Southern-fried Thanksgiving.

I love it when I start a post with an outright lie. We didn’t fry all that much, and certainly didn’t Southern-fry anything, however one does that. We did, however, make a ridiculous amount of delicious food.

Red and I, along with my parents, flew down to Charlotte (remember when I went there?) to spend the holiday o’ gluttony with my sister at her new house. Yay, new house! All that lovely space. I am so jealous. She and her boyfriend have done an admirable job of filling it, though, with the aid of this handsome fellow:



This enormous beast is Sampson, and he is still a puppy. When he finishes growing, I am going to laugh and laugh because he will almost certainly outweigh my sister. He is the sweetest, mellowest dog I’ve ever met—and not even a year old! Lucy is that calm when she’s waking up from anesthesia. We had many snuggles and even let him get up on the couch, which, strictly speaking, he is not allowed to do. He is a beautiful boy.

The day before Thanksgiving, Red and I learned of a new vegetarian restaurant in town. We absolutely had to try it! It’s called Fern, Flavors from the Garden, and you’ll just have to Google it because they’re too new to have an actual website. It is really lovely:

Such a great use for Mason jars.

Felt pockets on the wall! With living plants in them!

They poured us glasses of cucumber water, which is totally delicious and I don’t know why I’ve never made it myself. We started with jalapeño hush puppies (with Daiya, for those of you who worship the stuff), which I loved and I am no great lover of jalapeños, believe me.


Look at my pretty First Chakra Juice:


I know it’s ultra-hippie to have a juice menu named after the chakras, but we just covered them in my recent yoga training weekend, and I have a chakra poster (this one, actually) on my wall at work, and I have a chakra ring that I bought in Salem with my friend Jess, so I guess I am a little ultra-hippie, no? And yes, I brought my yoga mat with me to North Carolina.

My entrée was already vegan, and they veganized Red’s easily. Feast your eyes:

Green Goddess Soup

Warm Kale Salad

It was good we fueled up, because we headed downtown to the Bechtler Museum of Modern Art. Red and I can be very snobby East Coasters, but we’ve decided we can visit any city with a modern art museum. Well played, Charlotte. It’s right next to the Mint Museum (which, no, is not about currency), which I visited last time, so there was a nice sense of familiarity. I did not see the sign banning photographs, so I took some.

Me and Marilyn.

The rest of our visit was very domestic, as befits a family holiday. On Thanksgiving, my sister, Red, and I cooked up a storm—no, a goddamn tornado, and I had to stay sober the entire time because it was a very small kitchen for three people and I didn’t want to injure anyone (or, worse, spill my drink). But the day started off right, with these yummy vegan pumpkin cinnamon rolls (made the night before, because can you imagine? you’d have to be up at 4 to have them ready for breakfast):



The recipe is here, and aside from its being a pain in the ass in the way that all cinnamon roll recipes are (knead! rise! roll! slice! roll! rise! KILL ME), I can’t say enough good things about it. The rolls were perfect. The icing recipe looked like it made a vatful, so we halved all the ingredients except for the spices and rum, because my family likes to party.

Release the Kraken!

Most of the day was pretty chill, and we played a very satisfying game of Monopoly. My sister has the set we used as kids, and man, it has survived some craziness. I’m pleased to report that I won, although Red did remarkably well for his first time playing Monopoly ever. We’ll civilize him yet.

Before we started cooking in earnest, we needed appetizers. The omnis had their own stuff, and Red and I made Tami Noyes’ Seitan Veggie Crowns. There’s a reason they were named Vegan.com’s Appetizer of the Year! Go, Tami! BTW, leftover filling mixed with a little extra vegan mayo makes for a delicious sandwich.


Once we started making dinner, it was on like Donkey Kong. We made garlic mashed potatoes (vegan and omni), green bean casserole, bourbon mashed sweet potatoes with pecans, Appetite for Reduction’s Sweet Potato Biscuits, stuffing from a bag (you know you love it too), and Sage and Pumpkin Seed Encrusted Gardein with Cranberry Cabernet Sauce (Gardein’s Thanksgiving menu is off the hook). We used malbec instead of cabernet, and it was a delicious substitution. Even my dad loved the Gardein!

We carved a V in our mashed potatoes so there’d be no confusion.

I was too stuffed to eat dessert, but the day before I’d made the Gingerbread Apple Pie from Vegan with a Vengeance. I made it last year, too, because it is easy and fantastic. Shout-out to Red for his peeling/slicing assistance. Actually, I made two pies—it turns out that the recipe makes one pie when you have a big-ass ceramic pie dish, but two when you’re using disposable grocery-store pie tins. So, a bonus pie! Who could complain? My sister didn’t have maple syrup, so I improvised and used a combination of molasses and rum. Again: Problem? Where? (I forgot to take a picture, so if you want one, it’s in here.) I ate plenty of it the next day, don’t you worry.

No trip to Charlotte is complete without a visit to Lebowski’s, so we made a family pilgrimage there on Black Friday. Vegan White Russians and french fries, you have my heart. I was committed to not buying anything that day, so I guess I failed, but it’s not like I got up at 3am to stand in line with hostile strangers jonesing for a discounted Xbox or something. That shit scares me.

Bar lighting is so flattering.

On Saturday, it was home again, home again. I am so thankful to have been able to spend Thanksgiving with people I love, in a city that cares about its vegans at least a little, remembering what really matters.

I am the queen of cupcakes. Or at least the duchess.

So I made my first-ever cupcakes over the weekend. I am pretty sure they were my first cupcakes, and if they weren’t, they were most definitely my first vegan cupcakes. I used to be scared as hell of cupcakes because they are so dainty and precious and nicely decorated, not like cookies that you can plop onto a pan and if they’re lumpy, you can say they have character and if no one likes them, it’s their loss. No more! Now I am all, “Bring it on, cupcakes! I can take you.”

Backstory: My parents had a Memorial Day cookout with various neighbors and family members, and my sister and her lover-man were visiting, so it was kind of an occasion. I asked my mom what to bring, and she whipped out the Tiramisu Cupcakes recipe from Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World (she found it online—my mom is awesome, but not yet awesome enough to have her own vegan cookbook collection). I was like, “Really, woman? Those are some involved cupcakes.” So we compromised. I baked the cupcakes and made all the fixings, and we gutted/filled/frosted/decorated them together. That way, if they sucked, I only had to take half the blame. Red took pictures:





When we were finished, I was amazed by how good they looked. I was expecting some malformed, poorly frosted cupcakes, and they came out beautifully. I couldn’t wait to try one.

You will not be shocked to learn that they were ROCKIN’. These are epic cupcakes, y’all. They are sweet and boozy and filled with delicious cream cheese frosting. It was well worth the time we spent delicately hollowing them out, soaking them with Kahlua, and carefully placing those chocolate-covered espresso beans on top. Afterward, I wanted to fall asleep on a bed of clouds and dream of dancing biscotti while a choir of baby angels sang opera. I am a cupcake convert.

However! My dessert adventure was not over. As I was baking the cupcakes (this is the day before the filling/decorating extravaganza, in case you are creating a timeline of my exploits), I began to worry that guests would outnumber cupcakes and called my mom to ask her opinion on this important mathematical problem. She suggested that if I wanted to make something extra, I should go for it. As I like to show off the delights of vegan desserts, I made Caramel Walnut Bars from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar (they are supposed to have pecans, but I had a huge jar of walnuts and no pecans, so you know). Props to Red for making a crucial brown sugar run mid-project. They were much easier than the cupcakes, for which I was grateful, but no less decadent.


Two words can sum up these babies: SUGAR. BOMB. Holy tooth decay, that caramel is some serious stuff. Serious and awesome. (And of course all the walnuts = healthy, so you can have two!) Several minutes after I crushed a cupcake and one of those bars, all the sugar plowed through my brain and I spent the rest of the night bouncing around like I haven’t done since high school. Good thing I’d already done yoga.

So, to sum up: Dessert was a success (so was dinner because my mom made this pasta salad), cupcakes no longer intimidate me, and my dental hygienist will have her work cut out for her at my next visit.

Get Frogged for the holidays!

Since I was a wee Burnout, my mom has been making Joe Froggers at Christmastime. More than gingerbread angels or sugar Santas, these spicy molasses cookies define the holidays for me. Until I started writing this post, I hadn’t thought to look them up to see if anyone else had a recipe—but wouldn’t you know it, the Internet is full of them! As it turns out, Joe Froggers are a seriously old-school cookie, originating in Marblehead, Massachusetts during Colonial times. Because they’re thick, sturdy cookies, they were the perfect snack for fishermen to take with them during their days at sea. They’re also the perfect snack for Mama Burnout, who likes her cookies heavy on the molasses and ginger.

They’re sassy, like my mom.

This weekend, Red and I made this winter’s first batch of Froggers. Would you like to know how? Of course you would! Read on, it’s easy:

Joe Froggers (courtesy of Mama Burnout)

½ cup vegan butter (I use Earth Balance)
1 cup sugar
4 ½ cups flour
1 ½ tsp salt
1 ½-3 tsp ground ginger
½-1 tsp cloves
1 tsp allspice
1 tsp nutmeg
1 cup molasses*
1 tsp baking soda
⅓ cup dark rum** (we used Sailor Jerry’s because it’s what we had)
3 T hot water or rum**

*This one time when I was in college, I had almost but not quite a full cup of molasses, so I shoved it to the back of the counter while I went to get more. When I returned, my parents’ dog Duke had eaten the. entire. cup. of. molasses. You can guess what happened to the carpet later.

**If you avoid alcohol, I bet spiced apple cider or chai would be great in these!

In a large bowl, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy. In another bowl, mix flour, salt, and spices (the spice amounts are really just guidelines; because I am my mother’s daughter, I always go heavy on the spices, but you might prefer a less aggressive cookie). Slowly add to sugar mixture. Combine molasses and baking soda, then add to flour mixture. Beat until well mixed. Combine rum and water, then add to dough and mix well. At some point, your electric beaters may start to give up and you’ll have to grab that wooden spoon. The dough may still look pretty crumbly, but it should stick together if you pinch a little between your fingers.

At this point, the dough needs to go in the fridge for a while—at least half an hour, but a full hour won’t hurt you. Mama Burnout likes to gather the dough into a big ball or two, then wrap it in plastic wrap. The other day, I simply scooped all the dough into a plastic bowl just barely big enough to hold it all, smushed it in there, popped the lid on, and put it in the fridge. Your call. If you’re my mom, you’ll wash all the dishes you just got dirty while the dough chills.

After your dough has chilled, clear off your counter and flour it, because things are gonna get rollin’. (Ha. See what I did there?) Have your rolling pin, cookie cutters, and extra flour handy, and keep your extra dough in the fridge until you’re ready for it. If the dough gets too dry while you’re working, I find that a spritz or two of water from a spray bottle does the trick. Roll your dough out ¼” thick and use a 4” plate to cut out your cookies. That’s the traditional way—if you like thinner, less massive cookies and want to use festive cookie cutters, go for it. We like ours thick, and we used a combo of cookie cutters and a drinking glass. We ended up with several dozen cookies, so that’s as good an estimate as I can give you. You know the bit about greasing your baking sheets and putting them in the oven, so do that. Bake at 375° for 12-15 minutes, depending on how big your cookies are and how crunchy you want them. Slide ‘em onto wire racks to cool if you want; for years I didn’t own wire racks, so I just used plates, and all my cookies came out fine.

I have never frosted these, but I won’t hunt you down and murder you if you decide to deface them in such a way. They’re amazing dunked in tea or coffee, or eaten straight up. Red swears he’s gotten buzzed from eating too many, so that information may be useful to you. However you enjoy them, happy holidays!

That’s flour, not powdered sugar. You can tell I care about presentation.

Hearts and stars and teddy bears, oh my!

As American as Mama Burnout’s birthday pie.

During my work-induced blog hiatus, I baked my first apple pie. I was excited, because I’d never baked an apple pie before and it was for my mom’s birthday. I was also nervous, because my dad, while always a good sport about vegan food, is an apple pie snob nonpareil and I didn’t want my sweet little vegan pie to be disdained.

I spent a ridiculous amount of time, even for me, choosing the perfect recipe that would result in a pie to render the pickiest omni swoony with delight. Nothing with whole wheat. Nothing involving additional fruit. No crumbly crust. This would not be a “vegan” apple pie: It would be THE BEST GODDAMN APPLE PIE EVER.

In the end, I went with a classic: Betty Crocker. Even better? It’s naturally vegan (well, except for the butter)! In your face, Dad!

The bottom half of the crust went easily enough. I freaked out the entire time I unfolded it into the pie dish, but the pastry gods smiled upon me and the crust didn’t fall apart. Hurdle 1 cleared!

(Note: I am so, so glad we finally bought a pastry cutter. You may think it’s a bullshit kitchen gizmo that you will never need, and that if you do need it the old “use two knives to cut your shortening and flour together while trying not to stab yourself” trick will work. It won’t, and you will never regret buying even the cheapest pastry cutter. It’s worth it for that one pie a year.)

Faced with a pile of Granny Smith apples (my favorite kind), Red and I pondered for a while how best to slice them for maximum apple-iciousness. Genius that he is, he hit on using our mandoline to slice them super-thinly, the better to layer them with! We learned that slices stick together and are a little more difficult to toss with the sugar and spices, but we got it done. Into the crust they went, tucked in as snugly as possible. We even had too many, and cooked the leftovers later for a snack.

The top crust was the real challenge. Have I mentioned that I’d never done this whole top-and-bottom-crust thing before, and that I’m clumsy in the kitchen? Our pie pan was ever-so-slightly larger than Betty Crocker’s, so we had to get creative with stretching and patching the top crust to make it fit as we draped it over the apples. Next time, we’ll make extra dough so we don’t have this problem. Once we got the crust situated, I was feeling artsy and wished for tiny cookie cutters to cut out sweet little leaves or something to decorate the crust. Say it with me: Next time.

After that, we cut slits in the pie and popped it in the oven, praying for perfection. Partway through, there was some wonkiness as we tried to cover the edges with strips of foil to keep them from browning too much, but Red saved the day. When the pie finally came out, it looked beautiful:



The next day was my mom’s birthday, and the pie’s moment of truth. Would my parents wish I had bought a crappy grocery-store cake instead?

Darlings, I can happily report that they loved it. The crust was appropriately crusty, and Red’s apple-layering technique was a huge success. Not only do you get more apples, it creates a more evenly distributed internal surface (like lasagna), so the pie is easier to slice! We left half the pie with my parents, and took the other half home for noshing over the next few days.


I am now officially over my fear of baking pies, and Mama Burnout had a happy birthday indeed.

Close-up for maximum layering action.

In which the Burnout proves she can be diplomatic.

Damn, y’all, I am straight-up proud of myself. Allow me to brag on my awesomeness and powers of diplomacy for a moment.

I had dinner at my parents’ place on Friday. Red was not there because I went straight from work, which is way closer to my parents than our house is, and he would have either had to drive himself or wait for me to drive all the way home so we could both drive up there together. It would have been mindless drama on a Friday evening when the Orioles had a home game, is what I’m saying. So I flew solo. My sister’s boyfriend’s dad and brother (do you need a flow chart yet?) were in town, so I was looking forward to meeting them. They asked polite questions about my veganism and were very interested in the details of vegan alcohol.

I’ll spare you the details of how a cookout turned into “Let’s just put everything under the broiler,” because it doesn’t really matter. I helped my mom make awesome veggie kebabs that were the envy of my flesh-munching tablemates. It was peaceful. I ignored the platter of carcasses. Somehow, the conversation turned to grocery stores. My sister mentioned that she had heard that Wegman’s had had some kind of negative PR regarding abused chickens. I was aware of it; it’s highly Google-able. Jaded bitch that I am, I wasn’t surprised, but I wasn’t going to get into it, either.

Her boyfriend’s dad spoke up. “Well, I don’t really see how they can be abused, if you’re going to kill them anyway.”

To quote The Dude, “This aggression will not STAND, man!” I didn’t sigh, but I wanted to. I leaned over, the better to see Mr. Sister’s Boyfriend’s Dad around the centerpiece of Mother’s Day roses, and said to him, “Ah, you know, you probably don’t want to have this conversation right now. Just saying.”

And, miraculously, that was it. That was motherloving it. He dropped it. I dropped it (not that I had started it, which bears repeating). Dinner continued. Dinner ended. I went home. I regaled Red with the story of my awesome display of tact. He was proud of me.

Don’t worry, beloveds. I’m still ready to fight someone. Just not, for the benefit of everyone involved, Mr. Sister’s Boyfriend’s Dad.

This time.

Yes, Red and I are totally Walter and The Dude.

For those about to rock: TofuPalooza!

It’s no secret that I enjoy cooking for omnis. The food I make is damn fine, and I like getting compliments on it! Okay, that’s not the only reason. I also love helping people realize that vegan food is not the bland, sad-face-making stuff they might think it is. Sticky pasta, salad-bar rejects, or—Goddess forbid!—health food? Not at my table!

My sister and her boyfriend had wanted to come over for dinner for some time. She is quite adventurous in her palate, and he is…not so much. When I realized that he had had but one tofu experience, and that it had been bad, I knew I had to remedy this tragedy. (For what it’s worth, his ill-fated introduction to tofu had been in miso soup. ‘Nuff said.) My sister requested my special tofu with mushrooms in mustard sauce, a no-fail recipe that she loved when we lived together. With that in mind, I set about preparing a menu. On Friday, we rocked out vegan-style.

I’ll spare you the boring details of how very badly our house needed cleaning, but thanks to Red, we were able to seat our guests at a functional dining-room table, complete with candles and tablecloth. I forgot to take a picture, and it’s all messy again now, but please admire my adorable sister and her man instead:

Because I cannot do anything without making an unholy production of it, we had a spiffy menu:

TofuPalooza 2010

Backstage Pass Biscuits
With sweet potato and a hint of nutmeg. They only look innocent.

Mosh Pit Tofu and Mushrooms
With savory mustard sauce on a bed of quinoa. It’ll rock your ass off.

Glam Rock Green Beans
Steamed and brightened with dill. David Bowie says, “Eat your veggies!”

VIP Lounge Chocolate Mousse
The secret ingredient? We’ll never tell.

Let there be soy!

It may sound healthy, but don’t be fooled. I followed the Golden Rule of Feeding Omnis: fat = love. And this meal had plenty of it. I fried that tofu to within an inch of its life, made sure there was plenty of Earth Balance for the biscuits, and topped the mousse with soy whipped cream. Ironically, the mousse was actually pretty healthy, since I made it with silken tofu. (Seriously, that mousse? Stupid-easy. Melt some chocolate chips, blend with the tofu, and chill. You’re welcome.)

Our guests loved their meals, and I loved the wine they brought. After dinner, we played Clue and drank coffee with Kahlua and extra whipped cream. It was a lovely evening, and I thank my sister and her S.O. for sharing it with us. There are no plans yet for TofuPalooza 2011, but I’ll be ready!

Nothing doing.

I think I'm in a blogging rut. That, or nothing of sufficient vegan note has come to my attention lately. Perhaps the holidays are slowly swallowing me. As long as they wait until after Solstice, I'm good with it. Or perhaps I'm succumbing to the hibernation instinct.

Oh, here's something: Red and I took Silk Soy Nog to my parents' house this weekend for (local, organic, family-farmed) tree decorating. It was a sweet, cozy afternoon, with snacks and pretty lights and Christmas tunes on the CD player. I can't remember if anyone else drank the soy nog, but my mom had originally offered to buy it for us, so that's a plus. That, and it's delicious with rum. I'm told it's good in coffee, too, but I haven't tried that yet.

I have been busy, darlings.

Please forgive my absence this past week. You see, my lazy ass went on a post-Thanksgiving honeymoon. A lovely one, to Sanibel Island, Florida. I did my best to ignore reality while we were there; hence, no bloggy goodness. I’ll do my best to make it up to you.

Oh, we had a wonderful time, thanks. It was warm and sunny and we lay on the beach and collected shells and found what is probably the only Steelers bar in Florida. I met a gopher tortoise, too. As usual, I am in one place and my camera is in another, so I’ll post those pictures soon. I also plan to do a “Vegan Sanibel” rundown, since I had a hell of a time figuring out where we might eat when we got there. If I can save another vegan the trouble of scrolling through dozens of websites and squinting at menu PDFs, it will all have been worth it.

I know, I owe you a Thanksgiving with the Turkeys post, too. For now, content yourselves with Deb’s awesome recap. Her photos are better and she’s a regular sanctuary volunteer who knows all the animals, so she’s pretty much cooler and more authoritative than I am in every way.

Thanksgiving? We did that too. It was surprisingly not fraught with angst and sadness over the murdered turkeys. I noshed on steamed asparagus and roasted butternut squash with shallots with Red’s family, washed down with plenty of Asti and a nameless drink that involved green apple rum and Sprite. (I might start calling it an “Uncle John,” since he mixed it for me.) At my parents’, my garlic mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie were well received. My mom made the stuffing with vegetable broth and I brought Sweet & Sara’s marshmallows for the sweet potatoes. I even introduced my family to the joys of Earth Balance! Two menu omissions yielded unintentional hilarity: my sister made a fabulous gourmet bisque, including vegan servings, and we forgot all about it until we were halfway through dinner. It has since been frozen, to be thawed and enjoyed this weekend. Shortly after that, my mom realized that we’d also forgotten to prepare the portabella caps I’d brought for Red and me. They were to be broiled with stuffing, but we didn’t miss them at all. Enjoy the free shrooms, Mom.

As I may have mentioned, Thanksgiving also marked Red’s first day as a vegetarian. Go, husband! I’m proud of him, so if you want to say hi, hit him up. I’m going to try to persuade him to post his thoughts on Jonathan Safran Foer’s Eating Animals.

On the Go Max Go front: We have since devoured both the Buccaneer and Mahalo bars. I was never a big Three Musketeers fan, so the Buccaneer was fine. I did love Almond Joys, though, and found the Mahalo a bit sticky and gummy. I mean, I’m not going to turn my nose up at almonds and coconut, but I won’t be longingly pining for one anytime soon. Look at that, I’ve gone and given myself a chocolate craving.

Dead Bird Day.

This is not intended as a bitter vegan rant. It may end up that way, of course, but I come in peace. Sort of.

It’s three weeks until Thanksgiving. I am not excited about this. I haven’t been excited about it for a long time. This morning, I’ve been thinking about my awkwardly-spent youth and my love of erstwhile alternative radio station WHFS. (A moment of silence, please, Baltimorons.) HFS had a DJ—Kathryn Lauren, I think—who was a vegetarian. She staunchly referred to Thanksgiving as “Dead Bird Day,” I’m sure in spite of plenty of ribbing from her co-hosts. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but clearly it’s stayed with me. Maybe the image of a popular vegetarian (perhaps she was even vegan) DJ who wasn’t afraid to trumpet her convictions over the airwaves resonated with something nascent deep inside me. So, thanks, Kathryn.

I can’t muster any enthusiasm for Thanksgiving, a holiday that isn’t really a holiday. What are we celebrating, exactly? Another creation myth that serves the interests of the conqueror while glossing over the treatment of the conquered. Yawn. As Twisty at I Blame the Patriarchy describes it, “Like all holidays, it is riddled with horrors. Smallpox blankets. The spurious Squanto mythology. Genocide. The expectation that one manifest a hearty, convivial mood in the bosom of the fam despite the fact that the whole binge is (a) quasi-godbagious, (b) a shitload of extra work for the womenfolk, and (c) poultry-based.” Um, yeah. That’s pretty much how I feel about the whole thing. And why I love Poplar Spring Animal Sanctuary’s Thanksgiving WITH the Turkeys so, so very much.

Before you wrestle me to the ground and gag me with Tofurky, I’m not precisely dreading Thanksgiving. I love my family and I appreciate the two days off work. (Actually, I have a third, non-consensual day off this year. To whoever invented the concept of furlough days, you can join the state of Maine in kissing my ass.) I enjoy Thanksgiving and other family-centric holidays far more than I used to now that we’ve downsized them. Before, every holiday was spent with The Entire Family in an overwhelming spectacle of…something. So many aunts and uncles and cousins and current lovers and out-of-towners and hangers-on. In college, I started spending the entire evening—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, you name it—getting as surreptitiously drunk as possible to avoid thorny social interactions. My logic was that if all my energy was directed towards acting sober, I wouldn’t have any left to start fights with my conservative relatives. It worked quite well, but left me soggy and depressed.

Recently, holidays have tended towards the more private. My family is doing more solo, which is a blessed relief. Now I have Red’s clan to deal with, and he has mine, but we stick together. Celebration-hopping is not an ideal solution—who do we have dinner with? what about dessert? do I even care since I’m bringing my own food anyway?—but it’s manageable. I am not eagerly anticipating the traffic and the attempted force-feeding that seems inevitable, but those are annoyances I can deal with. Regardless of how small the celebration, though, the sight of a dead turkey in the middle of the table, carved open and parceled out, distresses me. I’ve met turkeys: they’re sensitive and intelligent. Mother turkeys gather their chicks under their wings before settling down for the night and guard them fiercely. Benjamin Franklin lobbied for the wild turkey to be the national bird! The whole orgy of food seems wrong, in a country that has 5% of the world’s population yet uses 25% of its resources. And to celebrate animal murder, then add insult to injury by saying a prayer of thanks over its violated corpse, is unconscionable to me.

This, by the way, is why I never gain weight during the holidays.

Photo of Toulouse and her turkey friend courtesy of The Gentle Barn via United Poultry Concerns.

More baby steps.

I totally forgot about World Vegan Day yesterday. I’m a terrible vegan, I know. Please read Stephanie’s piece here, because she is not a terrible vegan. Anyway, I already told you my vegan story.

Last night, Red and I had dinner with my parents, my sister and her boyfriend, and an old family friend. It was lovely—we had wine, pumpkin martinis, and a delicious vegan pistou soup. We caught up, shared Halloween stories, and played with the kitties. Then they had dessert.

I did not.

As you may recall, I sometimes have difficulty saying no. When my sister unveiled the adorable Halloween cupcakes she had brought, I knew I had to be strong. I wasn’t even tempted, really, which surprised me. “Can you eat these? I know sometimes you’ll eat them when I make them,” she said. She really wanted me to enjoy them. I took a deep breath, then explained that while they looked great, I wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors by eating one and giving the impression that my principles are negotiable. She pouted. “You had that rehearsed,” she said. Indeed I did, because I don’t do well on the spur of the moment. I wanted so much to make my sister happy, but I couldn’t do it. The cupcakes were beautiful, but they just weren’t food to me. They were chicks tossed into a grinder and calves wailing for their mothers. I hugged her, and I hope she understood. Once I get a cupcake pan, I’ll bake her some vegan cupcakes.

Many thanks and blessings to Marla at Vegan Feminist Agitator, who challenged me to think more deeply about my accommodating behaviors and how they prevent me from living as truthfully as I want to. It gets a little bit easier every time.