie crust isn’t flaky enough. This holiday isn’t really about food — food is just an excuse. It’s a holiday about gathering together and being thankful to have people to gather with. To take a day to think about our blessings, to celebrate our luck. Food is what it always is — the glue that binds people together – the universal experience. The things you remember about Thanksgiving aren’t that year Auntie Suzi made the mincemeat pie (although my Auntie Suzi makes a great mincemeat pie), but the experiences and the people you share them with. The funny stories, the awkward seating arrangements, the holidays in a foreign land. Relax, and be thankful.