Some of my timing was off—I have only two ovens. But I think I came into the Thanksgiving meal as open-hearted as I ever am (period,) and I felt like I meant it when I told the family— both sides, all siblings, all parents— that they were welcome to offer a blessing of their choice before I started around with the platter of turkey, as long as they said it silently, so we could all live and let live, man. I guess I got flustered anyway—I mean, even though my intentions were honest—because I remember being heckled a little, and then, as a result, not allowing people time to be introspective or thankful, and then hearing myself say “amen.” Grandmother Shippy is scolding me gently from wherever she believes she ascended/went/is. But mostly for the texture of the chocolate silk pie—I can’t find her recipe.

Maybe I should have given a toast instead. Not the kind where I lose a $40 bet because Cookie always keeps his wits, and ten minutes is a long time to let a nice Malbec go untouched when you’re eating a hamburger. Probably also not the kind Pete Evans gives at the end of every episode of Moveable Feast by Fine Cooking. (If that is the official name of the show, they just got the extra strong opinions equivalent of the Colbert Bump.) It was hard to imagine why anyone would want or need a non-competitive cooking show not starring Christopher Kimball, but I DVR’d it because I heard Marcus Samuelsson was going to be making his yardbird, and I wondered if I could cut any corners next time. (No.) Pete Evans’ huge, relentless smile, Alex DeLarge eyes, and fake Australian accent make it infomercial-addictive. Well, the internet says he’s fair dinkum Australian, but he sounds like an Outback Steakhouse commercial, and I don’t mind saying something a little biting, because he thinks the Paleo diet can cure autism. After raving to Kay about this guy, and trying out my own Australian accent on her—it cuts in and out, but I can do “nice carrot salad” consistently—I went back to see if I was remembering him correctly. He must go on and off his meds–it seems unlikely his enthusiasm for San Francisco chocolate is simply 1000 times greater than his enthusiasm for New England bivalves. Then again, I suppose the imperative to misappropriate Hemingway at the end of every show was likely not his decision. But if there’s one thing the holidays and family remind us, it’s that it doesn’t matter whom you blame, just find someone close to you.