Yesterday, Quarta learned how to make cranberry sauce. This is more or less the traditional whole berry sauce I've been making for years, with orange zest and a little orange juice.
All morning as I worked, I could see the 5-k turkey trotters from the local health club jogging down the street in front of the house. Justifying their feast later on, I guess. I'm of the opinion that the women who produce the Thanksgiving feast burn quite enough calories in the production process. I know it's not the dramatic kind of exercise that all the neighbors can see. But think about it; it's a long, steady sequence of little tasks that put you under a constant low-level stress, thus building up endurance and all-round muscle tone for anything life might throw at you. Today alone, I arm-wrestled a nearly 20-pound bird and won. There was chopping, herb-gathering, pantry-rummaging, lifting, fridge-stacking and re-arranging, mixing, stirring, timing, research into ideal temperature points, whipping of cream, browsing of last-minute recipes, delegating of chores to reluctant pre-teens and teenagers, carving, schlepping, whisking of gravy, and I even opened a champagne bottle for the first time (and ducking the backsplash, but not fast enough). So, take that, turkey-trotters. It's a much more enjoyable holiday when you don't fight the feast.