In the rush of planning and eating a Thanksgiving Meal, the cranberry sauce is kind of an afterthought. We carefully plot out our turkey roasting techniques, strategize our side dishes, and lovingly craft pies from scratch, but cranberry sauce usually involves the can opener. Diners, too, look askance at cranberry sauce — they politely take a spoonful because it looks pretty on the plate and may add a little zing to a bland and dry turkey, but there is invariably nearly a bowlful of leftover cranberry sauce which becomes the subject of a polite-off after dinner conversation:
“I’ve packed you a big bowl of cranberry sauce to take home!”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly — I know how you love cranberries! But I’ll take more stuffing.”
“It’s no problem! I’ll just put it in this bag here!”
“Well, I was saving that spot for more pumpkin pie …”
“We ate all the pumpkin pie. Just take the cranberries, OK?”
I, too was cranberry unenlightened. I had it on the table out of deference to tradition, took a polite spoonful, and scooped the remainder into the trash at the end of the night. But then I got married, and my father in law (who really isn’t a gourmet cook, but occasionally hits it out of the park) introduced me to this cranberry sauce (OK, I tarted up his recipe just a tad, but I can’t help it!) It’s INCREDIBLY easy to make (I honestly don’t know why anyone bothers buying cranberry sauce — it takes about 30 seconds of active cooking), is a perfect complement to turkey, and actually tastes good on its own. I made some last week and I found my husband sneaking into the fridge to eat the leftovers out of the jar.
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Tags: holiday·Thanksgiving·Vegetarian
Hosting Thanksgiving dinner can be awfully anxiety producing. First, there’s the worry about seating logistics – is your table big enough for your number of guests? Do you have enough chairs? (Here’s a tip — don’t seat anyone who has graduated from high school at the kid’s table). Then there’s the anxiety about what to serve — Uncle Jim insists on green bean casserole but Cousin Imogen hates mushrooms. Your husband always had mashed potatoes when he was growing up, your brother prefers roasted potatoes and your great aunt Cassie (who isn’t really your aunt but everyone calls her aunt anyway because she went to summer camp with your grandfather’s sister) thinks potatoes have no place on the table, only parsnips. But nothing creates as much anxiety as the traditional centerpiece of the Thanksgiving table: the turkey.
When I was a kid, nobody really liked turkey. I remember many Thanksgivings of tasteless Butterball birds, on the dry side, that you politely took a slice of before digging into the stuffing. When I started hosting my own Thanksgiving dinners, I, armed with this newfangled thing called the internet, set out to make a delicious, juicy turkey that would be a pleasure to eat — a true centerpiece. I read all of the literature — I tried flipping the bird halfway through cooking (have you ever tried flipping a hot turkey? No fun), Tenting it with foil (the bird was very juicy — so juicy it fell apart in the oven and couldn’t be carved), lathering it with butter (great, crispy skin, but the meat was still decidely blah) and finally the current conventional wisdom, a wet brine, which involves immersing the turkey in a salt water bath for a few days prior to roasting, assuming that the water will seep deep into the turkey’s core. The wet brining was quite a daunting proposition — finding a tub big enough to hold a turkey and the brine, finding a place to put it in the refrigerator (because you don’t want to leave a turkey brining at room temperature), and then roasting it only to discover that the turkey was juicy and flavorful, but the brine really cured the turkey, giving it a slightly watery texture and a flavor closer to ham than the roast turkey of my dreams.
Luckily for you all, though, I have discovered the secret to flavorful, juicy and EASY turkey, and it doesn’t require an industrial walk in refrigerator — the dry brine. I learned about the dry brine from Judy Rodgers in the fantastic Zuni Cafe Cookbook
. A dry brine — which involves salting the meat well in advance of cooking, which first draws the juices out of the turkey due to osmosis, then draws the seasoned juices back in — is the secret to my favorite roast chicken recipe, served at the Zuni Cafe in San Francisco. I reasoned — if the method delivers a delicious, juicy, flavorful roast chicken, then why shouldn’t it work on turkey?
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Tags: holiday·Thanksgiving·turkey
The advent of fall is subtle here in Los Angeles. We don’t get the fire of autumn leaves, serving as a beacon, or the sudden damp and chill, requiring rainboots and peacoats. We tend to put our heads down during the fires and Santa Ana winds of September and October, keep going through day after day of sunny skies and 80 degree temperatures, until sometime in November we look up and notice that the air smells of leaf mold and woodsmoke, the nights have grown cold, the sycamore leaves have changed from golden green to golden brown, and the light seems to be filtered through a faint haze. Fall has arrived, not with bright banners and pounding drums, but quietly and unmistakeably.
Fall also brings with it a cornucopia of autumnal produce — my beloved brussels sprouts, apples, persimmons, pears, sweet potatoes, and of course, squash. Nothing quite screams autumn like winter squash – first the pumpkins for Halloween, then pumpkin pie and suddenly the creamy orange flesh is everywhere you turn.
Squash are often banished to side dish status, but they can be the centerpiece of a meal. Acorn squash, in particular, makes an appealing main course — it’s perfectly sized for built-in portion control, is less sweet than butternut or kabocha squash, lending itself well to savory preparations, and it’s pretty to boot. This acorn squash, which is halved, then baked and stuffed with a mixture of squash and quinoa, is a particularly elegant preparation — hearty, savory and beautiful enough to grace a dinner table. It’s a great option if you are planning a Thanksgiving dinner with vegetarians at the table — it can be made well in advance except for a late reheating, and is substantial and lovely enough that the vegetarians don’t feel like they’ve been relegated to the status of second class citizens.
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Tags: Gluten Free·hazelnuts·quinoa·Thanksgiving·Vegetables·Vegetarian
