Thanksglutton

Mark my words: it's all about the perfect pumpkin pie.  

At Thanksgiving each year, as it is with Christmas and to some extent Easter, the main feature is always a freshly baked, perfectly spiced pumpkin pie.  Sure, apple pie has its fans, and I count myself among them.  And yes, the bumbleberry fans might outweigh the lemon meringue pundits, but I find them particularly shallow.  No, Thanksgiving is the cornerstone of the now endless holiday season, and it brings with it turkey, tension and time well spent... with pie.  And excessive overeating.  In fact, so much is made of our ability to detach our jaws in order to swallow roasting birds whole that I shall christen this holiday "Thanksglutton," and smile contentedly.

All over our fair country, from Vancouver to St. John, men 

and women of all shapes and sizes will soon be gorging on turkey, chicken, goose, ham, lamb, stew, roux and perhaps even spaghetti and meatballs. Their bellies will swell, and they will clamour to the couch post-meal claiming to have eaten too much ... until the Running of the Pie is announced. If you've never been to Spain for the Running of the Bulls, pretend that pie is served in the same fashion. And pretend that when prompted for proportions, family and guests alike might bode for "two of three small pieces" instead of one healthy portion because they're watching their wait. Right. If you've seen I Am Legend, think of the ravenous zombie beasts that plague Will Smith and you'll have some idea about what this looks like.  It might just look like this: