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Let’s give thanks.

Let’s give thanks for sisters who swear they’re old enough to try tequila at age 15.

For brothers who swear they hate ginger. (Even though they eat about a pound of your ginger pomegranate cranberry sauce.  Every year.)

For mothers who swear that the chicken broth they used in their stuffed mushrooms is vegetarian.  (And for aunts who help you convince them otherwise.)

For fathers who swear.  Period.

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I have a plan for us.

A plan so utterly foolproof that we are not going to stress about a single calorie this holiday weekend!  And no….this plan does not involve tequila or amphetamines.  And especially does not involve mixing the them together in a large cranberry margarita and calling it a night.

Definitely not.

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Confession.

I am totally a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of holiday cook.  I finalize nothing until the day before, mostly because I am incredibly susceptible to being swept off my feet by the next best recipe to hit the blogosphere.  This, uh, “technique”, as some may call it, may leave me susceptible to being caught with flour in every crevice of my body five minutes before my mother is supposed to pick me up.  But c’est la vie.  We’re all family on Thanksgiving, right?

However.  Because I decided to allow a grocery service to deliver my groceries this year (Fresh Direct for those of you in the tri-state area. It’s similar to PeaPod for those who aren’t.), I had to make some decisions and fast.

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Soup is the answer to all of life’s most rhetorical and profound problems.

Feeling cold?  Soup.

Feeling tired?  Soup.

Feeling like skinny jeans are just too much for you to handle?  Soup.

Feeling like you need a stiff drink in anticipation of all of the cooking meltdowns you know you’ll be having in the next four days?  Soup with vodka.

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