Thai Chicken Sausage

with roasted red potatoes (oh crispy salty outsides! oh creamy sweet insides!) and fried okra. A word about the latter: it was outrageously good. My spouse makes it, as simply as possible: lots of fresh, cut-up okra, fried in olive oil until browned and crispy. I ate like a horse, all but stealing it from his plate. I did not come to okra with this enthusiasm; when I got married and in so doing agreed to become Southern by association I was prepared to make certain accomodations, but thought I drew the line at okra. Slimy, weird, and seedy, its charm eluded me. But in a rare moment I decided that what my husband loved I ought least to try, so I made an effort okra-wise. Like all movements of spiritual generosity, this one benefited me far more than the person I was trying to please--I now defend my husband's okra against all comers, though I don't go so far as to actually share any of mine.