Each November, Fox News online produces Thankful Nation, a segment featuring essays from and interviews with celebrities and regular folks. I believe that gratitude transcends ideology and am sincerely thrilled to join the Thankful Nation crew by sharing this essay about Nanny. Thank you to everyone -friends, family, and strangers alike- for the wonderful notes and comments throughout today. I’m happy so many of you have memories of blackberry pie too.

The past two days have reminded me what real cold feels like. The kind that cuts through your clothes and slices straight to your bones. The kind that leaves you longing for a warm fire and a big bowl of steaming soup.

Yesterday, Oliver and I bundled up and spent nearly two hours at the farmers market. He loves being there like I do: fully and with patient enthusiasm. He wolfed down a fresh-from-the-wood-oven margherita pizza. He delighted in the "longest eclair" the French bakers had, adding chocolate cream to the tomato sauce spotting the canvas also known as his face. He helped me choose sunchokes (bottom right) and turnips (bottom left), sampled apples and cider too. He flirted with our friend at the butcher's stall. We helped hands and laughed the whole time.

Using most of the sunchokes this evening, I did make soup: a huge vat (because it freezes well) of my sublime Leeky Sunchoke Bisque which I look forward to each year and which never disappoints. This plus some of this gorgeous bread made a hearty, warming, lip-smacking dinner tonight. Even Tom didn't balk about the absence of any meat.

Now, we are jumping lanes here but it's still food-related.

Last October, when I met some writer friends in New Mexico, I learned a bit about using dried red chiles to make sauce. I've had a gorgeous homemade ristra of NM chiles hanging and drying in my pantry window, and I pluck from it when the mood strikes. It's nearly 75% gone now and the peppers are marvelous as ever. Next time I make these chili tacos, I'll write down my recipe because they are insanely satisfying.