I had a nice Thanksgiving and hope you did as well.  Okay, fine, nice is a noncommittal word and we all know it.

It’s just that for reasons I can’t quite figure, family dinners seem to become unnecessarily complicated and you rarely end up eating hot food.  The menu (being Thanksgiving) was plentiful, but I don’t see it as complex, and we were a reasonable eighteen people (in a house with room for eighteen); despite that, it got all harried and from the time we began sitting down to the time I had a fork in my mouth most everything was tepid.

It doesn’t really matter.  (So why did you bring it up?)  I don’t know.  Thanksgiving was never my favorite holiday so I don’t suffer any disappointment if it goes less than smooth, I’m just reporting on how the holiday was, and that’s part of how it was.

It was a perfectly pleasant day: I made lots of pies and four gallons of instant mashed potatoes for the community dinner, I got into a pair of pants I have not been able to in a while (just barely, but the button was done up and that counts), and nobody called anybody anything nasty (and meant it).

We played a card game that I forget the name to, but one I managed to learn in about five minutes so I will happily play again (I was never good at games of most any kind, particularly those where you need to know what others are doing in addition to what you are).

My pecan pie was a disaster—treacle, despite being an invert sugar like corn syrup, does not cook in the same way corn syrup does.  Someone suggested an alternative (malted barley syrup) if I want to give a pre-Karo pecan pie a try. I may give it a shot, but I’ll practice with peanuts which are 25% the price of pecans.

My mincemeat tasted excellent (if you are into it) but the consistency is different from a mincemeat made with actual animal products.  I would still do it again if getting suet meant going to a butcher shop that is not conveniently located.

The bread pudding baked in a pumpkin was very good.  Just a few tweaks to the original recipe and it was dessert, and one that anybody who can yank guts from a pumpkin can manage.  I will post the recipe soon.

I think that covers that.

I bought this.  I purchased the Halloween version of Beau and hung him on top of the mirror that is over the mantle.  It looked naked without him so I had to get the Christmas variation.  The artist better figure out how to do him up for St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Forth of July, etc., or I am going to suffer withdrawals.  She has a blog if you are interested in seeing what she is working on aside from the things in her etsy shop. 

Speaking of art, Ginger Snaps sent me an early birthday present (Monday, so there’s still time to buy me a robot vacuum or real estate of most any kind).  It’s the third in a series of black cats she has made.  The pictures that follow were taken tonight in crappy light, but I couldn’t wait until morning to show them off. 

She is nice to continue to do this, even if it’s partly because when she sent me the first one I not-at-all subtly said something like “I can’t wait to see what she does next time.”   Subtlety does not get you gifts.  

I think I am coming down with something but it won’t make up its mind.  I don’t like being unwell (who does?), but if I am going to be, let’s just get it over and done with now.

I bought a Barrel of Monkeys. I think I am going to hang them on the Christmas tree.   I also bought some children’s antique ice skates for the same purpose.  I got them for $5 at a pre-holiday clearance which I figured was pretty good.  When I got them home I found another price tag underneath marked $45.  No wonder they didn’t sell.

That’s all for now.  I need to squirt salt water up my nose.

I’ve noticed a few people have recently posted the Proust Meme on their blogs.  (I actually looked up meme and it turns out most of us are using the word wrong (not the point, but worth mentioning since this blog is more about education that entertainment).)

I think it’s odd because I’m pretty sure most people don’t actually like filling them out.  People who think they are endlessly fascinating and that everyone else also thinks that probably enjoy it, and people interested in self-discovery (which can be dangerous) probably enjoy it, but most of us aren’t them.

So, I’ll answer some questions honestly, some with sarcasm and/or wit, and some I will refuse to answer.  And you have stopped reading by now so it makes no difference anyway.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
I’m not sure I believe in perfect happiness. I think if you expect perfection you will never be happy. Holy crap! If someone else said that I’d think they were pretty bright.

What is your greatest fear?
I fear all sorts of stuff, but death is the big one. I know it is inevitable, but that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Not being able to convince myself to do something I know damn well I ought to do.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Cruelty, which takes many forms.

Which living person do you most admire?
I have been sitting here for five minutes on this one. It’s not that I don’t admire anyone, it’s more that I admire different people for different things. I could say I admire Jimmy Carter who went from being a president who meant well but didn’t do much to becoming a citizen who has done quite a lot, but I could just as easily say I admire my friend Martha who teaches students who often do not want to be taught, tries to see the good in everyone, but still has a wicked sense of humor.

What is your greatest extravagance?
I pay $15 a year so I can post as many pictures to this blog as I want. And I buy real Parmigiano. And I buy insoles whether they are on sale or not, and I don’t even do that with underwear.

What is your current state of mind?
I don’t know.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Rectitude. I think what passes for rectitude is often a refusal to see other peoples’ choices as viable. Plus rectitude sounds like a compound word for a rectum with an attitude. I don’t like rectums with attitude.

On what occasion do you lie?
When necessary.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?
My skin. It’s a disaster.

Which living person do you most despise?
There are several people who call themselves journalists but are really just self-loathing monsters taking it out on the world—these people I despise.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
Humor, I suppose.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Again, humor.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
“It seems to me,” “total crap,” and “what’s that word that I can’t think of?”

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Dexter (the cat whose name is the address for this blog) may well have been.

When and where were you happiest?
Happiest moments are the strangest things; you think they will be the big events but often they are just a group of friends in a car singing (badly) “Seasons in the Sun,” or a walk all by yourself through Central Park, or seeing a cat and dog napping together under a tree. Insignificant can be glorious.

Which talent would you most like to have?
I would like to be able to sing, really well.  Better than that even.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I cannot decide which change would most improve my life so I am skipping this one.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
I’m hoping that is still to come.

If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?
I’d like to be a cat, but one whose owner is as accommodating as I am.

Where would you most like to live?
I’d like to live in a big city with excellent public transportation, lots of parks, and restaurants that serve free meals to people with my name.

What is your most treasured possession?
I cannot possibly choose.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
If we are talking about personal misery, I would assume it would be having a child die before you do.

What is your favorite occupation?
This is an odd question.  My favorite occupation is city supervisor.

What is your most marked characteristic?
You would have to ask someone else since I have no idea what is characteristic of me.  Or maybe I prefer not to know.  Either way . . . 

What do you most value in your friends?
Simply that they are.

Who are your favorite writers?
Ruth Reichl, Dr. Seuss, Elizabeth Peters, and others that generally do not end up on these lists.  Margaret Maron is good, too. 

Who is your hero of fiction?
Dr. Walter Peabody (Ramses) Emerson, no question.  I don’t think he exists too much outside of fiction, but it’s nice to think he might.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
This is not something I ever gave a lot of thought, and I’m going to keep it that way.

Who are your heroes in real life?
People who keep trying.

What are your favorite names?
I like a lot of names and since it is 11:30 I haven’t got the time to start choosing which to list.

What is it that you most dislike?
The smell of a leather goods store and/or shrimp cooking (if I walked into a leather shop where someone was making kung pao shrimp I would quite possibly pass out (and no, that is not an exaggeration, which means this is probably more of an aversion than a dislike)).

What is your greatest regret?
None of your concern.

How would you like to die?
I want warning so I can do the cooking for my own funeral. I will not permit deli trays and desserts from Costco. Beyond that, I’d like to die knowing that I did something with at least some longevity.

What is your motto?
I do not have a motto, and I see no reason to start now.

. . . Tiny Tim.

I thought it was about time I posted a picture of Tim— Tigger’s baby daddy, and very nearly Slim’s.

His eyes don’t always glow like that; that was my fault.  He is a little bit overweight and he has one foot that doesn’t function, but I guess the chubby gimp is in this year because he seems to have a more active sex life than most people I know.  

Now that I own a cat trap of my very own I am going to try to capture him so he can get a cat vasectomy.  I’d also like to have someone look at that foot and determine if whatever is wrong can be fixed for less than a zillion dollars.  If not, there is a twice-a-year clinic where volunteer vets not only do spays and neuters, but surgery and other forms of medical treatment for feral cats.  I think they ask for a $20 donation. 

And this is Ginger Rogers. 

She is in my house in this photo but don’t think she has moved in.  She was being especially adventurous at the time.  She is not ready for human contact  yet.  As far as that goes, none of the cats who live here (including Figaro) want me touching them either.  It’s odd, Figaro got mad at me for letting the kittens move in, but despite his now being friends with them, he still pretty much despises me.  He just no longer remembers why he despises me.  (I had relatives who pulled that kind of crap with each other.)

Anyway, I am trying to get Ginger Rogers (who I am calling Ginger Rogers rather than just Ginger because it’s quirky to the point of being annoying and I’ve decided that’s going to be my new thing) to trust me, then I will try to move her in with my parents because I think their Monet might like a kitten, whatever my father may think of it.

I was reading my blog stats again, mainly the search engine terms that bring people my way.  Before I get to all the weird sex things, I want to bring up this one: “enid fraser ramses.”

Good for you!  I think a slew of people who read that book had no idea they had an affair until it was mentioned years later. Mertz was incredibly subtle and crafty when she wrote that last scene in which Amelia reads the letter.  Same thing when Ramses tells her (without telling her) what went on in some of those brothels.  You know she got letters over that.  Idiots.

Moving on . . .

cross dressing cat boy . . . Seriously?

create your own catboy . . . It takes years of hard work, bad clothing choices, and medication.

can you eat shepherd’s pie with gallstones . . . I generally serve a chutney alongside; fruit and cheese after.

piss whiskers . . . I like you.

is there a cat boy . . . Yes.  There are several, and I am the one that’s me.

arab catboy sex . . . I get this one at least once a month and still nobody will tell me what it means.

british gray cat . . . I have no clever response, but I like that someone was searching for this.

julie london emergency . . . You won’t believe it, but I watched on episode on Netflix only 2 days ago.

mano felciano . . . Buy a ticket.  He’s worth it.

I thought it was important to just get it out there.  I’m out of canned food and Ginger Rogers wanted something besides dry food so I figured a fried egg and piece of challah would fit the bill.  She enjoyed it very much.  Monty liked fried eggs (he preferred poached) and something told me Ginger would too.  Figaro gave me a look and ran upstairs to pout.

I offered him an egg too, but he gave me a “No, I wasn’t really hungry anyway” look and turned his back to me.

When I came home this afternoon there were raccoon prints all over the dining and living room floors.  I thought it was important to just get this out there, too.  I had to run to the store and the cats would not make up their minds who was staying in and who was going out so I said the hell with it and left the back door open. 

It had occurred to me that someone could come in and steal my laptop and artwork, but a raccoon helping himself to Iams at four in the afternoon didn’t enter my mind.  I think one of the cats scared it off because the bowl was still half full and raccoons aren’t any better at moderation than I am.

I couldn’t make this crap up—right now, there is a skunk on the patio eating a leftover chunk of challah.  Mazel Tov, Pepé.

I am having hot chocolate.  I use Mexican hot chocolate (those disks you have to break apart with an ice pick), and add a few drops of rose water and some ground ancho chili.  I got the idea from a place in Oakland called Bittersweet.  That reminds me, if you are ever in the Rockridge section of Oakland, go to Who’s Your Betty and Bella Vita Home. 

They are small businesses that could use more customers; Who’s Your Betty is a store that began as a tribute to a woman who died of cancer and would have not been too keen on a pink ribbon.  I got my mom a pair of earrings in the shape of owls there.  Where else are you going to find owl earrings? 

I started my Thanksgiving preparations.  I cut a twelve-pound pumpkin into chunks, roasted it, pureed it, then let it drain in a colander to get rid of the excess water.  I don’t really like pumpkin pie, but it amuses me to spend a lot of time cooking something I have no interest in eating (except shrimp, because even the smell . . . ).

My grandmother and great-grandmother used canned pumpkin;  I have no idea if anyone in my family used anything but.  For all I know the pilgrims used canned pumpkin (I watched Colonial House on PBS, but they never went into that).  I have enough of the puree to make more pies than I will, so I’ll freeze a portion of it for use in other things.

I’m making four pumpkin pies and four coconut pies for a community center dinner, along with instant mashed potatoes.  Making mashed potatoes from scratch for a thousand is not realistic, but adding large amounts of butter and half & half to the instant potatoes I am in charge of is.  I tried them last year.  You bring the spoon to your face and you know just by the smell, but the butter and cream really helped.

For my own Thanksgiving, I am making the dressing (the Victorians changed the name from stuffing because it sounded too vulgar), dinner rolls, cranberry sauce, and some desserts.

I was told to bring an extra dessert so I’m bringing three.  Two years ago something bad happened with regard to dessert and I will never again take any chances.   I’m making pecan pie and I am doing it the way I think it used to be done.  I figured the pie was older than the commercial corn syrup most often used in it so I started Googling; I found it goes back to at least the 1800s (French cooks in Louisiana introduced it) when they most likely used golden syrup or treacle.  I have treacle!

I’ll report back on that, as well as my homemade mincemeat, and the bread pudding baked within a pumpkin.  I decided to skip sweet potato pie for Thanksgiving, but I might make it for my birthday.

The rolls will be all-purpose American dinner rolls (Parker House-ish, I suppose) and another roll that has a brioche-like texture but uses pureed pumpkin in place of most of the eggs and milk.  I made it once years ago, but can’t remember what I thought of it. 

You know, I had several things unrelated to food or animals I was going to talk about, but I can’t recall what any of them were.

Except one.  I saw the news today and they were going on about Sarah Palin’s new book.  I’m sure someone has made this observation before, but if I were Peggy Hill, I would sue Palin’s ass for stealing my signature look.  All Palin did was make it more cartoon-ish.

You must—at least once—make the soup I did tonight.

Picture 16th-century Italy, an elaborate banquet set with a dozen courses—most of which contain multiple dishes;  joints of roasted meats served alongside sweetened pastas, domed pies filled with stuffed pastas, meat ragus and custards, and in between some of those courses, soups and sweets to provide contrast and relief to the heavier dishes.

You could also picture a cookie cutter townhouse in California where the sheet vinyl in the dining room was installed wrong and has turned pink as a result but that would not be as much fun.

In either locale, the soup was worthy of note.  It is simplicity itself, a handful of ingredients, but all of them pretty spiffy.  You begin with homemade stock (I think it has to be in this case) which you infuse with almonds, garlic, pepper and cinnamon.  It is then strained, heated, salt and lemon juice added to taste, followed by a sprinkling of tiny strips of prosciutto and grated Parmigiano as it is served.

That is it.  The flavor haunts you, or maybe it teases you.  Either way, you know it is much more than broth with a sprinkling of cheese, but you cannot pin down all of it at once.  Amazing way to start a meal.

PS.  For those inclined to say it would be easier to come here for dinner, I can assure you that it is easier to make broth than it is to get through an airport these days.

I have introduced cocktails to Thanksgiving.  Maybe your family’s Thanksgiving was already familiar with them, but mine was not.  My family, I regret to say, fit the stereotype of a sitcom family Thanksgiving: two people cook for days, twenty people eat three plate-fulls during halftime and barely pause to notice the cook with a second-degree gravy burn.

I have tried to slow the pace by bringing something to nibble on while doing the last of the cooking, along with something to wash it down.  I was asked for suggestions for this very thing (Jenny Robin wants to get her family drunk this year (I think it’s cute that she has to make an effort to do so)), so here are a few of my favorites.

Maybe this sounds odd or maybe it makes perfect sense, but I think of whiskey, bourbon and rye when I think of fall cocktails.  I regard them as the stews and soups of the liquor world—warming, comforting, and not too assertive, so my suggestions for Thanksgiving drinks are mostly whiskey-based.

By the way, I like smallish drinks so that I am done with them before they become warmed from my holding them.

The Sazerac
I read that this very old drink, which is now popular again, is one of the trendiest drinks around.  Despite that, it is one of my favorites and I will continue drink it long after it has ceased to be fashionable. The Peychaud bitters give it a bittersweet flavor and a pink-ish, orange-ish hue that I enjoy gazing at.

2 ounces Wild Turkey 101 rye whiskey (the high alcohol content keeps the sweetness in check)
1/2 ounce simple syrup, recipe follows
5 to 7 dashes Peychaud bitters, or orange bitters, Angostura bitters, as per availability
Herbsaint liqueur, Absinthe, or other liqueur with anise as it’s dominant flavor
Piece of lemon zest
A champagne saucer or coup

Put first three ingredients in an ice-filled glass and stir for 30 seconds. In a chilled coup glass, add 3 dashes of the Herbsaint and spin around to coat the glass, dump excess. Strain rye mixture into glass and twist the lemon rind over the glass and drop in.

Simple syrup- combine 2 parts water to 1 part sugar in a saucepan (or a bowl in the microwave) and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer 5 minutes. The syrup will keep in the refrigerator for months.

Plymouth Rocks
I invented this, but never took notes so the quantities are kind of loose. This will make 6 cocktails.

3/4 cup Wild Turkey rye whiskey or Maker’s Mark bourbon
1/4 cup Cointreau or Grand Mariner
The juice of half an orange
A few dashes of bitters
Sparkling apple cider

Combine the first four ingredients over ice and stir for 30 seconds. Strain into champagne saucers or martini glasses and top each with the sparkling cider, to taste. Some people liked just a splash while others used almost equal parts making it a drink they could enjoy several times over.

Whiskey Sour
This always-appropriate drink is more often than not made with bottled sweet and sour mix. Squeezing a lemon is not nearly as taxing as some would have you believe, so do that instead. It used to be made with an egg white but for a single drink I omit it since it’s hard to measure a teaspoon of egg white. If you are making four or more drinks at once much it’s easier and it creates a nice froth on top.

The above photo came from this website where a recipe for whiskey sour better sounding than mine can be found.

2 ounces whiskey, bourbon, etc.
1 ounce each (or to taste) lemon juice and simple syrup
1 teaspoon egg white

Shake the ingredients over ice and strain into a highball glass.

If you use the egg, shake it for 30 seconds without the ice, add the ice and shake again—this results in the best froth on top since the ice makes it harder to dissolve the egg.

And finally, for those who like vodka . . .

Cape Cod

Combine 4 ounces cranberry juice with 2 ounces vodka over ice in a glass and garnish with a lime wedge.

You can vary this drink by using an infused vodka or a splash of ginger syrup (recipe found on my food blog) with some lime juice to balance the sweetness. 

That mention of ginger made me think of another drink: the Daedalus.  Stir Irish whiskey, some ginger syrup and several dashes bitters over ice, strain into cocktail glass and garnish with a lemon twist.  It was invented by a man who got hit by a Guinness truck making its morning delivery. 

This is not fascinating in the least, but I haven’t written anything since Sunday so I thought I ought to.

I made meat stock this week (chicken leg quarters, beef short ribs, and duck wings) and enough pastry for one double-crust pie and two single-crust pies.  I think there will be about twenty of us on Thanksgiving.  Someone will make pumpkin pie and I think there will be an apple pie as well, so if I bring three pies (mince, sweet potato and pecan) and a pumpkin stuffed with bread pudding I should have enough dessert leftover to eat for breakfast for three days (assuming I eat a two-course dessert breakfast (and I will)).

I made stock and pastry, but I only cooked dinner three times this week (I think . . . Matzo Brei one night, meatloaf and mashed potatoes another, and something so memorable I can’t think of it).   I like making the ingredients required to cook more than the actual cooking.

Oh, that reminds me.  I have always pushed using waxy potatoes for mashed potatoes since russets don’t have a lot of taste, but I got russets at the farmers market this weekend and it was a revelation.  The problem heretofore was in my using potatoes from a grocery store rather than hitch hiking to the nearest farm. 

Russets, when dug from the dirt only a few days prior to use, make kick-ass mashed potatoes.   By the way, use a hand-held potato masher and just beat the hell out of them; it works much better than an electric mixer which incorporates too much air.

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I never spend more than three minutes doing anything to my hair.  It does what it wants and I see no point in arguing with it.

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I’ve gone an entire month without turning on the television.  As a result,  I have no idea what anyone is talking about.  I discovered that television was my only source of news, popular culture and world affairs, and I no longer know anything about any of them.  

For all I know, Jon and Kate are on now the subject of a Broadway musical titled “Just Go Away”, Glenn Beck and Bill O’Reilly consummated their relationship and are going to China to adopt a baby girl, and Oprah bought Canada.

I figure there are all sorts things I know about that other people are completely ignorant of, it’s just that more people agree that the things I don’t know are actually those I should.  I’m sure I’ll change my mind about this at some point, but for the moment I am enjoying  the fact that I don’t wake up in the middle of the night thinking about health care reform, war, and whomever Donald Trump is currently trashing publicly.

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Someone I vaguely knew jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge.  The neighbor of a relative, someone I met half a dozen times.  I knew he was not the most balanced guy in town, but I didn’t realize the extent of it.  When I heard he’d killed himself I remembered he served in the Persian Gulf and wondered what part that might have played in it.

Yesterday—Veterans Day, I kept thinking of him and continued to wonder.

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In lighter news, as of today, my mother is 68.  I had her over for a cup of tea and gave her one of her gifts; the rest I will give her on Sunday when I cook dinner for her.   I have a general idea of the menu but it’s after eleven so I better not go into too much detail:  first course- something to do with that broth I made, second course- something to do with the 2-pound pumpkin on the counter, third course- something to do with a piece of meat, forth course- swanky-ass cheese and some fruit, and finally, something you can serve with a cup of tea.  

That’s all; I have to floss.

This evening I de-Halloween’d my house.  It was so sweetly creepy but seasonal decorations are called that for a reason.  Nevermind the percentage of people who no longer see a need to take down their Christmas lights (“I don’t turn them on until November” is not a valid explanation). 

It’s like flip-flops—the rules have changed.   Be that as it may, I still say flip-flops in winter is white trashier than anything the white trash I grew up with would have done. 

I have some pumpkins, pomegranates, and persimmons sitting here and there so my house is not entirely back to its normal appearance, and by the time I get around to taking those down it will be time for the next seasons decor.   The mall has been decorated for Christmas since two days before Halloween.

I know they have to start early to sell us all that crap we don’t need, but I have noticed over the past few years (I made a concerted effort to study this) that people seem to be taking their cues from the retail industry: the earlier my mall puts out its decorations, the earlier my neighbors do.

I figure I just have to learn to ignore it.   But it’s not easy when it’s 75 degrees out and someone in flip-flops is mowing their lawn around an inflatable snowman.

I cooked French toast this morning and should have soaked it longer.  It was good, but it could have been a bit more custard-y.  I forgot just how much liquid brioche can absorb and still maintain its texture.   My plum jam went over well so I will give some as gifts this year along with the chili sauce and apricot jam I already planned to.

Aside from six or seven people, I don’t buy gifts anymore.  I give food gifts to most of my family, and friends mostly just get a card and my very best wishes.  I’m glad.  Some of the longest hold-outs were people who would ask me what I wanted and then not buy it.  I don’t think adults should ask for specific gifts as a rule, but if someone directly asks you I think you can respond.  Still not sure why they ask in the first place if they plan to get you a gift card (at a store that does not sell what you asked for).

Speaking of the winter holidays, I started reading a Photoshop Elements tutorial so I can figure out how to use different layers and apply “brushes” and make my own original designs.  I haven’t the vaguest idea what any of it meant.  I am not exaggerating even a little.  I still have a picture of a cat standing on his head. 

If anyone wants to buy barely used Elements software let me know.  I need the money to buy some crayons and construction paper.   You think I’m kidding, just wait until you get your card.

Speaking of cats, Figaro has a girlfriend—  Brick.  That’s what I said.  Whatever, they seem very happy together.  I feel kind of sorry for Slim since she just adores Figaro.  Maybe she’ll take Tigger up on her offer (I told you Tigger has the hots for Slim, right?).  I think I let them watch too many foreign movies.

Teddy has a girlfriend, too, but she is a girl which makes the story anticlimactic.  The little kitten I started calling Ginger seems smitten with Teddy, and vice versa. Come to think of it, I assume Ginger is a girl, I have never actually got a good look under its tail.  Well, she looks like a girl and I’m usually pretty good about getting that right (except for Fannie who is now called George).

I guess that’s it for the moment.  It’s late and I need to take a few minutes to plan my week and unwind before bedtime.

Shan asked for some pictures. Here are some pictures. I’m all about pleasing people. (Shut up.)