A Crazy Thanksgiving Salad

For me, preparing a meal for a bunch of folks who do not have a host of special dietary needs is dull. I enjoy cooking with a challenge. So, if everyone at the table can eat everything on the table, it makes my work too easy.

But I have little fear of being bored this holiday season, as my circle of friends and family seems increasingly to be drawn to more arcane cuisines. Among the more curious of offenders might be my spouse and me, as we search for an alternative to America's cuisine of abundance -- the super-sized excess that is overflowing our waistbands.

See if you could come up with a palatable menu that would please all these folks at a fictive Thanksgiving meal. (I've changed their names, though I'm not sure why.)

There's Ms. Rabbit, who eats only what a rabbit would. No dairy, no eggs. To some, such a diet sounds dull, but Rabbit is anything but boring in the dining room. Blessed with a great sense of humor and no sense of smell, Rabbit's meals are quirky medleys of textures: crunchy nuts, crisp veggies, smooth grains, seeds, fruits and berries that are succulent, sharp and sweet.

Mr. Mickey lives on pasta, spicy tomato sauce and vodka. He's sort of a vegetarian, saying he won't eat "anything that fucks." Fish? Yes. Chicken? No, I think.

Cousin Flora won't eat any critter that's experienced a maternal relationship. Flora will eat dairy and eggs -- because being sat upon by your mother apparently doesn't constitute a relationship.

Miss Fickle is a very strict veg, indeed. She actually doesn't seem to like vegetables and as far as I can tell, she only eats Snickers.

Then, there's Mr. Rick, who found salvation in shedding pounds by eating just meat, meat and lots of it. You know the deal.

Finally, my spouse and I are both omnivores who'll also eat meat, but only in tiny portions.

We're learning Asian cooking, so we'd like our Thanksgiving meal to be prepared in a Japanese style, if you please.

So what'll it be? A small tofu turkey, stuffed with Snickers and glazed with red sauce? Now there's a scene that I'd like Norman Rockwell to paint.

I don't know when the crazy salad replaced the melting pot as a metaphor for American society. But it is true that the "many" in "e pluribus unum" are diverging -- at least in matters of cuisine -- and for that, I'm glad. In a culture slouching toward monopoly and mediocrity, being a picky eater is practically a political act.

Although it would be nice to be able to sit down and share a meal.

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