Always.

Happy Opening Day!

Liquor.

Lucy Buffett's grand and glorious Oyster Dressing recipe.

Ingredients

• 12 tablespoons/1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, divided, plus more for baking dish
• 1 (8-inch-square) baked and cooled cornbread, preferably on the sweet side
• 15 slices white or wheat bread, toasted and cooled
• ½ large white onion, finely chopped
• 2 celery ribs, finely chopped
• ½ large green bell pepper, finely chopped
• ½ cup chicken broth, plus more as needed
• 2 dozen freshly shucked or jarred oysters, preferably Gulf oysters, drained and coarsely chopped (reserve the oyster liquor)
• ¼ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon hot sauce, preferably Crystal
• ¼ cup fresh flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
• 1 tablespoon fresh sage, finely chopped, or 1 teaspoon ground sage
• 1 ½ teaspoons truffle salt or sea salt
• ½ teaspoon ground white pepper

Preparation

1. Heat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-by 13-inch baking dish.
2. Crumble cornbread into a large bowl. Tear toasted white or wheat bread into very small pieces, add to cornbread, and toss to combine
3. Melt 8 tablespoons butter in a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add onion, celery and bell pepper; sauté, stirring occasionally, for 3 minutes. Cover pan and cook, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are almost translucent, 5 to 6 minutes. Remove cover, add broth, and cook, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan, for 2 to 3 minutes. Continue to cook mixture for 1 more minute, then remove from heat, add to bread mixture, and stir to combine.
4. In a medium bowl, stir together oysters, lemon juice, hot sauce, parsley, sage, salt and white pepper. Add to bread mixture and stir well to combine. If dressing seems too dry, add a little oyster liquor and up to 1/2 cup more chicken broth; mixture should be very moist.
5. Pour dressing into greased baking dish. Cut remaining 4 tablespoons butter into small pieces and scatter over top of dressing. Bake until top and sides are browned, 40 to 45 minutes.
6. Yields 8 to 10 servings

Editorial ... I recommend adding 1/2 cup of dry vermouth to the vegetables and reducing before adding the broth in step three.

Bruce Springsteen, "Factory"

New.

Happy New Year!

Seriously.

Resting.

The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring- cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and 'O blow!' and also 'Hang spring-cleaning!' and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, 'Up we go! Up we go!' till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.

'This is fine!' he said to himself. `This is better than whitewashing!' The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout. Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side.

'Hold up!' said an elderly rabbit at the gap. 'Sixpence for the privilege of passing by the private road!' He was bowled over in an instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted along the side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped hurriedly from their holes to see what the row was about. 'Onion-sauce! Onion-sauce!' he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started grumbling at each other. 

'How stupid you are! Why didn't you tell him ——' 'Well, why didn't you say ——' 'You might have reminded him——' and so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too late, as is always the case.

It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting— everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy conscience pricking him and whispering 'whitewash!' he somehow could only feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.

Kenneth Grahame, from The Wind in the Willows

A Festival of Lessons and Carols.

From 1954, the Choir of King's College, Cambridge, performs under the direction of Boris Ord ...

Kindled.

Brownscombe, First Thanksgiving, 1914

All great and honorable actions are accompanied with great difficulties, and both must be enterprised and overcome with answerable courage.  Thus out of small beginnings greater things have been produced by His hand that made all things of nothing, and gives being to all things that are; and, as one small candle may light a thousand, so the light here kindled hath shone unto many.

William Bradford

Thanksgiving.

Rockwell, Cousin Reginald Catches the Thanksgiving Turkey, 1917

Pilgrims.

In the early 17th century, a small group of religious radicals embarked from England to establish a separatist religious community across the Atlantic Ocean in the New World. The challenges the Pilgrims faced in making new lives for themselves still resonate almost 400 years later.

CONNECT

Oysters.

Maryland watermen have been harvesting oysters from the Chesapeake Bay for over a century. Local cooks add oysters to everything from savory pies and stews to this dressing-a holiday staple around the Bay.

Ingredients

12 tbsp. butter

1 large yellow onion, peeled and finely chopped

4 stalks celery, peeled and finely chopped

1⁄4 cup chopped fresh parsley

1 tsp. crumbled dried sage

1⁄2 tsp. dried tarragon

6 cups crumbled corn bread

1 cup chicken stock

2 eggs lightly beaten

Pinch cayenne

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

3 dozen small shucked oysters

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350°. Melt 6 tbsp. of the butter in a skillet over medium heat, add onions, celery, parsley, sage and tarragon. Sauté the mixture until vegetables are soft, about 20 minutes.

Put corn bread in a large mixing bowl. Bring chicken stock to a simmer in a saucepan over medium heat; add remaining butter, stirring until butter has melted, then pour over corn bread. Mix in sautéed onion-and-celery mixture, eggs, and cayenne. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Gently mix oysters into the corn bread mixture, taking care not to break up oysters. Transfer to a buttered 8" × 8" baking dish. Bake for 40 minutes. Serve with roast turkey.

Serves 8

Mischief.

Wyeth, Mischief Night, 1994

Safety.

Happy birthday, Great Pumpkin.

It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown was first broadcast on this day in 1966 ...

Carved-out.

They were carved from turnips or beets rather than festive orange pumpkins, and were intended to ward off unwanted visitors.

Gourds were one of the earliest plant species, domesticated by humans around 10,000 years ago, mostly cultivated for their carving potential – for kitchen tools, dishes, musical instruments, toys, furniture and more. Maoris began carving them for lanterns 700 years ago – the Maori word for “gourd” and “lampshade” are actually the same.

According to Irish folklore, a man called Jack O’Lantern was sentenced to roam the earth for eternity. A ghostly figure of the night, O’Lantern walks with a burning coal inside of a carved-out turnip to light his way.

CONNECT

Thanks for the inspiration, Jess!

Strauss, Die Fledermaus

Placido Domingo conducts the Royal Opera House Orchestra and Chorus, featuring Kiri Te Kanawa (with the sauce on the side, please) ...

Experience.

Gratitude takes nothing for granted, is never unresponsive, is constantly awakening to new wonder and to praise of the goodness of God.  For the Grateful person knows that God is good, not by hearsay, but by experience.  And that is what makes all the difference.

Thomas Merton

Sundown.

Wyeth, Sundown, 1969

Gloom.

All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate André, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally known by the name of Major André's tree. The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights, and doleful lamentations, told concerning it.

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thought his whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white, hanging in the midst of the tree: he paused and ceased whistling but, on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan—his teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him. 

About two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grapevines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate André was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.

As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump; he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot: it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.

Washington Irving, from "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"

Typography.