My holiday eating has swung like a pendulum through fashions. In college, I was a vegetarian. I gave the righteous stink-eye to my family as they were tucking in to the Thanksgiving bird. That’s an animal, I said. They were like, And? So? More dark meat for us.
Later, I became interested in farm to table like everyone else, and I ordered a bird through some Amish farmer cooperative in Pennsylvania. Later, I learned from an aunt in York that the Amish don’t necessarily treat their animals better than anyone else. So forget the Amish. The thing to do was to get a Kosher turkey, so the next year I did that. It was awfully salty. The pan juices reminded me of the months I spent in Israel.
I entertained the idea of hand-raising a turkey, but in high school when I went through a dorky aquarium-fish phase, I killed guppies. Accidentally. I just forgot to clean the aquarium for a year, my mind being on other things: Chris Nagy, the cutest brown-eyed blond thing in Western Pennsylvania that I knew. [Read more...]