Reinventing Thanksgiving

Don't forget the cornbread hush puppies.

I once spent the month of November traveling alone in France. Towards the end of the my trip I found myself wandering around the market in Aix foraging for that days afternoon meal. A round Frenchman was selling roasted chickens rotisserie. At the bottom of the rotisserie were yellow potatoes cooking in fat that dripped from the rotating chickens. Unbelievable. Some bread, some almonds, a bit of wine. With my grandfathers pocket knife, a nutcracker and an antique saucer I picked up at the market, I went back to my room and sat down at the little wooden table that looked to have 200 years of knife marks cut into its surface. My view was of Aix's narrow French streets and of the pigeons roosting on the neighboring buildings window sills. It was at that moment when I realized that it was Thanksgiving in the States.

At the bottom of the rotisserie were yellow potatoes cooking in fat that dripped from the rotating chickens.

That sounds great. Why don't all chicken rotisserie people do that?

Out with the cranberries, in with the pomegranates! {Gasp!}

We had pomegranates in our cranberry sauce.