Imagine…a Utopia in which everything grows of its own accord and turkeys fly around ready-roasted.
~ Arthur Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena
‘In such a place,’ says Art, ‘men would die of boredom or hang themselves.’ But he’s wrong about that, because this heaven really exists and I, for one, will be glad to find myself there come Thursday. I refer, of course, to Mom’s kitchen on Thanksgiving Day. The great American secular feast approaches like an annual Brigadoon through the November mist. The whole splendid chorus of fowl and stuffing, potato and gravy, casserole and cranberry sauce implores us to eat, drink and be merry: Utopia lives for only a day.