I'm thankful for delicious food. Is the end of the Thanksgiving portion of this post.
The other (still food-related) portions:
Something magic I just found: (white) balsamic+olive oil+garlic+cabbage might be the most delicious thing I've eaten this week. I'm roasting it which I'm sure will also be delicious, but I can't imagine it significantly improving the flavor. Also one of the most stinky foods I can imagine.
Speaking of which, I'm reading The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon who I love. The premise is fantastic: apparently (in real life) after WWII there was a short-lived proposal to allow misplaced Jews to relocated to the Alaska territory. The novel is set in a world where this happened. Anyway, there's this scene in a shady bar in the morning (outside of operating hours) where the two main guys are talking over a table of "pickled tomatoes and cucumbers, a basket of poppy-seed rolls, and a bowl of sour cream." Why do I love this so much? There's this line: "Berko reaches for one of the pickled cucumbers, shaking off the peppercorns and cloves that stud its freckled green skin. He crunches it between his teeth and frowns happily.
'It takes a sour woman to make a good pickle.'"
Moral of the story? #1 Michael Chabon, I love you. #2 I need to find my way back to the motherland. My mouth is watering.
And food thing #2. Food blogs. I generally don't love as much as I'd like. Because they're either too simple and I'm insulted or they're too complicated and I'm incredulous--"Yes, of course you had leftover exotic grain that you roasted with organic farmer's market vegetable into something impossibly beautiful and lowfat in your gorgeous seaside kitchen." Blah blah I'm jealous of your life. But I've found one that is just perfect: complicated enough to be interesting, with an engaging voice, good but not ostentatious photography. And the writer lives in Chicago which means we're practically neighbors.