Those of you who know me know that I am given to the occasional rant opinion. I’m giving you fair warning that this is one of them, and it’s only loosely on-topic at that. Please feel free to click on by if you’re not in the mood.

I had originally planned this to be a short footnote to my Sourdough Ciabatta Rolls post, but I realized I had somewhat more than a footnote’s worth to say. And I want to make it clear up front that my little tirade has nothing to do with the merits of what we bake (or cook or do), and everything to do with how we talk about what we bake (or cook or do).

First, about those rolls: I had originally been calling them “Rustic Sourdough Rolls” because I have been told by a professional baker I admire that if it’s sourdough it’s not truly ciabatta, but is more aptly termed “pane Francese” or something like that. But I decided to call them “Sourdough Ciabatta Rolls” after all, because I thought more people would understand the type of bread I made (or meant to make) with that name than with “rustic rolls” or anything else.

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What was your latest baking experiment gone right? Here’s mine:

2 pm: I remembered to take the pork out of the freezer yesterday. I remembered to start slow-cooking it early this morning. I’m starting the sandwich rolls so they’ll be fresh out of the oven when the pork is done… Doh! I’ve forgotten to make the prefermented dough.

There’s no time to make a preferment now. I have my sourdough starter, but only about 60 grams of it, not enough to make true sourdough rolls. OK, it’s not a mega-disaster in the scheme of things. With what will (hopefully) be a super-flavorful pulled pork on top of them, a straight-dough roll will be just fine. Sure to top store-bought, anyway.

But I’m feeling experimental. I’ve been saving the toss-off from a few days’ worth of sourdough feedings. I have a couple hundred grams of it in the refrigerator, waiting to be used in pancakes, or maybe destined for the compost bin. Those wild yeast have been languishing, close to death, and will not be very effective as little fermenting machines in my dough. But maybe I can use that old starter to bring some flavor and acidity to my rolls, which is what preferments do best. It’s worth a try.

7 pm: Dinner. The pulled pork is lovely, and the sour rolls provide a very nice counterpoint to its sweetness. I’m calling my experiment a success.

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When I was a young teenager, I followed professional basketball rather – and this might be a bit of an understatement – closely. I can still recite the starting lineup, with jersey numbers, of my hometown (championship, then and again!) team, the Boston Celtics. I didn’t get to many games at Boston Garden, but I faithfully listened to each one on the radio and relished the televised games even more.

Naturally, I became familiar with players on the other teams as well. Although many of those opponents’ names have vanished from my memory, there is one player I will never forget: Rick Barry of the Golden State Warriors.  He is one of the game’s greatest all-time stars, an eight-season NBA All-Star and a Hall-of-Famer. But to be honest, and intending no disrespect to his all-around achievement, what stands out most in my mind about Rick Barry is that he shot his free throws underhand.

Yes, one of the greatest (and at the time of his retirement, the best) free-throw shooters of all time shot granny style. Or, as Red Auerbach pointed out in this Red on Roundball video (which, just to be clear, was shot way before my time!), the old way. Auerbach didn’t, but some would call it the wrong way. Shaquille O’Neal is reported to have said “I would shoot negative percentage before I shot like that.”

Perhaps people (like Shaq and – ahem – young teenagers) were laughing, and high school coaches were cringing, but Rick Barry didn’t care. He put the ball through the hoop every time.

Which brings me to my all-time, trumps-everything, supreme grand Rule #1 of bread baking (and of most things, for that matter): Do What Works For You. And Corollary #1: Don’t Do What Doesn’t Work For You.

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When I wrote about the illness of our bread-loving cat last summer, I didn’t know how much longer she would be with us. As it turned out, Stripes made quite a remarkable recovery and was almost her old self for many months — until a few weeks ago, when her chronically failing kidneys started making her sick again. This time, she didn’t bounce back, and she died today.

Farewell, my little friend. I didn’t always like you, but in the end I loved you. Wherever you are, I hope you’re dining sumptuously on mice, tuna, and a nice crusty loaf of sourdough.

This is the bread I will be serving at Thanksgiving dinner this year. It is the same bread I made last year, and just about every year since I learned how to turn on the oven. It is the same bread you will see here next year if this blog is still around. It’s cranberry-nut bread, the recipe clipped from the back of a long-ago Ocean Spray bag.

The rest of the menu will be similarly well-worn: roast turkey with the same chestnut stuffing we’ve had since my husband and I shared our first Thanksgiving, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes with gravy, sweet potatoes, squash, creamed onions, apple pie, pumpkin pie.

I may vary the sweet potato treatment a bit from year to year. I add a brussels sprout or two if I the urge strikes me. I like to try new pumpkin pie recipes from time to time. But by and large, the menu is eminently simple and predictable.

This is not because I’m not an adventurous cook (although I’m the first to admit I’m not). It is because Thanksgiving dinner is not about the Cuisine, it’s about the Food. It’s about the familiar, abundant dishes you know will always be on your plate, year after year, dishes that come together to create what my husband calls “the perfect mouthful.” These are things that would be sorely missed if they weren’t on the table. This is food that tastes good without having to fuss with it. It’s food you know you can count on.

Now that I think about it, Thanksgiving dinner is a feast that’s a lot like the family I’ll be sharing it (whether physically or in spirit) with.

So no recipes today. The bread recipe is still on the back of the cranberry bag if you need it, but I suspect you don’t. Just make what you made last year.

Have a beautiful Thanksgiving, everyone!