It’s no surprise that Thanksgiving—a holiday devoted to food, at which I am the only one to receive presents—is my most favorite. In high school and college my parents and I always celebrated as a nuclear family, doing a full meal for just the three of us, which meant lots of yumminess and even more leftovers. After college I started cooking this meal with a close group of my dearest friends, rotating hosting and experimenting with somewhat nontraditional but still seasonal fare. Of late, I’ve been staying in New York, at a gathering of “strays.” The past two years the fabulous Lindsay hosted, but I was in charge of the turkey and gravy. She moved to Beirut this past summer, which means everyone’s coming to our place, plus a few new faces!
I haven’t really explained my new year’s resolution too much on the blog yet, have I. I vowed to “fry more.” It was open-ended, and perhaps I’ve taken it a little too much to heart (and my waistline), but boy have my tastebuds been happy. See, “fried” is like my most favorite thing in the world, but I’d always been intimidated to do it at home. I wanted to get over that fear. And oh boy have I gotten over it.
Yesterday’s venture was fried apple pies.
It’s apple season, folks! There is no season quite like fall, I think. It’s rivaled only by spring, obviously, but the foods of fall are better than the foods of spring, so even though fall is a harbinger of cold dark days, I still like it better than spring, which leads only to lots of sweating. So with the onset of fall, friends and I took a drive to New York state for some apple picking.