Talking (only) Turkey

“And then next Tuesday,” I say to my husband, as he and I gaze at the Thanksgiving turkey he has just brought home from the butcher’s, “I’m going to make the Shepherd’s Pie recipe from last November’s issue of Martha Stewart Living”. We are looking at the same thing, but I know we aren’t thinking about the same thing. He is thinking about dry rubs and moist breasts – the turkey’s, not mine. With a stack of cooking magazines in one hand and a clipboard of recipes in the other, I’m fanaticizing about leftovers. Like the butcher’s promise for the turkey, my recipes promise to serve 16. I expect them to keep that promise, even though the duty they, and the turkey, will be called upon to perform is far more challenging. Rather than feeding 16 people once, with leftovers, they will be feeding a family of 4 for the better part of a week.

“The mashed potatoes were my favorite part of our school Thanksgiving lunch” my ten-year-old son says at dinner. “I’ll look for a recipe,” I promise. I have brought my recipes to the table. “We’ll have Bang Bang for dinner one night” I say, referring to a recipe by Nigella Lawson that I clipped from the New York Times Food Section, a couple of years ago. This spicy Vietnamese salad with chili sauce and hot bean paste was a real hit. I have made it a few times in between Thanksgivings, substituting chicken breasts or left over pork chops for the turkey. “It’ll be good to have it with turkey again,” my teen-age daughter sighs.

Thursday morning, as my family sleeps, I quietly sip my cappuccino and jot down the recipe I remembered as I was dressing. The old morning anchor on NPR, Bob Edwards had been hosting a potluck Thanksgiving Dinner to which he invited Julia Child. She had brought smashed potatoes. At Bob Edwards’ request, she shared the recipe: 3 unpeeled boiled potatoes, fork smashed with ½ stick of melted butter and ½ cup of warm milk. I add smashed potatoes to tonight’s menu

Time to begin. I assemble my vegetables. Recipes calling for rutabagas, turnips and squash; yams, sweet potatoes and Brussels sprouts call out to me only once a year, for which I think my family is more than a little grateful. I peel, slice, then dip the vegetables into the thyme and oregano marinade I have made. After I put them into the oven to roast, I peel and sauté the butternut squash, sauté sweet potatoes with red onions, and prepare the sage vinaigrette. Turning the roasting vegetables just in time, I take the fresh cranberries out of the refrigerator; chop half of them with kumquats. ginger and oranges for the fresh relish and bring the other half to a boil, with sugar and water, for the cooked cranberry sauce.

When we moved to San Francisco from the East Coast, I knew we would have to start our own holiday traditions. Thanksgiving dinner at my parent’s home was one model. Every year we ate overcooked turkey with dried out Pepperidge Farm stuffing served with Ocean Spray canned Cranberry Sauce and Green Giant canned green beans topped with Durkee onion rings and Campbell cream of mushroom soup. Melted marshmallows floating on sweet potatoes and iceberg lettuce drenched in Miracle Whip and Heinz Ketchup salad dressing didn’t leave much room for the dessert, a supermarket pumpkin pie, accompanied to the table by a canister of whipped cream. My mother worked in the Linguistics Department of the local university and would often invite a graduate student or two from Thailand or Mexico to join us for Thanksgiving. I often wondered what they made of our dinner; for me, their company was the only spicy ingredient of the meal.

For our first couple of Thanksgivings in San Francisco, we invited my parents to join us, which they did. But, somehow it never quite worked – one year; our flat was too cold for my father, the next year, my mother was asleep before dessert. By the time our third San Francisco Thanksgiving rolled around, I was working weekdays and weekends as well as evenings, in the tour and travel industry. And I wasn’t the only member of the family whose life had gotten busier. Gradually, it became clear to us that what we really wanted for Thanksgiving was to be alone, together, the four of us. And we have been, for ten years now.

I glance at the clock. I love cooking while my family sleeps but I know if I don’t wake and feed them soon, my kitchen time will run out before I can bake the pumpkin pie with pecan topping and the pumpkin cheesecake. My kitchen time is over at 3p.m.when my husband takes over. Preparing the cornbread and sausage stuffing and roasting the turkey are his areas of expertise.

“For dinner one night,” I say as we eat a light brunch of cheese and fruit with a crusty sweet Acme baguette, “I’m thinking of substituting turkey for the tuna casserole recipe in Saveur.” “If it’s anything like turkey tonnato,” my daughter says, “I’m not eating it.” She’s referring to the time I substituted turkey for veal in a recipe for Vitello Tonnato, well actually the several times I did it. Since then, I deaccession a recipe from my repertoire with the first thumb's down. “We’ll have this soup one day,” I say to my 10-year-old soup-loving son, showing him the Marion Cunningham recipe I found in Gourmet. “I want noodles in my soup, not stuffing,” he says. “I have an idea,” my husband says, “next year, let’s buy a turkey big enough for Thanksgiving and sandwiches for lunch on Friday.” Not sure I’ve heard him correctly, I look up and catch the three of them rolling their eyes. I’m not worried, though, I know they’ll be ready for our marathon when the smell of roasting turkey begins to permeate the house. As an added precaution I have kept them on a strict poultry free diet for the past two weeks.

Thanksgiving Dinner is ready at 7p.m. “We’re eating early,” my daughter says. “Daddy bought gravy” I reply. My husband’s decision to buy gravy has eliminated the tension filled, last-minute gravy preparation that in past years has delayed dinner for up to an hour. “And, he’ll make homemade gravy for the rest of the week” I say. The bounty at our table is impressive. We barely make a dent in it. Slivers of pie are all we can manage for dessert. Overjoyed, I put away the leftovers. On Friday and Saturday, dinner is an exact replica of Thanksgiving. On Sunday, we have Bang Bang. My daughter is definitely right; it’s much better with turkey. On Monday, I serve turkey soup, with stuffing and noodles. As a leftoverist, I’m also a realist; so on Tuesday I relent and we order pizza from Giorgio’s. On the Wednesday after Thanksgiving, one day later than anticipated, I finally make Martha Stewart’s Shepherd’s Pie. The recipe calls for layering leftover vegetables, stuffing, cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes over leftover turkey, and moistening the whole with leftover gravy. With a sign of pure contentment, I realize we are near my goal of having nothing to throw away this year. As we eat, I review our post-Thanksgiving turkey odyssey. ‘My only disappointment’ I say,” is that we haven’t made any Mexican inspired dishes”. When I come home from work on Thursday, the turkey drumstick that was, is no more. My husband has prepared turkey tostados from the recipe I found in Martha Stewart’s Everyday Food. “These are great, dad” Nicolas says. “These,” I proclaim between mouthfuls, “are a fitting tribute to Thanksgiving 2004”. When I look up, I meet my husband’s gaze; he ‘s smiling at me.