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Rick's List — Thanksgiving Feast Recap Edition

In most ways, being married to a vegetarian for 27 years has been a good thing. My wife Eileen never proselytizes about the sorcery of peas or sneers at my own diet — although she did express mild disagreement a few years ago on our anniversary when I suggested driving 38 miles to North Haven to have a celebratory meal at Sonic.

Eileen is a creative and very good cook and goes out of her way to come up with dishes that she hopes will appeal to me — not so much because she thinks it'll be better for me (though she does), but because she worries I might tire of my own ironclad nightly meal plan: microwaved Jimmy Dean sausage biscuits, peanut M&Ms, and a thick slab of otter jerky.

For instance, if one of her recipes calls for, oh, Brussels sprouts — which I consider to be the leprosy-diagnosis of vegetables — Eileen, who loves Brussels sprouts, will charitably substitute far-tastier broccoli on my behalf.

I reflect on these things as I type this three days before Thanksgiving in the time of COVID-19. Our larder is dangerously low, and now we're faced with the not-great prospect of visiting a grocery store a scant 30-some hours before Turkey Day. On a scouting mission, I drove by a Stop and Shop earlier, and the parking lot was jammed despite driving rain and a rampant disease. On my way home, when I went by Shaw's Cove, the exceedingly long line to get COVID testing was backed up all the way to Bank Street.

I draw no conclusions from two otherwise disparate backlogs other than, if you're gonna get tested for the virus, why isn't it set up so you can also buy a turkey at the same time?

Anyway, I'm out of otter jerky, M&Ms and Jimmy Dean, and frankly Eileen's pretty much out of the vegetables she eats — including Brussels sprouts and also asparagus, the latter of which is the Post Malone's Teeth of vegetables.

But we've decided we're not going to the grocery and risk catching coronavirus, which is the Brussels sprouts of diseases. We'll make do. There are a few food items still in the house, and we'll invoke that first Thanksgiving spirit embodied by the Pilgrims and Native Americans when they gathered at Plymouth Rock and invented the word "cornucopia."

What we've done is forage through our unkempt yard and created — yes! — a cornucopian feast from nature! We've even printed up the menu, just like a fancy hotel's holiday buffet that lazy people go to rather than cook for 27 hours, then bolt the food down while they snap at each other because they'll be late to get in line for Black Friday.

Presenting A Very Koster Thankgiving Repast

 • Fallen Leaves Soup

 • Twig-Paste Molded into the Shape of a Turkey with Moldy Firewood-Bark Gravy

 • Candy Corn and Mulch Casserole

 • Old Lawn Mower Bag Grass Clippings and Canned Tuna Pudding

 • 162 Bite-Sized Baby Ruths Stolen From Neighbor's "Take One Each" Plastic Jack-o'-Lantern Front Porch Offering on Halloween Night

 • Leftover Bonus for Friday: Sliced Twig-Paste Fake Turkey Sandwiches on White Bread with Mayo

Postscript: Today is Saturday as you read this. Eileen insists on going to Sonic in North Haven. Sounds good to me.


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