Soup and Cornbread

After eating Thanksgiving leftovers on Friday, we were ready for some simpler fare.  The turkey frame had been simmered for hours, resulting in a beautifully rich and complex broth--to which I added potatoes, cannellini beans, celery, and onions. When this had cooked half a day, I made some cornbread--per John's special request.

For the first time in many, many years, I had departed from my usual standby of Pepperidge Farm dressing for the feast. I'd been seduced by a recipe for cornbread dressing that included eggs and heavy cream. I'd never heard of such a thing, but, throwing caution to the winds, I tried it. 

And it involved, of course, making some cornbread on Wednesday. I used the White Lily Buttermilk Cornbread mix and the result was more crispy and delicious that any I'd made before. (I suspect that it was because I mistakenly used more canola oil to grease the skillet than was actually called for. Quite a lot more.) And when John and I tasted it, we knew we'd have to have more soon.

Be that as it may, the dressing, which used crumbled cornbread, torn bits of baguette, celery and onion, eggs, sage, melted butter, broth, and the afore-mentioned heavy cream was sensational! It was like a savory bread pudding and good with or without gravy. And the crusty bits of cornbread retained their integrity. 

So last night I made cornbread again, repeating my mistake of too much oil. 

And it was good.

 

WIth a Thankful Sigh of Relief

                                                                                       

It was a grand day from the starters to the desserts, including a rather special cake made by Josie, Grandma Nancy serving a sous chef.  

                                                                                           

Alas, I didn't take any pictures of the feast. But it was delicious and memorable, with contributions from all.

                                                   

 I've been getting ready since Monday. In fact, I was so beforehand that, aside from putting the turkey in the oven early in the morning, I didn't have much to do, foodwise, till around 11:30. 

 John and Justin, meanwhile, were in a whirlwind of vacuuming and moving furniture so we could have a big table in the middle of the living room.                                                      

                                   It was a lovely day and when it was over, John and Justin did dishes and returned the furniture to where it belonged.

Looking at the restored living room where 11 of us had so recently been gathered around a table covered with Thanksgiving fare and bottles of bubbly, John said that the day almost could have been a dream.

And so it was.

Now, in response to Gwen's request for the Huguenot Torte recipe, half of which was shown in my post about the pumpkin pie, here's the full thing. I have to say I've never made it, but it does sound good.   

Maybe in a month or so I'll be hungry again.                                                  

                                                       

    

Happy Thanksgiving!

                                                                               

Game On!

                                                                                    

Yesterday I braved the grocery store for more Thanksgiving provisions and as I was pushing the buggy out to my car, a cheerful woman with her own buggy loaded ccalled out, "Well, we got one hard part done!"

"Yep, " I replied, "now for the cooking."                                                       

                                 

Her car was next to mine and after she returned her buggy to the corral, she came over and just started handing me the bags I was loading into my car. "Makes it a little easier with someone handing them to you," she said. And it did,

                                              

When we were done, I thanked her profusely and wished her a Happy Thanksgiving.

"Happy Thanksgiving to you too," she said, "And Merry Christmas. I'm not politically correct."

"Well, Merry Christmas to you!" I replied. "And a Happy Hannukah, and Kawanza, and everything else! "

I kinda felt like I'd been visited by the Spirit of Thanksgiving.

                                                                                   

                                                                                  

                                

And on the Next Day

. . . she rested, awash in tryptophan.

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

                 With grateful thanks for Mother Earth's bounty.

 

Re-Arranging Perceptions

                                                                   

There was a small kerfuffle on a Facebook group I follow. Someone wondered why in the world people would use paper plates for a Thanksgiving feast and, rather promptly, other people told her--disability, rather spend time with family than washing dishes, etc. After major pushback the original poster amended her post to apologize and to say that now she understood.

It reminded me of something I wrote maybe twenty years ago...

                                                  

It’s the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and I’m at the grocery store.  The weather is cold and snowy, and I’ve skipped painting class to get ready for Thursday.  My shopping cart is piled high with raw ingredients – a 20-pound turkey, celery, onions, kale, cranberries, butter, whipping cream – okay, there are two bags of cornbread stuffing and several cans of pumpkin puree and chicken broth, but in my mind, these are raw ingredients.

            In the checkout line, I study the tabloids; I have only the vaguest idea who Jen and Brad are so I turn my attention to the shopping cart ahead of me – paper plates, plastic cups, pre-made pie crusts, a can of lemon meringue filling (I mentally taste the artificial flavoring and my worst fears are confirmed as six jars of pale brown gravy slide down the belt.)  There are two large bags of frozen broccoli florets and I silently congratulate the benighted shopper for not having succumbed to the lure of the canned green bean, mushroom soup, and canned fried onion casserole.  But I am inwardly appalled at the idea of a Thanksgiving dinner with such uninspired ingredients.  Then the cashier says to the tired-looking woman, whose groceries these are, “Big family Thanksgiving?” 

                 A beautiful smile illuminates the weary shopper’s face.  “Yes, we’ll all be together,” she replies softly, as though caressing each word.

                     Her happiness is transcendent and suddenly my perceptions swing around in a dizzying 180-degree shift.  It’s not always about the food.                                                                        

 

Where's Josie?

Sixteen people (all (except Josie) vaccinated and mostly boosted) and assorted dogs gathered for the festive meal.

Josie was seated on my right and didn't appear in these pictures--drat it! She wore a beautiful butterfly dress and had a fine time with her puppy and the rest of us.

With major effort from John and Justin, our living room was cleared of its normal furnishings and turned into a a banquet hall.

Everyone brought food--there were five pies and a plate of little cakes.

And everyone helped with clean-up. 

It was a fine gathering!

 

Thankful and Mindful

                                                                                 

    I'm a fan of Thanksgiving--when considered as a harvest festival and a gathering of family and friends. Uncontaminated by the pressure of gift-giving and/or religious observations, it's a nice holiday.

But I'm not talking about the sanitized Thanksgiving version I was taught in primary school, complete with Pilgrims in tall black construction paper hats and friendly Indians in construction paper feather headdresses, cheerfully sharing food with the same people who were stealing their land and would massacre and enslave many of them.

I've read too much history to be able to think of that version with anything but contempt and sadness.  This place we call our farm was once a hunting ground for the Cherokees--they left artifacts that turn up after plowing.  The government "removed" them to make way for white settlers.

I think mindfulness of this history is appropriate today--along with thankfulness. Bountiful food, friends and family all come together yet another year.  In my case, there's a bit of ancestor remembrance too as I make my grandmother's cranberry gelatin salad and her pumpkin chiffon pie and pull out extra silverware from John's family to add to what we already use.

This year we'll be sixteen at table, including a niece and a grandniece I haven't seen in years, as well as another grandniece I don't believe I've met, old friends, assorted in-laws, and various co-persons.

It's too good an occasion to skip. But I'll skip the happy Pilgrims and accommodating Indians and be thankful for what we have--while remembering . . .

Happy Thanksgiving!

So much to be thankful for . . . a new daughter-in-law, family, friends (including many I've never met in person,) dogs and cats and farm critters . . .

Flags and food and flowers, nature's bounty, books and barns . . .

Wishing all of you a Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Bounty

Giving thanks for the year's bounty . . .

A happy Thanksgiving to all of you!



 

It's Not About the Food

Monday I went grocery shopping and yesterday and today I've been getting ready for Thursday's feast -- making chicken broth and cranberry sauce, stirring up a double batch of thyme and pumpkin dinner rolls and putting them in the refrigerator for a long slow rise, mixing up a big mold of my grandmother's cranberry, celery, and pecan gelatin salad . . .

The turkey -- from the grocery store, not one of the wild one we watched all summer -- is defrosting in the basement.   I've made some smoked salmon and cream cheese spread to go with the Bloody Marys before the feast. I've even made some almond brittle to top the pumpkin chiffon pie I'll be making later today.

There'll just be seven or eight of us this year -- and as I work my way down the list of things to do, I think of a piece I wrote about five years ago. Apologies if you've read it before.

It's Not About the Food

 It’s the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and I’m at the grocery store.  The weather is cold and snowy and I’ve skipped painting class to get ready for Thursday.  My shopping cart is piled high with raw ingredients – a 20 pound turkey, celery, onions, kale, cranberries, butter, whipping cream – okay, there are two bags of cornbread stuffing and several cans of pumpkin puree and chicken broth, but in my mind, these are raw ingredients.

            In the checkout line, I study the tabloids; I have only the vaguest idea who Jen and Brad are so I turn my attention to the shopping cart ahead of me – paper plates, plastic cups, pre-made pie crusts, a can of lemon meringue filling (I mentally taste the artificial flavoring and my worst fears are confirmed as six jars of pale brown gravy slide down the belt.)  There are two large bags of frozen broccoli florets and I silently congratulate the benighted shopper for not having succumbed to the lure of the canned green bean, mushroom soup, and canned fried onion casserole.  But I am inwardly appalled at the idea of a Thanksgiving dinner with such uninspired ingredients.  Then the cashier says to the tired-looking woman, whose groceries these are, “Big family Thanksgiving?” 

               A beautiful smile illuminates the weary shopper’s face.  “Yes, we’ll all be together,” she replies softly, as though caressing each word.

                 Her happiness is transcendent and suddenly my perceptions swing around in a dizzying 180 degree shift.  It’s not about the food.