Renegade Chef: Tryptophan and sofa-turnips
The holiday season arrives early and stays late, like a boorish and inconsiderate uncle who hangs around until the last minute, picking at the scraps of a decimated party buffet.
I should know — I’m that uncle. And since it “‘tis the season”—regardless of whether you’re yawning or looking down at your watch, I think I’ll hang around for awhile and ramble off a few random holiday thoughts—just after I ask: “Is there any more turkey? There’s nothing left but bones, here.”