Last night's meal was a great success, even for poor Anselm who has been miserable for days with a mouthful of ulcers, some virus he and Blaise have both been suffering from. The kids both loved the tempura'ed baby zucchini and thus ate more green vegetable than has been witnessed in quite a while. Then a butternut squash risotto with garnish of toasted walnuts and crispy bacon; then the piece de resistance, the pears Belle Helene, simmered to a translucent jewel red in wine, sugar and cinnamon, served warm with vanilla icecream and melted chocolate. (And for the parents, Veuve Cliquot Ponsardin, yellow label.)
We talked about things we are grateful for. It took a while. Anselm was especially grateful for: Mum and Eliot, and, with some prompting, Dad; that we don't have to kill animals for our food and clothing; and that we have shoes. His classmate Yehayu's father came in to talk to the class recently and told them about growing up in Ethiopia, where their family did not wear shoes to school.
(The picture is not from Thanksgiving but from Solstice this morning.)
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