Food For Thought

About a dozen years ago, Thanksgiving supplanted Fourth of July as my favorite holiday.  And that says a lot about the November event, considering I used to tap into the kids' college funds, come July 3rd.  

(Did you know that it's possible to flip a Burley filled with a young child, if you are riding your bike furiously enough towards the fireworks stand at Hinky Dinky?  I am not proud that I know this.)

Yeah, I needed a new favorite holiday, and, aside from Flag Day, I can't think of another that is more basic than Thanksgiving--cook, eat, nap, repeat.  Like shampooing, only more delicious.

Still, for about five minutes Monday, I cursed the holiday.  Four days and four iterations later,  I wasn't sure I could do the same bird, seventh verse, a little bit fatter, a little bit worse.  And yet, at lunch that day, I bemoaned the end of our beautiful brined bird, the last slivers of its savory breast tucked between two slices of bread, transfigured by a dollop of sriracha mayo.

Bird aside, though, what's best about Thanksgiving is eating with people I love.  And therein is the real lesson: if we are going to survive, we need to eat with people--at every moment possible.

If you have never worked in school, then you don't understand the importance of lunch in a work-free staff lounge.  It is a place to gather--gallows humor and silliness in hand--where our motley crew can take a breather, break some bread and say some stupid things, often without reference to the work day itself.

In that most magical space known as the East High lounge, I have peed myself--happily--because of something funny someone said.  There, during my 30-minute duty-free lunches, I have made prank phone calls, learned about fat quarters (look 'em up!), giggled at a corny pun and been moved by an original poem that my friend Linda wrote the weekend before.

Staff lounges and my dining room aren't the only spaces where we can be transformed, of course.

Just last night, in my neighbor Lisa's lovely home, several of us gathered to eat and drink and laugh and bemoan the things that break us.  We also celebrated the things that we have in common.  And all of it was framed with food.  . . . and maybe a little alcohol, if I'm honest.

Always, it seems, where food is present, there is laughter and love and coming together.  Maybe, then, the thing our country needs most right now is a plate of nachos and an open door, a place where we can gather and be glad for those who are in the room with us, framed in a glorious outline of dripping cheese and jalapenos.