I’ve always eaten more this time of year, and if it happens to be cold, I eat even more. Because I cook, I tend to eat half of the ingredients before they reach the table in their final form, and this time of year we’re talking lots of bready, cheesy, glutinous stuff that can quickly add up to the fleshy equivalent of a down jacket. I’m carrying everything I need to weather a substantial famine, or a hike up Mt. Ranier. Wind chill doesn’t affect me so much as shortness of breath and the sensation of metal bands ratcheting across my thorax.
And shortness of breath. And short term memory loss. And stabbing pain in that thing between my neck and stomach.
That’s why I made this last week:

And for Christmas (if it snows) I’m planning on making a kind of deep-dish tomato aioli cheese pizza. I’m going to savor this while drinking white wine and catching up on my Edna O’Brien.

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