Giving taste to Thanksgiving

I’m confused when it comes to Thanksgiving. People get freaked out by the idea of having to cook a meal for family and friends. From what you see on the Food Network and Martha Stewart Living Magazine, you would think that the holiday is a live-or-die situation, requiring weeks of advance preparation for the perfect meal. What confounds me is that all the undue stress is brought on by and event that should be a chance to spend time with the people you like, which seems ridiculous. But, a little organization and a touch of forethought can go a long way in creating a care-free cooking experience. I was so bored during my Thanksgiving Day meal preparation that Eleanor and Colin came by for a game of Scrabble in the middle of it. Here was my game plan.

Tuesday
I picked up my turkey from Bryan’s Quality Meats. He was a twelve pounder. When I got him home and out of his box, he seemed too small to feed about ten people. I pulled out my cookbooks and did some research. The Best Recipe said that a turkey in the 12-14 pound range should be able to feed ten to twelve people. But, Martha Stewart Living suggested 1 ½ pounds of turkey for every person; I would have needed a 15 pound turkey to be a good hostess by Martha Stewart’s standards.

I worried. Would I have enough food? Would Thanksgiving be a bust? Should I buy a ham? Should I buy sausages? Should I stuff people with carbohydrate-y side dishes? I called Jeanne, and we did some ham research.

I also made a double recipe of cornbread for cornbread dressing. I didn’t realize how ridiculously easy cornbread is to make. Take some cornmeal, some flour, a touch a salt, a bit of sugar, some baking powder, mix that with some milk, melted butter, and egg, and then bake it in the oven. This was simplicity at its finest.

Wednesday
It was time to prep my turkey. He got his plastic wrapper removed, his plastic tie keeping his legs together yanked out, his guts taken out, and a little rinse under cold water. I let him brine in an ice cold solution of two cups salt to about two gallons of water with some lemon and red pepper flakes for approximately six hours. I set off grocery shopping in the meantime.

There’s something I hate more than shopping at the Berkeley Bowl on any weekend--shopping at the Marina Safeway and the Whole Foods the day before Thanksgiving. I hate shopping at Safeway in general, but of all the Safeways I go to, the Marina one is the most organized, has the freshest-looking produce, has shelves fully stocked, and has nice workers, which is why I go there, usually on my way home from work. But, Wednesday showcased all the negative stereotypes associated with the Marina—people who seem over-privileged being very unaware of the fact that they’re blocking the entire row with their carts as they talk on their cell phones, and then who give you a dirty look when you gently nudge their cart to the side so that you can squeeze through. I got fed up, left in a fury, and drove over to the Whole Foods, which wasn’t much better. I made a mental note: never go shopping the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.

I was glad to get home and unpack my groceries. I had emptied out the refrigerator the day before, so I had plenty of space in there for all my goodies. And, when time was up, I pulled my turkey out of his brine, gave him another rise, patted him dry with paper towels, and let him air-dry on the roasting pan in the fridge overnight. I chopped up his neck and gizzards so that they’d be ready for the gravy the next day. I prepped my green beans. I also roasted two heads of garlic by cooking the cloves with the skins intact on low heat on the stove top.

I baked a pumpkin pie.

Thursday
I told everyone that we would be having dinner around 7:30 or 8, which meant that I had to get the turkey in the oven by 4:30 and that I should start cooking by one. I finished up some last-minute shopping (I picked up some more brussel sprouts, some cotton twine, an extra baking sheet, and ice cream), and Scott and I had lunch of a frozen pizza and a shared bottle of beer. It was 11:30 in the morning and the first thing I put in my stomach was beer. This would be one of those days. It was just a little past noon and I was already bored. I decided I should start prepping the veggies.

I peeled and chopped some carrots. I cleaned all the brussel sprouts and cut them in half. I cut up some onions. I took the stringy part out of several stalks of celery and diced some. I removed the thyme leaves from the thyme stalk. I washed my green beans. I took my knife to a couple of granny smith apples. I also warmed up my cloves of garlic and blended them with two cups of half and half; this would be for my mashed potatoes later.

I had nothing else to do, so I started cooking. The brussel sprouts would go first. For them, I first cut up about twenty slices of thick-cut bacon and let them cook on two baking sheets in the oven 400 degrees for ten minutes. When their time was up, I tossed the brussel spouts in their rendered fat, sprinkled salt and pepper, and let them roast for another ten minutes. The apple slices went in next for another ten minutes. I tasted for salt and pepper, and tried not to pick at all the tasty bacon bits. I wrapped the brussel sprouts up in foil and set them aside. They would get finished off with a drizzle of red wine vinegar after reheating.

Carrots were next. The large pieces of chopped up carrots would be simply roasted with a drizzle of olive oil and a touch of salt. They spent 45 minutes in a 375 degree oven. They got wrapped in foil and set aside when they finished. They would get tossed with some thyme and cilantro at the very end.

It was cornbread dressing time. I slowly cooked the diced carrots, onions, and celery with a bay leaf, salt, and pepper, in some melted butter. When they were soft, I mixed that with the crumbled cornbread that was made two days earlier. That combination was then mixed with a few ladlefuls of turkey stock made from last year’s turkey, and seasoned with salt and pepper. It was then poured into a baking dish, topped with pieced of pepper, covered with foil, and set aside.

Colin and Eleanor by this time had arrived to help remedy by boredom. Usually, cooking doesn’t bore me, but I didn’t have enough to do to keep me sufficiently busy. We decided to play Scrabble as we cooked. Eleanor would be baking her pie and I would be finishing everything else up. Colin would concentrate on Scrabble alone.

It was turkey time. I stuffed him with some chopped up carrots, onions, celery, and thyme drizzled in melted butter, and tied his legs up. He then got rubbed all over with more melted butter, turned belly-side down, and went into a 400 degree oven. We would wait and rotate him on all sides for a little more than two hours. There would be no excessive oven door opening this time around. He would cook on time.

Jeanne wanted macaroni and cheese for Thanksgiving, and I had to oblige. So, I went at it with the usual mac ‘n’ cheese reciped. I cooked up some macaroni noodles until they were almost al dente. I mixed together some eggs, evaporated milk, hot sauce, dry mustard, salt, and pepper. When the noodles were done and drained, they went back into the pot with a couple pads of butter. With the heat on medium-low, I poured in the egg mixture and half of the cheese I grated earlier. I poured in more evaporated milk and more of the cheese and stirred until all the cheese melted and noodles were hot. This then got transferred to a baking dish, topped with a mixture of bread crumbs and grated cheese, and then finished off with more pieces of butter on top. The mac ‘n’ cheese was covered in foil and set aside.

People started to show up. I kept drinking my bottle of white wine. It was time to wait for the turkey to finish so that we could reheat the side, make the gravy, sauté the string beans, and cook up the turkey, cranberry, and apple sausages I bought for fear that I didn’t have enough meat. Guests crowded in the kitchen and talked of stoves as I peeled potatoes and put them to a boil.

More guests arrived and they were moved to the living room. The turkey still had more cooking to go, although he had been in the oven for more than the estimated him. I was finally starting to feel anxious. Jeanne worked on her gravy, browning bits of turkey, whisking in flour, and adding stock. When the potatoes were done, I drained them, added two sticks of very soft butter along with the half and half garlic concoction I made earlier, and gave them a couple of mashes; they were done. I boiled the green beans until just barely tender and tossed them in some garlic cooked in butter. I cooked up the turkey sausages and gave them a slice. Finally, the turkey reached its temperature, and was actually a little over in the breast (we would have dry meat). It was time for the sides to get reheated, and then time to plate up and eat.

Bryce and his twin Graham brought two jars of cranberry-apple chutney that they made and added that to the table of food, and I took out the cranberry relish I purchased from Whole Foods (I wasn’t about to spend time making cranberry sauce when I’m not particularly a fan). Jeanne carved up the turkey. I set out plates and utensils, and we were set.

The foods I made were all damn flavorful, which I didn’t realize until they all came together. This was no wimpy Thanksgiving but one that wasn’t shy from being tasty. The mac ‘n’ cheese was no bland mac ‘n’ cheese, but the hot sauce and dry mustard stood out strongly without being overly pungent. The mashed potatoes were creamy, buttery, and almost intensely and addictively garlicy. The green beans were crisp and had a not-so-intense-but-still-very-present flavor of garlic. The carrots, in contrast, were sweet and subtle. The cornbread dressing boasted of turkey essence, even though it wasn’t stuffed in the bird, and it was moist without being mushy. And, the brussel sprouts were tender, the bacon adding a salty bite, and the granny smith apples contributing just the nicest amount of crunchy sweet tang.

We ended the meal with three types of pie: my pumpkin, a pecan one from Bakesale Betty, and Eleanor’s apple with oat crust. Sample plates loaded with all three were passed around and coffee was made.

We all sat around the living room looking a little heavier than just a few hours earlier with stomachs bulging over the waist of our pants (er, um, at least mine). It was a tasty Thanksgiving and I was ready for bed. Karaoke would have to wait for another night.

No eats

I must be some sort of crazy masochist or am deeply committed to my job if I won't leave my desk to get any form of edible sustenance. And, my TA wouldn't go get me a sandwich from the corner cafe. So, all day I have eaten: a cup of blueberry yogurt, a handful of pretzels, half an old pear, and two rice kripie treats with chocolates bits. I'm starting to feel lightheaded.

Just what I needed

I never know when the craving for a rice krispie treat will hit. I was standing at the sink in my yellow rubber gloves scrubbing the wok when I felt it, that pang from within that told me my body wanted something sweet and crunchy, that it want a rice krispie treat. I degloved, went to the cupboard, and surveyed its contents. Marshmallows, check. Rice Krispie cereal, check. Butter, check. Chocolate chip bits (Hm, an extra perk? Sure, why not?), check. I was set.

I melted some butter in a pot, poured in what remained of the bag of marshmallows, and stirred it as it melted. I then added the cereal (I tasted a grain and it wasn't as crunchy as it should have been, but it wasn't horribly stale and I wanted my rice krispie so I kept with it). Then, I added about half a handful of chopped chocolate chips. I didn't think the chocolate would melt but it did (apparently, that's what happens when you add chocolate to warm melted marshmallows). After it all got mixed, I tranferred the warm marshmallow confection to a pan and let it cool.

Ten minutes later, I took my knife to it and cut myself a square. It was sweet and crispy (although not as crispy as it should be), and it was just what I needed.

Just plain not good

I'm pretty handy in the kitchen. I can whip up a Thanksgiving feast. I can make a mean mac 'n' cheese with fried chicken. I can even take on an Indian guy at a curry cook-off. But sometimes I wonder about my culinary skills. Tonight’s dinner was the first dinner in my recent recollection when I didn’t want to eat it.

I wasn’t making anything out of the ordinary. I pan-fried two small pork chops seasoned with salt, pepper, and a touch of garlic. I sautéed some spears of asparagus with minced garlic. And I made some wild rice in the rice cooker.

In the process of cooking of the pork chops, I set of the smoke detector. The rice managed to stick to the non-stick pot of the rice cooker. These weren’t good signs.

And, when I plated up my food and sat down to eat, I didn’t want to. The pork chop was too tough and too dry. It scraped as it went down my throat. The asparagus just tasted funky, and for someone who quite enjoys asparagus as a vegetable I couldn’t finish the several spears that were on my plate. The rice, however, even for having stuck slightly to the pot, was fine. It wasn’t too mushy but still had some bite to it, and it tasted nutty.

I finished the rice and the bits of dry pork, merely for the fact that I was hungry and didn’t want to waste food. I put the asparagus in a Tupperware container, thinking that I might want to eat it later but knowing that I wouldn’t.

Nick's Crispy Tacos

A taco shop named after a guy named Nick doesn’t quite have the authenticity appeal as a place with the word taqueria in it. But we would try it out anyhow. Sara met me at my office and we drove along Polk to Broadway for lunch at Nick’s Crispy Tacos.

When we stepped through the doors of Nick’s, I was immediately confused and was trying to piece together what the appropriate procedure was. This happens to me quite often when I’m at a new restaurant and don’t want to stand out like an obvious newbie. I saw a menu posted to the wall. I saw people lingering around the entryway. I saw a lady standing behind a cash register. I think I figured it out. I’d choose something off the menu, step up to the lady behind the cash register, place my order with her, and then I stand around and wait. Simple enough.

The menu had the usual taqueria items -- tacos, burritos, chips -- in various flavors --chicken, carne asada, fish. For a place called Nick’s Crispy Tacos I thought I should try a crispy taco, but then memories of those “crispy tacos” from all those late-night post-bar trips to the Jack In the Box crept up on me, and I decided against it. I had ordered two carne asada tacos with guacamole, not crispy. The lady handed me a plastic number attached to a metal stand. I took the number and a seat, and was once again confused.

It seems as if Nick’s Crispy Tacos moonlights as a dance club of some sort. Amongst the tables covered with floral-printed plastic table cloths, plastic folding chairs, and squeeze bottles of salsa, were red leather booths, a disco ball, glass chandelier, and a large bar area. It seemed odd but right at the same time, as if it was the perfect combination of Friday night fun housed under the same roof--dancing, drinking, and tacos.

As I was admiring the décor, my tacos arrived in a little red basket and wrapped in sheets of parchment paper. The large globs of guacamole glowed bright green, and I doused the tacos with splashes of sauce from the mysterious red and green plastic squeeze bottles on the table. I took a bite and it was yummy. The two corn tortillas that blanketed the meat and guacamole filling were warm and soft. The meat was well-seasoned with hints of a smoky flavor. And the guacamole tasted of fresh avocados.

I scarfed down my two tacos and wanted more. I didn’t even have chips to satisfy me. But, we didn’t order more food. We left with thoughts of returning, perhaps when the sun was down, now that we were no longer Nick’s Crispy Taco newbies.

Stale bread confection

I love stale bread. I think I tend to buy more bread than I actually ever need in hopes that I’ll have extra and it will turn into a hard, brick-like loaf. There are so many opportunities available to make it great: croutons, stuffing, bread pudding. This morning, French toast was what was in store for that quarter loaf of Italian bread.

I sliced what was left of the loaf (I had made toast with it a few days before and spread those golden, crispy slices with the creamy Mt. Tam cheese) into thick three-quarter inch slices. I whisked together an egg, some milk, some flour, a touch of sugar, a smaller touch of salt, a dash of vanilla, and some melted butter. In went the bread slices for a little egg mixture bath. My cast iron skillet was hot and I swirled a dab of butter around the pan. Then, in went the wet bread. One and a half minutes on one side and another minute on the over, and they were done.

I didn’t have any maple syrup so I ate the French toast unadorned (although now that I think of it, I don’t know why I didn’t use honey). It was still good and just sweet enough from the sugar in the egg mixture. The outer edges of the toast were crisp and the middle was soft, although not as custard-like it should have been (I should have soaked the bread a little longer). But, overall, pretty darn good. Hooray, for stale bread!