chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

Tag Archives: Thanksgiving



ready for Thanksgiving


thank you!

Seven years ago today I took it in my mind to create a blog. More than twenty-two hundred posts later, chocolate is a verb seems to have a life, and an audience, of its own. I am extremely grateful to you for your visits, your Likes, and your comments, and hope this is just one of the many expressions of gratitude you will experience in this season of thanks.

(If you’ve just been dropping in and would like a steadier dose of chocolate, click on RSS Feed at the top of the and/or image at left, or gimme chocolate! just below it.)

found poem: ready


found poem: SCRAPING

we have come…

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ we have come
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

You, my visitors, viewers, readers, are deserving of a special note of gratitude on this Thanksgiving day. I am continually astonished, and honored, that there are those of you who show up every day to look, or Like, or Comment — that somehow you have found your way here and have returned again and again. Whether I know you or not, you are a friend and your presence in my life is meaningful and important. Thank you.

Thanksgiving poem (written/posted in 2012).


winter blooming camelias

For all the times we were not alone with grief,
for all the times we were abandoned by despair,
for every morning we have awakened,
for every fresh idea,
for all the times we have fallen and stood up again,
for each moment we have been warm and dry and safe enough,
the times we have not been hungry,
the times we have given or received,
for the rope into the abyss that is family, friendship, love
—for all of this, we are grateful
—by all of this fulfilled.

© j.i. kleinberg 2012


cooked turkeyMy mother was a good cook. She loved recipes, which she read like salacious novels, but understood ingredients and was creative with them to positive effect.

A couple of times a year, Thanksgiving or otherwise, she would cook a turkey, which, except for the one that memorably fell on the kitchen floor on the way to the table, would be handsome as well as delicious: crisp and golden on the outside and juicy and tender on the inside, just the way a cooked turkey should be.

She packed the bird with her homemade stuffing, which was later mounded into a bowl as part of the feast, but it was her stuffing balls that incited riots. Finding, always, as if by accident, that she had made more than the turkey would hold, she would shape this ‘extra’ stuffing into tennis-ball-size globes, which she then placed in the pan beneath the turkey in its rack. There, for three or four or five hours, they would be extravagantly marinated in turkey drippings until they achieved a dark, chewy crust.

These little pucks of fat-drenched stuffing would vanish as fast as they were served — delectable, dangerous, divine.

Gobble gobble, indeed!
turkey photo

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