skip to main |
skip to sidebar
For the first time ever, I will be spending Thanksgiving away from my family. Oh sure, there was that Thanksgiving in college where my sister and I were both in London and we ate the most expensive turkey dinner ever at the only 'American' restaurant we could find (and trust me, that Hard Rock Cafe dinner was not worth 40 pounds). I suppose that wasn't really the sort of Thanksgiving meal we were accustomed to, but at least we were together. Other than that one year, I have always travelled home for Thanksgiving, whether that meant a 3-hour drive or a 2,250 mile flight; the holidays are special to me, and if you have been around here awhile, you know that my family means everything.
This year, when I realized I wouldn't be able to spare the time away from work to head home for Thanksgiving, I would be lying if I told you I wasn't sad. The closer the holiday gets, the more I am yearning for white flakes of snow, long conversations catching up with family, and a warm hug. But though I regret that I will not be at home, I have no intention of wallowing in self-pity. I will be spending the big day with a wonderful friend and her family, and I will get to play with children and eat to my heart's content. Also, I might have decided I needed to soothe my sadness with baking. And sugar. And fall flavors. That's a cure-all right?
So here's the crazy thing, I also have advanced in Foodbuzz's Project Food Blog to Round 8 (happy dance, happy dance!) where we were tasked with creating a baked good with pumpkin. The timing couldn't have been more perfect, and with my longing for home and family and the holidays around the corner, my mind was brimming with ideas. I was certain I wanted to bake with real pumpkin, and my initial thoughts drifted toward a beautiful spiced layer cake. Yet...it just didn't quite fit my mood and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't get myself invested in the idea. And then suddenly I realized why I didn't want to make a cake: It just didn't feel like home.
Once I came to this realization, I knew exactly what I wanted: bread. Lots of it. I wanted to get my hands into it and knead the bread just like my grandma does. There is something about putting physical work into make a golden loaf of bread that is so satisfying. And almost as certainly as I knew I wanted bread, I also knew I craved warm, gooey, decadent bread pudding to comfort me. I saw no reason to deny myself from this carb-laden pleasure, and no holiday is better for indulgence than Thanksgiving. I worried that it wouldn't be pretty or exciting enough for you, but I decided to make it anyway. (Gotta do what feels right, agreed?)
Last month, I had planned to make my pocket pies with cranberry pear filling and I wanted to use fresh cranberries. Imagine my dismay when I realized that I was one whole month too early for the arrival of these beautiful red beauties at my local grocery store. I put on my best pouty face, grabbed some dried cranberries, and made damn good pocket pies anyway. (And might I add, these pies would be the perfect addition to your Thanksgiving dinner table!)
But now, Thanksgiving is finally upon us and the season for fresh cranberries is officially here. For me, seeing these cranberries means it is really the holidays. They smile at me with their bright crimson faces and give me the red light to fully immerse myself in Thanksgiving and Christmas preparations. So prepare yourselves. I might get a little crazy.
This is the best nutmeg grater ever. It is the same one that my grandma uses, and she got me mine from Amish country in Ohio; this nutmeg grater from Norpro
looks exactly the same (and is less than $5), and also has the small compartment on top for storing the nutmeg like mine does. LOVE it.
Seeing cranberries also makes me think of my mom. No, she isn't small, red, and round, but she makes me happy too. Mostly I think of my mom because I grew up eating her cranberry relish every year at Thanksgiving and I loved it. Excuse me, saying I 'loved' it makes it sound past tense - I love it, as in I swoon over it each time I make it. When I still lived at home, we would fight over it and eat it on/with everything, or just by itself. It is cranberry greatness.
And really, the recipe couldn't be more simple. In my book, the perfect way to worship cranberries is to marry them with a heady mix of spices and just the right amount of sugar; not too much sweetness as to disguise the cranberry, but just enough to dull the sharp tart taste. One of my other favorite components of this recipe are the big golden raisins and the crunch of the chopped pecans. I like my applesauce chunky, and my cranberry relish even chunkier; it lets me know there are real ingredients in there and it is not over-processed. If you like your relish smooth, I would normally just tell you to go ahead and throw in a blender or food processor, but frankly, that is blasphemy in my eyes so we will just pretend I didn't even mention it.
Instead, I will just leave you with this lovely, crimson, traditional Thanksgiving recipe, and tell you that I hope you love it as much as I do. And you can thank my mom for the recipe, I make sure to thank her each year when I make it myself.
My Mom's Cranberry Relish
3/4 cup apple juice
1/2-3/4 cup sugar
1/4 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp nutmeg
pinch of ground cloves
3 cups fresh cranberries (12 oz.)
1/2-3/4 cup light or golden raisins
1/2 cup roughly chopped pecans
Combine the first four ingredients in a medium saucepan and stir over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Add the cranberries, raisins and cloves, bring to a boil, and then reduce heat. Cook until the cranberries pop, then add pecans and stir to mix. Remove from heat and let cool slightly before serving. Keep refrigerated in an airtight container for 1 week.
Ok, so I know I should tell you all about rhubarb, and how it is in season now, and how its tartness is the perfect antidote for what seemed like a long winter. And I will tell you. But first, I have to say one thing: this recipe is perfect for eating at a meeting of The Finer Things Club. If you don't know what I am talking about, then you undoubtedly have never watched The Office and have never longed to be part of the group honoring all things finer. Still don't know what I mean? I think Andy says it best: "The Finer Things Club is the most exclusive club in this office. Naturally, it's where I need to be. The party planning committee is my back up, and Kevin's band is my safety." At Dunder Mifflin, if you love food and you love culture (and need a break-room respite from Michael Scott), then you belong in The Finer Things Club. Unfortunately, you would be in the same boat as poor Andy Bernard since they don't allow new members. But just maybe... if you brought them this chutney, some quality Brie, and fresh-baked french bread... they might reconsider.
Alright. I have gotten my Office reference out of my system, so lets be serious and talk about rhubarb. This plant is actually related to the sorrel and is in the buckwheat family, which technically makes it an herb although it is almost always cooked as a fruit. Rhubarb has a natural growing season from around March to October, but many people seem to think that the winter crop from December to March has a better looking pink color, more tender stalks, and a less tart taste. During the winter, rhubarb plants are "forced," which means that they are transplanted to dark, hot environments to speed up their growth. (For home gardeners, this can be accomplished by covering the plant with a forcing pot or a wastebasket.) Either naturally grown or forced, rhubarb is at its peak right now so hurry to the market and get some.
Posts
