Thanksgiving
Cook Book
Written by Nancy Taylor Robson Illustrated by Jean Sanders
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The Case for Fresh Turkey
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e’ve had fresh free-range Thanksgiving turkey for years. Often they’ve been courtesy of our friend Jeanette Parish, who cooks
the bird to juicy perfection. You haven’t really experienced turkey until you’ve had a fresh, naturally-raised bird cooked to perfection. Supermarkets have shrewdly glommed onto the trend and
begun to order fresh turkeys in for the holidays, though rarely are they free-range (bugs, grass, whatever they come across), which makes a big difference in flavor – and, I’m assuming, in nutritional balance.
Of course, it’s impossible to compete price-wise with the 79¢/pound turkeys that
supermarkets sometimes even give away this time of year (which tells you how
much they prize the thing). A fresh, naturally-raised or organic turkey ain’t cheap
– anywhere from $2.50 to $6.50/pound – even though the short distance the locals travel should help cut the cost.
“Even at $6.50 a pound I make very little if anything on them,” says Dolly Baker
of White House Farm. Baker, a biologist, grows heritage turkeys – Spanish blacks, which she got originally to chase hawks away from her free-range laying chickens
– and the larger-breasted Bronze, which was the commercial breed prior to WW II.
“They’re similar in shape to grocery store turkeys and are usually more breast meat,” says Baker. “But heritage turkeys are usually smaller — from 7-10 pounds – and
take longer to grow to marketable size.” Commercial turkeys are super-fed (they’re the avian equivalent of sumo wrestlers) and grow to market size in about 20 weeks. Baker’s take about twice that amount
of time, which, if you’re paying for organic feed, jacks up the cost. “My whole farm is certified,” she explains, “so the turkeys range out on the grass. But when they’re not eating grass, like last winter, they are feasting on certified organic feed.” The other problem is processing. While some farms process on the premises, which reduces cost, others need to take their birds to a commercial processor, difficult for certified organic producers here. “There is not a certified organic poultry processor in the state of Maryland,” Baker explains, “so I have to take mine to one in Virginia.” Following processing the birds are frozen to ensure safety. I prefer never-frozen birds, and buy one that’s been freshly killed a day or two before I cook it. I’ve bought from farmers in the county, who process right on the farm (not a pretty sight) or who take their all-natural turkeys to the local pluckers’ (ditto). I’ve also bought them from Otwell’s Market in Galena, which sells fresh turkeys that come from a family farm south of Elkton. Locust Point Farm raises their animals, including free-range eggs and poultry and grass-fed beef, naturally and without hormones, which impact children especially. The farm isn’t certified organic, but even without the certification, I trust their operation. (The egg/salmonella debacle last summer gave us a heads-up on the who-do-you-trust question, and why it’s important.). Otwell’s charges $2.50/pound for Locust Point’s turkeys. They’re not only fresh; they’re delicious. I signed up for our turkey yesterday. Spending more per portion on quality pays off in the long run. If we are what we eat – and clearly, with the nation in the throes of a self-sustained type 2 diabetes epidemic, we are – it behooves us to balance quantity against quality. It also helps the purse-conscious Scot in me to know that what I give up in dollars for two holiday meals a year goes back into the region’s economy, ultimately a plus for all of us. And because it’s small, local, and personal, Locust Point offers the kind of customer service no large, distant, commercial operation could even consider. “We like to get orders in early,” says Joe Pisapia, proprietor with his wife, Christy Otwell Pisapia, of Otwell’s. “But I’ve called them at the last minute, and they’ve come in with a warm bird that they’ve obviously just killed and plucked for a lastminute customer.” And for a meal that is a celebration of life and the bounty of the country, it’s important that the meat TASTES like turkey, not like tender cardboard. Served with whole-grain bread stuffing filled with onions, celery and plenty of fresh herbs and moistened with orange juice and just a little bit of butter before it goes into the bird, you can’t beat it. I’m drooling in anticipation as I write this. The turkey was Benjamin Franklin’s choice for a national symbol. The eagle – majestic and fierce–won out. But Ben, who loved food and lived long and prospered, was really onto something.
Thanksgiving Side Dishes
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t isn’t just the stuffing that creates controversy at Thanksgiving – shall we have bread stuffing? Cornbread? With oysters? Giblets? Chesnuts? Without? — it’s the side dishes. My mother, who was a good but mostly unenthusiastic cook, would periodically make an effort to upgrade the holiday with something new. It always brought howls of protest from her tradition-bound family, (though I loved the addition of green bean casserole). I remember the year she added sautéed mushrooms to the peas, and the following year chucked in buttery almonds. Revolution! At least for a year or two. But in short order I grew to love the change and later to love the variety offered by subsequent Thanksgivings shared with enlarging family and friends. Everyone had sacred cows for that particular meal, so the table kept expanding. Liz always had to have her fabulous, dessert-like sweet potatoes with pecan crust. Grandma had sauteed green beans. Jeannette couldn’t call it Thanksgiving without her savory onion custard. I need sauerkraut and Brussels sprouts. My sister-in-law, Allison, who is a superb cook, is also not in the least impressed with food traditions and so plonks down whatever she finds interesting and delicious on the Turkey Day groaning board. I remember the first year she added avocados and fresh strawberries and blueberries to the salad. For Thanksgiving! So much for seasonal foods. But, Boy! Was the salad good! Despite this ecumenical – and delicious — agglomeration, for Thanksgiving, the gardener in me wants a harvest-provided table. So I do a ‘traditional’ Thanksgiving dinner here sometime that week regardless of where we actually
eat on the official day. Yet variety within seasonal-harvest parameters is a nod to innovation that seems very American. To find something new to do with the same old stuff, I mine cookbooks and magazines. Last month’s Bon Appetit had a recipe for sauerkraut and gin that I want to try, and this month’s suggests shredded Brussels sprouts sautéed with ham and pecans, along with roasted carrots and parsnips with white balsamic glaze (which is delicious) and fennel gratin with pecorino and lemon. The December issue of Food and Wine weighs in with ginger-roasted winter squash that looks superb. One link below lists about 10 different possibilities for Brussels sprouts and doesn’t even include two of my favorites: steamed with lemon juice and pepper and served with melted gorgonzola, and steamed until just crisp=tender with mustard-garlic sauce. I don’t want to get into spuds – lumps or no lumps, mashed, whipped, or riced?, cream, butter, chicken stock to cut calories without cutting flavor, with or without roasted garlic or chives? – which are a whole category on their own. And don’t get me started on sweet potatoes with marshmallows (who thought up that one? The marshmallow lobby? Come on!). The thing about Thanksgiving is it’s a blessing to have a gathering centered on gratitude and nourishment. Traditions are whatever you want to make them, even including marshmallows (gag). Just don’t forget the sauerkraut. http://www.kitchendaily.com/2010/10/19/brussels-sprout-recipes/ http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/ginger-roasted-winter-squash http://southernfood.about.com/od/vidaliaonions/r/bl10610a.htm http://www.bonappetit.com/recipes/2010/11/sauerkraut_with_gin_and_caraway http://allrecipes.com/recipes/side-dish/vegetables/broccoli/top.aspx
Mrs. Eaton’s Potato Rolls
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hese potato rolls have the advantage of using leftover mashed potatoes, so all you need to do is add a few spuds to the pot when you’re making supper one night that week, and save out a cup of mash plus a cup of the water in which you boiled the spuds. Mix the two into a slurry and keep it in a container in the frig for several days until you make the rolls. Pull the slurry out to warm to room temperature -- between 70 and 85 degrees --before adding the sugar and yeast. If you warm it in the microwave, be sure to stir it well, so all parts are the same temperature. Too cold and the yeast won’t work. To hot and it kills the yeast. MAKES 3 DOZEN 1 cup white mashed potatoes - Yellow Finn or Red Bliss are best 1 cup warm water, from potato-boiling, if possible 1/4 cup sugar 1 yeast cake or 1 tablespoon yeast 2 well-beaten eggs 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 cup shortening (unsalted butter is nice) 6 cups flour Mix together the potatoes, water, sugar and yeast. Set aside, covered for 20
minutes. Add to that mixture the eggs, salt and shortening. Blend in 6 cups of flour and knead well. Let double in bulk in a warm place with a towel overtop the bowl. Then make knobs - the dough will be sticky - and place on a greased cookie sheet. Bake at 400°F for 15 minutes. Makes 3 dozen. Divine with smoked salmon, Smithfield ham or for egg salad sandwiches. Make them ahead, let them cool completely, wrap well – close-wrapped plastic wrap followed by a plastic freezer bag you’ve sucked the air out of, put them in the freezer and give thanks. These rolls are also nice for a savory bread pudding – sausage, cheese, herbs, sautéed shallots and savory custard. An easy, relatively inexpensive brunch casserole that feeds a troop. Additionally, like other bread puddings, it can be assembled the night before, refrigerated while the custard soaks completely into the bread/ rolls, then baked the next morning.
Pie Nite
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few years ago, we instituted ‘Pie Nite’ at our house. It began with a TV show called Pushing Daisies, a Lemony-Snicket-like confection set in a café called The Pie Hole owned by The Pie Maker. Each week in addition to everything else that was happening in the show, they’d mention some exotic-sounding pie. So each week, a couple of us would have supper together and watch the show and finish with a different, freshly made pie. The pie-making turned into something of a competition between our two pie-makers, Matt and Theresa. I was eliminated in the first round, since I use ready-made crust. The pie-makers are purists. They usually incorporated inseason ingredients – strawberry-rhubarb pie in May, strawberry mascarpone pie in early June, raspberry tart in July. In fall, we had sour cream and caramelized pear, apple crumble, rum cream (when the rum was coming into season) and sweet potato-pecan. We had plum-and-berry crumble, French silk, cherryapricot with dried fruit in winter and a frozen margarita pie in August when it was too hot to eat anything let alone bake in our un-air-conditioned house. The pair baked their way through Pie Pie Pie, a book I found at Twigs, and mined Epicurious.com and Allrecipes.com, as well as Gourmet and Bon Appetit cookbooks. Pie Nite’s run produced some unusual entries including grape pie, fig pie, grapefruit cocoanut angel pie and chocolate stout pie, a rich, velvety thing that Matt developed from a suggestion from his god-sister, Annie. There were a few favorites that made return appearances -- lemon and white
chocolate chiffon pie with graham cracker crust (twice) and a lovely mixed berry with streusel topping, which Theresa, who is the undisputed winner of the piecrust competition, made by request at least four times. Sometimes, Pie Nite was a bit of a push -- the planning, the deadline, the baking, the supper – when added to the middle of the work week. More than once we postponed or shifted depending on everyone’s schedules. But the routine was also welcome, an excuse to share a meal, some conversation, and some laughs together on a regular basis. Pushing Daisies, like all eccentric, well-written network shows, was cancelled in ’09, though we continued Pie Nite until Matt moved recently, taking his pie tins with him. But he was back this week and last night we shoehorned in a repeat performance. He cooked supper –Thai fish curry with plenty of fresh herbs that made the kitchen smell heavenly. Theresa, once again proving why she is the undisputed pie crust winner, brought an apple pie with pecan streusel topping. The fish was delicious, though it needed just a soupcon more hot peppers. But no matter, it’s really all about the pie. Theresa’s pie crust is Mark Bittman’s recipe in How to Cook Everything. But great pie crust is more than a recipe. It also has to do with a feel for the temperature, the dough, the humidity, in short, a sensitive attunement gained through experience, which usually includes plenty of failures along the way.
Theresa’s and Mark Bittman’s Pie Dough 1 cup + 1/8 all-purpose flour 1/2 teaspoon salt 1tablespoon sugar 1stick butter 3-4 tablespoons ice water, depending on humidity and how the dough looks and feels. Theresa throws it into all into a food processor until crumbly, pulls it into a ball, wraps it in plastic and chills it before rolling out.
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Turkey Leftovers
Matt and Annie’s Fabulous Chocolate Stout Pie 10 egg yolks 1/2 cup sugar Beat at medium speed until very light and fluffy. 16 ounces mascarpone + ½ cup sugar. Beat well until combined then mix with egg-sugar mixture by hand. Simmer ½ pint chocolate stout and melt about 8 ounces bittersweet chocolate in it until the consistency of chocolate syrup. Add to previous mixture, pour into a crust then freeze.
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have to confess, as much as I love the Great American Nosh– the perfectly roasted bird, the stuffing, the mash and gravy — I love Thanksgiving leftovers more. I love them partly because the meal itself, fairly hidebound in tradition, offers limited scope for creativity. But the day after, you can have at it with abandon. It’s like the difference between a formal ball and a hoedown. The possibilities with leftover turkey are almost endless: hot curried turkey salad, cold turkey salad with scallions, apples, toasted walnuts and celery, turkey croquettes with mornay sauce, plain old turkey sandwiches with a big slathering of garlic mayo on rye bread with sliced sweet onion and a beer (Dogfish Head Raison D’Etre), turkey and mushroom crepes with thyme, sautéed shallots and smoked gouda sauce, turkey wraps with lettuce, scallion, avocado and chipotle sauce, and the piece de resistance, turkey pot pie. Yet even though you get carte blanche on the creativity side, there’s an order to follow in the creation. First, get the stock going. Take whatever remains of the truly useable meat off the bone and throw the carcass into a big stockpot with every odd little bit of meat, skin, bone and fond (the gorgeously flavorful bits stuck to the bottom of the roasting pan that you get out with a little boiling water and wooden scraper) including the wing tips, and some leftover gravy. Throw in carrots, celery, onion, a leek if you’ve got it, parsley, thyme, a sage leaf and plenty of water. Simmer it for a couple of redolent hours on the back of the stove. (Want to sell your house? Have a pot of stock simmering when potential buyers arrive. Who can resist a house
that already smells like home?) Then, once the stock is going, assess. How much meat is left and in what configuration? Plenty of thin slices? Perfect for turkey Reubens, wraps, turkey sandwiches with cranberry chutney on whole grain bread, turkey-and-bacon club sandwiches, turkey and wild rice salad with nuts and dried apricots lightly doused with orange-and-mustard vinaigrette. Little bits of wing meat, the oysters off the back and maybe some streamers of thigh in the bottom of the pan? Turkey hash with finely chopped sautéed potatoes, sweet peppers and onion, maybe a little cayenne and a fried egg on top. Or curried turkey ragout with sautéed onion, celery, carrot, potato with peas added at the last minute, seasoned with curry and Worcestershire. For wonderfully retro croquettes, chop turkey very fine, grate some onion, and wrap it in a stiff béchamel made with a little milk and turkey broth. Shape them into patties or the classic little anthill-shaped mounds, roll them in bread or cracker crumbs and fry in a little oil. Dress them up with Mornay sauce (thin béchamel/broth with grated Gruyère and maybe a splash of white wine). Or use virtually the same beginnings and turn it into a turkey soufflé. If there are bigger pieces, something that can be cut into chunks, it’s turkey salad of some kind – hot and curried with French’s Fried Onion Rings, almonds, water chestnuts and yogurt/mayo dressing, or cold salad with toasted nuts, parsley, apples, grapes and scallions dressed with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. But my favorite, I think, is turkey pot pie. I do a fairly classic version, adding flavor not by adding tons of salt but by cooking the vegetables in rich turkey stock seasoned with celery tops, thyme and tarragon. After straining out the barely-tender veggies, I thicken the vegetable-andherb-infused broth slightly to make the sauce. I usually buy the crust, since I can’t make one any better than Pillsbury. Yet even with a store-bought crust, there’s something distinctly comforting about pot pie. It catapults me back to childhood, to a time when it felt like the world was filled with attainable riches. A good life could be had in exchange for effort and an appreciation of the simple pleasures. Served on a Friday evening by the fire, turkey pot pie is the reassuringly low-key end to a fraught week. Brought to a candlelit table, its crust the golden color of a beach at dusk, the juices just starting to rise up and drip tantalizingly down the side, and banked by a good sauvignon blanc, it’s downright elegant.
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Turkey Pot Pie 1 pie crust 1 cup cooked turkey, cubed ¾ cup carrots, sliced ¾ cup onions, chopped ¾ cup potatoes, cubed 1 cup frozen peas ¼ teaspoon dried tarragon
¼ teaspoon dried or fresh thyme 1 ½ cups rich turkey stock 4 tablespoons corn starch dissolved in 4 tablespoons cool water Salt and pepper to taste
Cook the carrots, potatoes and onions in the turkey stock gently until barely fork tender. Dip out the vegetables and put into a casserole or soufflé dish along with the frozen peas and the cubed turkey. Lightly salt and pepper the veggies and meat. Taste the stock for seasoning. Put thyme and tarragon in the stock and bring to the boil. Dissolve the cornstarch in the cool water, and whisk into the boiling stock. It should thicken and turn clear in a matter of a moment. Once it’s thick and clear not cloudy, pour over the vegetables and meat. Top with a crust. Put a few slits in the crust. (As one of the characters in the John Wayne movie, The Cowboys, said: Cut three slits in the top –two to let out the steam and one more because your mama said so). Bake at 375°F for 35 minutes or until the crust is browned and completely done.
d Nancy Taylor Robson, the former Farm and Garden Editor for The Chestertown Spy, is an avid cook and long-time garden writer. In addition, she is the author of Woman in the Wheelhouse, (Tidewater Publishers), which details the six years she worked a cook, deckhand and licensed mate on coastal tugboats, and of the award-winning coming-of-age novel, Course of the Waterman (River City Publishing). Jean Dixon Sanders is the Art Director and Illustrator for The Chestertown Spy. She paints Fine Art Daily, which can be seen at http://jeandsanders.blogspot.com Feel free to copy this for your personal use, but not commercially. This is copyrighted material and cannot be reproduced without permission. Text Š Nancy Taylor Robson 2011. Art Š Jean Sanders 2011. All rights reserved
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