The numerous dishes are put away (thanks to Brian) and the leftovers have been scraped clean and gobbled down our gullets until we can't stuff any further. All that's left is to immediately get back on a diet to recover from the binge week I lovingly call Thanksgiving. I used to think of Thanksgiving as a bit of a throwaway holiday in the sense that no decorations were required and no presents had to be purchased, but now I’m finding it may be my favorite holiday for all those same reasons. The only requirement for a good time is an open heart and open stomach.
When else in the year do I get such an excuse to spend so much time in the kitchen? As someone who is both an avid cook as well as baker, the challenge and the thrill of cooking a multi-course Thanksgiving meal in a timely (very scheduled out) fashion is like a dream. By allotting a certain amount of time each day leading up to the grand show, I was able to get a hot meal on the table while still being able to enjoy myself.
There is something really special about Thanksgiving week, other than just the four-day weekend. Obviously we are celebrating a time of harvest and togetherness, and a somewhat tragic union of the pilgrims and Indians so many years ago, and dare we not forget the beautiful and lovely turkey we hope will grace our bountiful tables. It’s a time when gluttony reins supreme and is in fact encouraged from drink to food to obsessive sporting events. As Americans, we love an excuse to get together and share in a meal and Thanksgiving is the only time of the year when just about everyone is eating the same exact thing at the same time.
Even those who stray from the regular main of turkey and sides of mashed or sweet potatoes generally don’t go too far. There is still a version of stuffing on the table or a slightly altered cranberry sauce in there somewhere. What other moment in time are we all sharing in a communal meal as a country? Maybe hot wings on Super Bowl Sunday, but dare I observe not everyone is interested in sports? Whether we intend to or not we are “breaking bread” of sorts with the rest of our nation, and it’s a rather beautiful thing if you think about it.
I think my favorite thing to do on Thanksgiving is to get the pie(s) ready. It’s the one item people seem to fret over the most (aside from how moist or juicy the turkey is). Rolling out the crusts and getting them in the pie dishes mean deliciousness is about to ensue. This year I knew it would be a small crowd on the actual holiday, so I decided to split my dessert making duties into two parts, the first being a Pear Crostada with Figs and Honey for my co-workers earlier in the week and a Buttermilk Shoefly Pie for Brian, Kassi and myself on the big day.
The tart/crostada was a recipe I found in the November 2010 Bon Appetit. I had a craving for pears, and along with figs I find both are ingredients I use too rarely. I’m not sure why exactly this is because I like them both very much, but my focus seems to get stuck on more popular fruits like apples and pumpkins during a majority of the fall season. I felt compelled to praise these two fruits with a place of honor during Thanksgiving week to make up for all my neglect.
It’s a very simple freeform tart to prepare. Much like the berry crostada I made back in the summer, this dessert is made with a basic pate brisee dough, rolled out and piled high with the delicious autumnal fruit. Our spicy friend cardamom comes into play once again and was further impetus in my desire to make this dessert. Somehow it’s become my favorite spice, even surpassing nutmeg and cinnamon, which I never thought possible. These simple ingredients are combined with sugar, placed on the dough, and then cradled in it’s delicious crusty-ness. A little cream and sanding sugar on the dough complete the picture and make this not only a rustic sight to behold, but a tasty one as well.
As the week gathered speed, so did my schedule for preparing sides in advance along with another batch of pate brisee for the shoefly pie. Cranberry sauce is an easy thing to “get out of the way” and I used the cranberry sauce recipe from the tartlets I made a couple of weeks ago. Paired with a Sage Brined Turkey, it made a perfect accompaniment. I prepped the potatoes, the corn chowder, the stuffing, the Parker House Rolls and brined the turkey all in advance of the big T-Day so that I could go slow and savor the magical Thursday in the kitchen.
First off, I must watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I’ve watched it since I was a kid and it just isn’t Thanksgiving if I don’t have it on where I can at least glance at it while in the middle of food preparation. Yes, it’s hokey, no, Al Roker’s jokes are still not funny and in general it’s a lot of shameless promotion for up and coming NBC shows, but I still like it. It’s the old demon tradition knocking at the door and no matter how hard I try to see past it, I just can’t and Macy’s is there to stay.
I like to listen to and watch the bands walking down the street, bands from small towns like the one I grew up in and think of the awe they must feel being submerged in the chilly holiday city. I heard one statistic claiming that half the members of a band from a small town in Missouri had never been on a plane before this trip. I started to laugh, but then realized that was me at their age. I don’t think I did more than take a humble helicopter ride ‘til I was almost out of high school, and I never saw the ocean before I was twenty. Kids in small towns are still having the same experiences today, and I have a tendency to forget that having been gone for so long.
My favorite part of the parade is still when Santa Claus comes in at the end. It’s enough to incite mild tears of joy (dare I mention that) just as it did when I was a boy. I guess that’s the thing about traditions and memories, they are cherished for a reason and for me I feel like that small child again when I see Santa in Herald Square. Plus, once Santa comes then Al Roker goes off the air and I don’t have to listen to his non-humorous banter any further. Instead I get to watch the dog show.
Who doesn’t love the Purina dog show? Cats maybe, but ours seemed nonplussed by it’s presence on the television. After that is a Miracle on 34th Street (the original, mind you). and you better believe I stick around for that one. There is nothing more tear inducing than when Chris Kringle gets all the children’s letters delivered to the court room proving once and for all the existence of Santa Claus. (again I shouldn’t be admitting that).
All the while I’m happily manning the pots and pans at the stove, checking the turkey for golden luster, getting the mulled cider going on the stove-top along with any remaining sides, and of course there is the pie to be baked. The first order of business that morning (besides watching some sort of Broadway show antics on television) was to role out the pie dough. As I mentioned in my last posting, I have been watching a lot of old Martha Stewart shows and have seen several episodes on decorative pie-crusts. Certainly I had no excuse for leaving at least one untried.
I decided on what Martha was calling the “bear tooth” crust. It’s very simple and pretty and anyone can make it as long as you have a pair of scissors in the house. You roll out your dough like normal, place it in the pan, trim and tuck the edges like any other pie, but then you take your scissors and make “snips” along the edge about 1/2 inch to 3/4 inch apart. These snips leave you with “teeth” rimming the edge of your pie plate and you just fold every other “tooth” in toward the center.
The dough needs to chill after this in the freezer before being baked. I will admit to making the mistake of not freezing the dough long enough and it ended up shrinking during the first baking phase. But, when life gives you lemons, make lemon tarts…and I ended up only filling the crust with half the buttermilk filling and baking the rest in custard cups.
The buttermilk filling in the shoo-fly pie was really great, but the molasses layer that goes on top was to die for. Coincidentally, it’s this molasses layer the flies are supposedly attracted to and from which the pie gets it’s name. Between the filling, the topping, and the salty, flakey crust…the pie tasted so darned good that I would make it instead of a regular pecan or pumpkin pie any year. Yes, that may be blasphemous to some, but when you find something this good maybe it’s time for a new tradition?
Thanksgiving weekend is the best because if you play your cards right (and make enough food), you can live on the leftovers for the next several days leaving time for the deadly Black Friday shopping massacre or the more sensible online ordering version. We like to hit the outlet mall late in the afternoon on the ominous Friday, once the crowds have started to clear out, and see if there are any deals left to be had. I’m not a sport shopper, as it were, so I have nothing to gain or be excited about by trampling others at 5:00am. The outlet mall has Christmas music playing and I can belly up to the Starbucks for my gingerbread latte, basking in the impending glow of the Christmas season. All that’s left to do is put up the tree, decorate the house and the transition will be complete.
It all happens so quickly, that transition from the fall to winter feeling. For me, the moment the clock strikes midnight on the day after Thanksgiving winter has arrived and all the holiday festivities and desserts along with it. I immediately begin to dream of sugar and gingerbread cookies, steamed puddings and lots of delicious chocolate and eggnog laced treats. The month leading up to Christmas is my favorite of the year, and I love to bake and share all the goodies with friends.
It’s the season for warmth and love and gift giving, still a time to be thankful but also a time give and spread a little joy. I’m excited about the holiday parties and the first snow, and the first sugar cookies to come out of the oven. These are events and traditions I look forward to every year with the gusto of an eight year old. Now if only Santa would bring me a Red Rider BB gun I would be set. It’s just who I am.
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