I had a lovely thanksgiving dinner today. Just me, Chef Choo and two neighbors, discussing foodie gossip and sipping wine over acorn squash soup and roast duck with fig demiglace.We made a few side dishes, including an roasted butternut squash soup with vanilla creme fraiche and sweet potato bacon hash with browned sage butter. Dessert was an amazing homemade buttermilk lavender granita, topped with a sprinkling of cayenne pepper.
It's 12.45am now. The dishes have been washed and I'm bundled up beneath the comforter. The grad school essays await, but I can afford a wee bit of procrastination. I can hear Chef Choo's typing from the study-- he's probably working on Matlab while sneaking glances at espn.com.
I skimmed the latest reports on the Mumbai attacks. It's horribly heartbreaking-- the blood on the floor of the train station, the rudely interrupted wedding party, the family trip that was never meant to be.
It could happen here. It could happen anywhere.
I wonder for what, and to whom, would they give thanks for?
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