So how did your Thanksgiving go? Uncle Hootie nod off in the lounger and spill Jim Beam on his crotch? Did the cousin you haven’t seen in 30 years who is exactly your age seem to look thirty years older than you? Did your football team win? Was the turkey dry or just right? Did your sister finally snap at you after you needled her mercilessly about her new boobs? And did you come away satisfied that you had sincerely given thanks for the food and that ragtag gaggle of friends and family you might not see for another year or more? Huh? And did you mean it?

I’ve heard Tony Bourdain say more than once that he’s an egg "slut."

Well, Skinny, meet me ‘round the corner, in a half an hour’

If Tony’s a slut, I’m a $10,000 a session, stiletto heeled, Vegas quality, fly me in for the weekend super tramp. I mean, c’mon, if it’s being easy we’re talking about, I’ll take it over easy anytime, day or night. Flip one, don’t flip one, it hurts so good!

Growing up in the 50’s and early 60’s in Cincinnati, Ohio was pretty much the cliche universally attributed to that era. At least it was in our part of town on Wexford, Avenue. Mom stayed home, Dad went to work. Mom handled the cooking Monday through Friday. And on the weekends, Dad and our next door neighbor, John Choate, or Jim Weiss, my favorite from across the street would rock the grills in the back yard. My earliest memory of my dad cooking was over the grill, but it would be years before I would see him in the kitchen, when it would finally dawn on me that it was okay for a guy to be in there with the knives and the fire, nothing sissy about it.

Recently I wrote about Thomas Keller reuniting with a father who had abandoned the family when the famed French Laundry chef was just five years old. Unlikely as it seems as chronicled in the New York Times by Kim Severson, the two found they really liked one another and for about three years the son finally had a father and the father must have felt like he had won the lottery. Sadly, Ed Keller had a severe accident that left him a paraplegic, and as he lay dying, Thomas Keller cooked a simple meal of barbequed chicken and greens. Hand fed him. Then his dad died.