Today unlike other Thanksgiving holidays I find myself alone. The day began in silence, shrouded in fog from the eastern seaboard; it passed quietly in a town whose shopdoors shut tightly against profit and house doors opened wide in favor of family; and ended in fog from the eastern seaboard, backlit in a dusty red, dusky purple, then dark.

There was no turkey except for those roaming the wood behind my house, and no stuffing or potatoes or pie. There was, in fact, nothing special whatsoever, except for this contrast of need (a darker color?) to necessity (a pure white sheet).

Tonight I thought of what to eat. In the refrigerator there were a few odds and ends left over — odds and ends being the staple of a cook's creativity, like the bits and pieces in a farmer's shed, twine and old bolts and scraps of fence and light sockets, that are just so much rubbish until a little repair project shines a light on them… suddenly they are precious, bits of diamond in a jeweler's loupe, or filagree in her tweezer. Goes to show that beauty is not only in the eye, but changes from moment to moment: best to keep your mind open.

Half of a leek, and the end of a ginger-root are flavor in pan; a package of tempeh is protein from the earth, and a wedge of red pepper is paint with a sweet-tart tang; last-chance day on a bunch of cilantro means picking the green from the brown, but the extra minute of work promises spicy, live pleasure for the palate. A half-bowl of indian rice, cooked with green cardamom pods, two bay leaves and a stick of cinnamon, will heat like white incense and receive the main dish like a painter's parchment. Olive oil for the pan, whites and greens of the leek sweetening as they brown; coriander and pepper crushed rough and fresh in the mortar, ginger through the garlic press, finely-diced serrano a spark of fire for the back of the tonuge; tempeh sliced onto the scented surface of the pan; a dash of salt; the red pepper like threads of silk; turned in five minutes from remainders to main dish, main dish to an entire meal, simple as it is complete, modest as it is enough.

There is plenty to be thankful for, when we have enough to fill a bowl with rice and nourishing greens. When a cup of hot water and a few tea leaves is enough to satisfy both thirst and tongue.

Not the plenty of a laden table, but the pleasure of an empty one.