Good Gravy!

Seriously.
The turkey gravy I made on T-Day was good.
Damn good.
I whipped up about a gallon of it and there’s still some left.

Tasty! Lovely color! Perfect consistency! No lumps! Smooooooooth as silk! Nothing gooey about it!

The difference must’a been in the making of the roux to thicken vs. going the cornstarch route. All that butter and flour slowly cooked into a bubbling froth before being added to the mix. Really, the gravy was exceptional, if I must say so myself.

I'll be glad when all the leftovers are gone.
Unfortunately, they won't be until I eat them up. Everything (except the pies) smothered with that Good Gravy (topped with a heaping helping of cranberry sauce).
I can forego additional helpings of dessert, but simply cannot pass up the savouries.
I know I won't stop until there isn’t a drop of Good Gravy left.

Thoughts turn to exercise:
How I need to.
How very good it is for me.
How I really do dread doing it.

Arrrgh. Good Gravy vs. A Healthier Heart, Toned Muscles and A Considerably Less Poochy Tummy.
How/when do I turn my thinking around to loathe the rich foods and love the exercise?!?
Hark! Do these sentiments signal an early start of the Guilt Season?
And here you thought it was the official beginning of the Shopping Season. Not so, at least not in my kitchen...

[The photo posted is from an online image source. My gravy never makes it into a little biddy gravy boat. It's scooped with a BIG ladle directly out of the HUGE stockpot I make it in...]