Despite 15 degrees and a stiff breeze that made the smoke swirl into my face, I opened the Big Green Egg and we grilled:
16″ rack of ribs
4 chicken breasts
a whole pheasant
16 Market Basket sausages
foil packages of sweet potatoes and regular spuds from farm stands
sliced red peppers and zucchini for everybody
And as always, I swear the BGE has some sort of supernatural intelligence that allows a frantic like me to cook a heap of food with minimal attention and still wind up just a half-hour late with Duke Ellington’s 70th Birthday Concert playing behind the perfect procescco.
Rotten, rotten cold. Upside — bolsters excuse not to attend Thanksgiving get-together we wanted to miss anyway.
I read both of these misrepresentations more than once:
I don’t know how negative-thrill excited I can get about this holiday (formerly one of my faves), because it seems like every day is a real-life incarnation of it.
But this is truly horrifying stuff. The monstrous cold laughter is the capper.
There’s a good argument to be made that the pagan god Saturn mutated into Santa Claus. As a Capricorn, I’m also a fan of Saturn. But as a sane person I must say he has a creepy backstory and seems like a very ancient type of god from a very violent world.
These “uses” seem eccentric to us, but the information about the fruit is valuable and yeah, the smell is wonderful. The price cited is way exaggerated by now — about $5 a pound is more like it. Ours goes out about a week after New Year’s and here’s a tip about making sure yours lasts until that time —
when you buy a Buddha’s Hand, make sure there is no hint of a black tip on any of the “fingers” — because that means it’s old and will not last more than a couple weeks before rotting. If we do it right, ours has black tips when we chuck it, but the perfume is still working.