The most recent iteration of this column came in 2020; parts of it date back fifteen or more years. The cover artwork was created by the inimitable Anthony Beard.
Consider it a quasi-retired blogger’s fallback credo in times of holiday-inspired gluttony.
“Cutting and pasting leaves more time for mandated eating and drinking.”
Over a period of years, I’d pause only momentarily to update the previous Thanksgiving Day column before rushing off to Vietnam Kitchen for the Baylor family’s holiday tradition of K-8 or clay pot catfish, and often both.
Ironically, this habit of appending something topical to hurriedly regurgitated past musings soon came to resemble the procedure at family gatherings occurring throughout the nation during this uniquely American celebration.
Unfortunately, Vietnam Kitchen ceased being a factor in 2015, when the restaurant commenced a fresh tradition of its own and began closing on Thanksgiving Day. 2016 found us vacationing in Catania, Sicily, where I swapped Southeast Asian staples for Pasta alla Norma, followed by a delectable mixed grill of horse meat.
With each bite I dreamily pondered revisionist Kentucky Derby thoughts.
Abroad again in 2019 (be still, my throbbing heart), our Thanksgiving meal was taken at Gostilna Pri kolovratu, a cafe and eatery in Ljubljana, Slovenia. Located strategically opposite the cathedral, this restaurant dates to 1836 and has been recently revitalized by new ownership. Sadly, it seems not to have survived the pandemic.
The food at Gostilna Pri kolovratu was impeccable: barley soup with sausage; Vodnik salad from the 1799 “classic” Slovene cookbook (local greens, beets, cauliflower, hard boiled egg); lamb knuckle (sun-dried tomato and balsamic reduction); ribeye steak. The wine was Slovene merlot and the parting glass Pelinkovac, a bitter herbal liqueur. We actually had our dessert of Prekmurska gibanica (layered cake) and štruklji dumplings earlier in the day while strolling, not realizing an evening return was in the offing.
This year we’re cooking at home with the help of turkey tenderloins prepared in the crockpot, and while normally I’d prepare for the task by going to the store — the package store, that is no sense interfering with THAT most noble and enduring of traditions — this year my legacy as a practitioner of the drinking arts, whether on Thanksgiving or any other delightfully pagan occasion, is complicated by hip replacement surgery in five days.
I’m playing it straight, and taking my drugs. Eating? Yes. Drinking? Not until I can navigate the path to the bar without leaning on a cane.
—
It will...Read more
