“Friday Night Fish Fry” signs can be seen all over this part of New York, scrawled on a poster in a grimy window, trumpeted on a wooden “sandwich” sign out in front of an American Legion or Loyal Moose building, on the marquee of a church hall, whatever, whatever. Evidently the phenomenon hearkens to Catholic origins (the traditional, old-​fashioned injunction not to eat meat on Fridays), though a quick glance around the room suggests that the ritual is not confined to the habitually devout – anyone and everyone is here. At any rate, our local venue is the Elks Club, a prominent building on a corner by the big in-​town park.

Yet one more thing different about our neighbors to the north: The Québécois version of the convenience store.

Writing advice from writers you admire is always worth considering, especially if you are aspiring. One of my heroes, Annie Dillard, once remarked that it is good to write about winter in summer and summer in winter — clarifies the mind.

So here I am, snowed in in my little New England town, in January, thinking of summer!

This past summer I had a real treat, an opportunity to visit the province of Quebec. Not just right over the border, as I had a few times before (it was great sport in college to nip over to buy a case of Brador beer). Our destination was deep into the territory, past ever-​enchanting Quebec City, and east along the impressive St. Lawrence River to Parc Saguenay. In any event, I had best add that it is not so easy for anyone to “nip” across the border these days. Bring your passport and your patience if you do this, and do not confess to carrying produce or contraband.

Anytime is an excellent time to ponder pie, in my book, but the topic always attracts more attention when Thanksgiving comes around. When I was in my local bakery this past weekend, I saw a big sign reminding us to place our pie orders early. “Let us do your baking for you!” it called. “If you are hosting, we will save you time,” the sign continued persuasively, “and if you are a guest at somebody else’s table, a pie is the perfect contribution.” No arguments there!

Pie truly is the perfect feast-​topper. If you make it past the mountain of white-​meat turkey and savory drumsticks, the steaming, gravy-​laden mashed potatoes, and various other side dishes (yams with marshmallow, anyone?), you may think you are not up to gobbling down anything more. Instead, you will say, “Oh no…! I’m sorry, I am really too full for dessert. This meal was great, thank you anyway! What’s that? Pie, you say? Oh. Well! Maybe a thin slice…” Even after a huge and satisfying meal, a slice of pie not only seems somehow possible, it seems like the only possible choice.