Some notes on, about, and toward Turkeys

November is "novel month," which makes for an amusing play on words. There are few months less novel than November. The other principle offender is December. Mind you, January and February never feel especially new either, in spite of the calendars they require us to buy.

All the same, November is the month during which we are asked not only to stomach a lack of novelty, but also to issue forth novels of our own. I was working in the local café today and noticed a sign advertising something called "national novel month." The plan is for everyone (!) to write a 50,000 word narrative within a single month. The design here is less to advance the progress of literary history than to promote bookish loitering in places such as cafés and bookstores. Needless to say, I'm utterly in favor.

Yet this announcement prompted some uneasy reflections on the blog format. Although the proposition of writing a "food" novel on this blog was fleetingly entertained, the parties responsible have been silenced. And besides, it's impossible. The temporality is all backward. There's simply no way to read it in order. Chapter one, no sooner written, would be treampled underfoot by chapter two. Chapter three, in turn, would spread itself leisurely atop chapter two, only to await the inevitable heft of its successor. And chapter four, flush in the prime of its creation, would have but a brief tenure before it, too, bent its head in deference to chapter five. And so forth, into obscurity.

This temporal difficulty goes beyond the novel form. A similar problem arises any time one attempts to pursue an older line of inquiry: last week, I began speculating about Thanksgiving menus, only to grow distracted. Rather than postponing the post indefinately, I cut bait, and posted it. And there it lies, half-baked, yet fully formed. To continue the same line of inquiry is impossible. I was trying to make some plans for Thanksgiving dinner. But now the whole proposition seens unsettled.

I'm wondering if the same kinds of tricks can be played on Thanksgiving itself. We'ere having friends over, so the sky's the limit. Why not tinker with the whole danged meal, and not simply tackle the turkey problem I was so concerned with last week?

Here's a possible menu:

Starter:
Turkey roulades: braised turkey thighs rolled with sausage/chestnut stuffing and cranberry sauce. Served sliced on a bed of dandelion greens?

Next:
Trio of autumnal soups, served in, you know, precious little cups of some kind:
1) white: turnip and leek soup
2) orange: squash bisque
3) red: borscht

After that:
Sweet potato soufflé with roasted brussels sprouts

And, to conclude, perhaps it's best to keep dessert last. So cheeses, naturally, and pumpkin pies or custards.

This is all just a fanciful thought, but I'm just sick, sick, sick of brown food at Thanksgiving.

Now, there's a whole other line of inquiry to pursue, here, which would involve swinging the doors in the other direction and make things much more, er, colonial. Open fires, lots of roasting, things cooked in coals.

So many decisions to make. So many decisions. And so much time.

This is why it's never too early to think about Thanksgiving.