Myth Happens

November the 26th as culturally sanctioned excuse for random culinary experimentation: works for me. The cider-braised pears, the traditional stuffing with sage, apples, and cherries, the chorizo and cornbread stuffing, and the sweet potatoes with chipotle and adobo are all through their first stages and awaiting tomorrow's finalization; the onions for the Zwiebelkuchen are cooking down, and I am about to embark upon a pumpkin flan. I beta-tested an apple pie with cardamom the night before last. I'm still deciding whether nobody but me would eat a mango pomegranate guacamole for Thanksgiving. Other objects of the menu are not my department. I had vaguely hoped not to be still cooking by midnight, but I lost most of this afternoon to an unexpected doctor's visit, and possibly this is standard practice, anyway. Last year I just made a savory pie.

I wish I could think of something aesthetic to do with all the turkey vertebrae in the right-hand side of the sink.