Champ and I spent a very low-key, casual Thanksgiving at daughter Liz and Brendan’s house. I lucked out: I got to hold baby Thomas and watch the Purina National Dog Show on TV while Brendan and Liz did all the cooking. Sweet deal if you ask me.
Dear friend Vicki came too, and when she arrived I had to chuckle. We’ve known each other since two days after I first arrived in Kansas City more than 30 years ago and although she and I don’t regularly dress alike, just take a gander at our Thanksgiving attire. Even Whitman the poodle was perplexed — which is which?
Thank heavens Thanksgiving is only one day — Brendan stirred up roast turkey with truffle butter; mashed potatoes with sour cream and goat cheese; sweet potatoes with maple syrup and bourbon. Liz’s stuffing had everything but the kitchen sink in it — big chunks of hearth bread; sausage; nuts; dried cranberries; delicious. Oh yes, roasted brussels sprouts appeared too but let’s face it, they almost didn’t count.
One day is indeed a good thing. And everything in moderation. I used to hate that word but with age I’ve come to appreciate its virtues. My mantra — one indulgent meal won’t make you fat — pigging out every day most likely will.
It’s not what we eat between Thanksgiving and Christmas that matters; it’s what we eat between Christmas and Thanksgiving.