Friday, November 24, 2017


As usual, Facebook was filled with people gratefully digging into turkey, gloating over their feast, and posting food porn pictures of the culinary achievements of their wife or husband or mom or crazy uncle with the deepfat fryer mounted on a concrete plinth behind his garage.
Plus all the side dishes that traditionally go along with the bird: biscuits, gravy, corn, succotash, string bean casserole, sweet potatoes, stuffing, corn bread, and cranberry goo. Multiple pies.

Food photos all over the place. And heartfelt expressions of warmth, good cheer, happy family hoo-hah, sweetness everybody, and festive spirit.

Except for Stephan Pastis. Who as usual said it best.

As some of you know, I always bah humbug the holiday, seeing as the last real Thanksgiving I had was years ago before I moved to San Francisco.

Yesterday I had potstickers for lunch, tzeet gwa with bacon and peppers over rice stick noodle for dinner. The potstickers were purchased in Chinatown. Dinner I cooked at home.

Three different hot sauces.

My apartment mate went over to the house of one of her brothers, where they all did the usual thing.

The best part of the day was smoking a pipe twice in Chinatown while wandering around, and one on the way back, before dinner.
And also afterwards.

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