The house at Thanksgiving is brimming with activity. The kitchen is warm: a 30-pound turkey roasts in the oven, its skin turning a burnished, crackly gold. A batch of my mom's famous butter fan rolls cool on a baking sheet. The compost bucket overflows with cooking scraps. I stand at the sink, plucking dirt-covered beets from a wire garden basket and scrubbing them under hot water. I peel them and cut them into thin slices, tossing them with olive oil and sea salt. We'll spread them in a thin layer on battered cookie sheets and cook them for barely 10 minutes until they crisp at the edges, like potato chips, and stay chewy in the center.