About eight years ago, I claimed Thanksgiving. Every woman needs a holiday that she can call her own and since cooking brisket wasn’t my thing, this seemed to be a good fit.  Although I could barely boil water at the time, I figured that most Thanksgiving staples could be bought pre-made and I could recruit my dad to carve the turkey. “No-brainer,” I thought.  Then I gave it a go.  Quickly I learned that the magic of Thanksgiving was not based on the moistness of the turkey or the sweetness of the pumpkin pie.  No, the magic comes from a delicate blend of all of the flavors that make up the day. Yes, I had claimed Thanksgiving, but in order to keep it I needed a better recipe.