love­ly leftovers

Isn’t the best part of Thanks­giv­ing the left­overs? All the stress of get­ting the din­ner itself ready at the same time is over, the tiny lit­tle voice in the back of your mind warn­ing you how long wash­ing up will take has been stilled. The guests have been fed, the can­dles have burned down and all that remains is to open the fridge, lift the foil lid, and… uncov­er pure gold.

The best sand­wich! Roast turkey (thank good­ness John had left a plate of the best dark meat hid­ing behind a poin­set­tia, because all the turkey we offered our guests was eat­en!), a good sharp Ched­dar cheese, sour­dough bread light­ly toast­ed, a mild red onion, mus­tard and mayo… it does­n’t get any bet­ter than that, with a lit­tle bowl of turkey soup on the side.

What I did not get left­overs of were:

Becky’s Cheesy Thanks­giv­ing Potatoes
(serves at least 8, but more with oth­er side dish­es on offer)

3 lbs/1 ½ kilos pota­toes (Maris Piper here in Eng­land is a good choice, or a Yukon Gold in the US)
3 round shal­lots or 1 banana shal­lot, minced
2 cups/ 474 ml grat­ed or shred­ded Ched­dar or Dou­ble Glouces­ter cheese
1 tsp gar­lic powder
sea salt and pepper
3 cups/1 pint/474 ml sin­gle cream or Half and Half

Boil pota­toes until eas­i­ly pierced with a fork, then peel when cool. Grate them on a coarse grater and set aside.

Ligh­ly oil or non­stick spray a deep glass or pot­tery casse­role dish, per­haps 9 inch­es in diam­e­ter and 5 inch­es or so high (mine is round, which is an appeal­ing shape). Scat­ter a lay­er of grat­ed pota­toes on the bot­tom, then cov­er with a lay­er of cheese, a sprin­kling of shal­lot, a sprin­kle of gar­lic pow­der, and sea­son well. Repeat lay­er­ing until you have run out of ingre­di­ents, end­ing with cheese. Then pour the cream over the casserole.

Bake at 180C, 350F until bub­bly and the cheese begins to brown, about 45 min­utes, depend­ing on the depth of the casserole.

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Becky, much-missed Thanks­giv­ing com­pan­ion dur­ing our first years here in Lon­don, has always claimed that these pota­toes are even bet­ter as left­overs, but as we nev­er had any left over, I can­not ver­i­fy this! Just the same this year.

These pota­toes were so good that they even fea­tured as one of my guest’s “Three Things I Am Thank­ful For”! Unbe­liev­ably soft and creamy, with a crisp, gold­en crust, they dis­ap­peared imme­di­ate­ly. Well, with 15 guests, 8 chil­dren among them, that’s not surprising.

What was a wel­come sur­prise was my painter friend Matthew’s unex­pect­ed con­tri­bu­tion to the feast!

Matthew’s Apple Nut Tart
(serves 12 easily)

2 sheets puff pas­try pressed togeth­er, about 18 x 12 inch­es, brushed with beat­en egg
apple slices to cov­er pas­try (about four apples)
hand­ful each: pine nuts, cashews, pecans (all toasted)
drib­ble of hon­ey to cov­er all (1/3 cup?)
dust­ing of cin­na­mon sugar

Bake at 180C, 350 F for 20 minutes.

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This tart has every­thing, John reports, each of the per­fect­ly sim­ple ingre­di­ents play­ing its appoint­ed role: del­i­cate warm pas­try, soft apple, crunchy nuts, slight sweet­ness of hon­ey and sug­ar. A real­ly nice dessert for those of your guests who don’t like pump­kin pie.

Clas­sic Pump­kin Pie
(serves 8)

1 unbaked pie crust (or here in Lon­don, sweet pas­try shell) in pie plate
3/4 cup/150 grams gran­u­lat­ed sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp ground cloves
2 large eggs
1 can (15 ounces/425 grams pump­kin puree (in Eng­land it will be part squash, no matter)
1 can (12 ounces/340 grams) evap­o­rat­ed milk
whipped cream to top

Mix sug­ar, cin­na­mon, salt, gin­ger and cloves in a small bowl. Beat eggs in a large bowl. Add pump­kin and sug­ar-spice mix­ture, mix well. Grad­u­al­ly add evap­o­rat­ed milk.

Pour into unbaked pas­try shell and baked at 210C/425F for 15 min­utes. Reduce tem­per­a­ture to 180C/350F and bake for anoth­er 40–5- min­utes, until a knife insert­ed in the cen­ter comes out clean. Cool for 2 hours, then serve with whipped cream.

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I’ll admit it: I don’t even like pump­kin pie. But it’s com­plete­ly nec­es­sary to Thanks­giv­ing din­ner, and Avery will eat all the left­overs for break­fast, as long as they last.

We had a love­ly time. Every big din­ner par­ty should include a fam­i­ly of six, I think: just with one invi­ta­tion, you get a huge group! “Thank you,” said the dad, “No one every invites us all!” The girls all made turkey place­cards with their hand­prints on orange paper, and the lit­tlest girl Mol­ly plucked ker­nels of “Indi­an corn” from the cob that’s dec­o­rat­ed our front door, so each per­son would have them for the “Three Things I’m Thank­ful For.”

Some­how I man­aged to get eight side dish­es to come out at the right time, and I should have made more of every­thing, because there were almost no left­overs, sad­ly! Cheesy spinach, caramelized car­rots, two kinds of pota­toes, two kinds of beans, and stuff­ing, all were wolfed down with chil­dren tak­ing sec­ond help­ings of all the veg­eta­bles, to their par­ents’ delight. I’ve said it before: if you add enough gar­lic and cheese to almost any­thing, chil­dren will eat it.

Well, all this means only one thing: Christ­mas is upon us. Every day the pile in the cor­ner of my bed­room gets a lit­tle high­er: presents to pack up and take with us to Con­necti­cut. In just three weeks we’ll be there! “Why are all the gifts we’re tak­ing along so HEAVY?” John com­plains, and it’s true. Every­one in my fam­i­ly wants far too many books, but as I’m the worst offend­er, I shall say noth­ing. This week I must write to Farmer Rol­lie and his wife Judy to spec­i­fy our Christ­mas tree needs, from their tree farm. That’s one of the best feel­ings of Christ­mas, arriv­ing at Red Gate Farm to open up the big red barn and find trees and wreaths, breath­ing out their love­ly resiny aroma.

Speak­ing of resin, or any­thing sticky, no such thing may enter our house as of Mon­day morn­ing when Avery… gets her braces put on. I know it’s some­thing that hap­pens to more chil­dren than not, a rite of pas­sage of sorts. I always told her I’d nev­er insist on braces so that her teeth were per­fect, just so that they were func­tion­al, and so it is. Her incisors are hid­ing rebel­lious­ly up inside her gums and so must be called to account. Wish her luck! And may tomor­row be filled with caramels for every meal.