RecipeMuncher

Canadian Thanksgiving was two weeks ago. It landed perfectly, squarely, on the start of a week that was particularly fine. On that day, my father carved the roast bird, my brother made a mushroom gravy for which I immediately begged the recipe, the house was full, and despite some autumn coughs nagging little ones, it felt a grand affair. It felt like a herald. It felt like my favourite holiday of the year, which it is. The next day, in that funny routine of the morning after, I puttered about (...)

Canadian Thanksgiving was two weeks ago. It landed perfectly, squarely, on the start of a week that was particularly fine. On that day, my father carved the roast bird, my brother made a mushroom gravy for which I immediately begged the recipe, the house was full, and despite some autumn coughs nagging little ones, it felt a grand affair. It felt like a herald. It felt like my favourite holiday of the year, which it is. The next day, in that funny routine of the morning after, I puttered about (...)