Ever since I was a university student, Thanksgiving has been one of my favourite holidays. It’s the first long weekend of the school year, the weather is usually glorious and who doesn’t love a day that centres around eating a delicious meal?
This year, with our resident turkey chef overseas (although I can roast a chicken, I can’t bring myself to cook an animal that’s bigger than the dog), we went out for our turkey.
We enjoyed the Thanksgiving buffet at the Empress.
As usual my boy demonstrated considerably more restraint than me when it came to dessert. He ate half his slice of dense, flourless chocolate cake then pushed the plate away, sighing with contentment.
I not only finished my own chocolate cake, but also my bread pudding and my cheesecake.
He noticed me eying his cake remnant and without a word handed it over to me–an indication of two things I really shouldn’t share: I have been known to clean my son’s plate and I have zero willpower when it comes to anything chocolate.
I was about to finish off the cake when two women went by on their way to the buffet, a snippet of their conversation over heard as they passed.
“…diagnosed with type two diabetes…”
My boy looked at me and then looked down at the cake.
I put my fork down. Perhaps three desserts at one sitting really is enough.