teri versus the pate

Yesterday afternoon was...interesting.

Since I'm not a turkey person, I thought I'd indulge in Thanksgiving goodies I actually liked.

And you know that means a Dangerously Delicious cherry pie. Worth all the hype, I tell you. This pie defies hyperbole.

But then I got this brilliant idea...to grab some of Morris Martick's famous French country pate. Thus the adventures began.

• bribe boss to cut out of work early with me with promise of lunch
• attempt to locate Martick the pate guy....thwarted initially, no pickup of phone or answering of doorbell as previously agreed upon
  
• almost get mugged, for reals....eek
• get in touch with Martick...my attempts are not successful
  
• sadly give up for own safety
• take boss to lunch, obsessively worry about lack of pate
• pick up my pre-ordered DD cherry pie...easy peasy (looks like they make out like bandits with Thanksgiving orders)
• one last ditch phone call to Martick.....and he picks up!
• speed-racer dash back to the gnarly part of Baltimore
• finally pick up precious, precious pate from grumpy-yet-lovable Martick
• give half of pate to fellow food-loving friend Noel (we went in on it together - it's a lot of pate)

(pate shown at right in tin foil; as it turns out, a slab of various meats is not especially appetizing until you slice it thinly, place it on a plate and surround it with slices of french bread. Cornichons are encouraged but not required.)


A Thanksgiving feast with a start and finish that I can be proud of providing.

My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted gray
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

-Robert Frost

Have you seen Zadie Smith's worthwhile piece for the New York Review of Books?


Versus


Interesting reading.

"The color of truth is gray. "

-Andre Gide

My New Yorker subscription is unfortunately defunct but I had to buy this issue when I was passing through the train station.

Courtesy of the very talented (and Massachusetts-dwelling!) Bob Staake.

It's been wet and rainy, and so I really want wellies.

According to this NYT article, I'm not alone - recessionistas are flocking to sturdy, proven goods right now. Maybe it's the hardy New England Damn Yankee in me but I feel comforted by things that other people have for ~20 years.

Here's my top 3, of the Hunter boot variety:


Aubergine

Black

Midnight Sparkle

Patent Pending

More posters to fall for...

Forget the dresses....there was history to be made.

New pretty dresses from Anthropologie:











The 3rd and the 5th are my favorites - of course.

October 2008 - the books.

The Omnivore's Dilemma, Michel Pollan

The Tapestries, Kien Nguyen

How Proust Can Change Your Life: Not a Novel, Alan de Botton

Perfumes: The Guide, Luca Turin and Tania Sanchez

Austerlitz, W.G. Sebald

The Brief Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz

Consider the Lobster and other essays, David Foster Wallace