Lisa is the author of the award-winning memoir, A Double Life: Discovering Motherhood, which was an National Book Critics Circle Top-10 Independent Press Pick for 2011. With Caroline, she's the co-founder of Learning to Eat and co-editor of The Cassoulet Saved our Marriage: True Tales of Food, Family, and How We Learn to Eat. She holds an MA in creative writing, a PhD in English and has taught literature and creative writing widely, most recently in the MFA Program at the University of San Francisco.
One of our favorite holiday traditions is Milk Punch. While the boys in the family could survive on Egg Nog and pumpkin pie from Thanksgiving until New Year, the girls here prefer Milk Punch, which is actually a traditional New Orleans drink. We are not in the least bit southern, but more than a decade ago, the recipe I found in Food and Wine proved too good to resist, and I’ve been making it every year since.
Be warned: this drink packs a punch.
If you serve it at a party, which we always do, make sure there are designated drivers. But, the beauty of it is that you can whip up a batch sans bourbon for the kids. They’ll love it. It’s pretty and it smells delicious.
Generally , we have a pitcher of the real stuff and pitcher sans alcohol in the refrigerator in the week leading up to Christmas. If 2 batches seems excessive (but it isn’t because it is that good), you can keep a pitcher without alcohol and add the bourbon to taste as your pour your nightly glass.
We’re glad here for the rain. We need it, and it’s a good excuse to cozy up to the fire with a glass of pure joy.
Bourbon Milk Punch
4 oz. vanilla extract
1 cup sugar
2 cups heavy cream
4 cups whole milk
1 cup + 2 Tablespoons bourbon (use what you like to drink)
Fresh grated nutmeg for serving
In a bowl, whisk vanilla and sugar. Slowly whisk in cream, milk, bourbon. Chill for several hours. Serve with a grating of fresh nutmeg
In the rush to write all about how I haven’t been cooking, I forgot one very important meal: Breakfast.
It’s not unheard of that the kids, these days, will serve themselves breakfast alone. They do a good job of selecting cereal, bagels, milk, juice, fruit–whatever they can find that strikes their fancy. Sometimes, they actually get fancy and set the breakfast trays up in the living room and have a TV picnic breakfast while we sleep in. There’s generally not too much mess.
But there are times, too, when I’ve set out a special breakfast, and on Thanksgiving, I decided to combine the two (special breakfast + breakfast alone) and pronounce it a new tradition.
I made a fresh batch of apple cider from granny smith apples in our extremely efficient juicer (which I won in a giveway on Foodbuzz. See the sidebar on our blog). It was bright green and crisply tart and delicious at first, when it was freshly squeezed/pressed/frothed, but then it mellowed to that familiar amber color and was still delicious.
I made cornbread (from a really good box mix at Trader Joes, and lest you protest, remember this was the weekend of not cooking), boiled eggs (which both children would both live on if they could) and set out a bowl of pineapple guavas, a small cup of strawberries, and a plate of fuyu persimmons. I set the table, and in the morning, they ate like little hungry pilgrims, and we slept in.
It’s easy enough to do something like this every once in a while. It gives the kids a feeling of autonomy, of being treated specially, of choice. We don’t have to talk about what it gives the grown-ups.
Making turkey soup in the days after Thanksgiving is one of the very few generations-long family traditions we have in my family. Certain aspects of our seasonal and holiday meals have evolved and morphed over the years, but this soup is not one of them. It derives from my father’s side of the family, from my beloved Pop-Pop and his wife, Lucy, who died before I was born but whom I’m led to understand was a terrific cook. As long as I can remember, my family made turkey soup, and it seemed to be my dad’s thing, though I’m sure my mom helped to finish it. There is no recipe, just a series of ad hoc steps that make it easy and adaptable. And although it takes time to make the broth, the actual active time is maybe 20-30 minutes, spread out over a few days.
So here, offered to you, is our very humble family recipe for
Harper Turkey Soup
After the turkey is carved, take all of the fat, skin, and most of the meat off the carcass, but make sure to leave some meat on the carcass. Leaving meat on the bone is essential to flavor. Put the carcass cage into your largest stock pot. If you have carved the legs and thighs, throw those bones in as well.
Cover the bones and carcass with cold water.
Leave the pot to sit overnight in a cold place. (My father would always leave the pot in front of our side door, which was a frigid alcove. He said this was to foil any robbers who happened to break in the evening after Thanksgiving. Of course, I always wondered what made that night more vulnerable in our house than any other, especially since we never had any robbery of any sort… Finally I figured out it was simply because there was no room in our refrigerator. I’m sure you can find your own cold-ish place where you can regale your small children with stories about the virtue of culinary procedures to law enforcement.)
The next day, if any fat has formed on the top, skim it off and discard.
At this point, if you like, you may add your aromatics: a quartered onion, 1-2 large carrots, 1-2 bay leaves, 8 peppercorns, a spalsh of white wine, a tablespoon of salt. Or you may simply leave the carcass as is and boil it naked, as it were.
Bring the water to a gentle boil, then lower the heat and let it simmer, simmer, simmer for a few hours. If you only have 2 hours, you may turn off the stove and let the carcass steep in the hot water for another hour. Or more. Like I said, this is an art, not a science. As the broth simmers, if you see foam on the surface, skim it off. Skim, and skim, and skim. This will help clarify your broth.
Once the broth is done, let it cool.
Strain out any bones and aromatics.
Pick the meat off the carcass and return it to the broth.
At this point, you may add whatever vegetables you like: leafy greans, spinach, broccoli, green beans, carrots, frozen peas…anything you have or want to use and like is fair game. Fresh or frozen. One necessity: We always add a drained can of whole tomatoes right at the beginning of this last stage, which we chop before adding. Add the longer-cooking vegetables first (carrots, chard stems celery, kale, etc, them add the tender greens, beans, peas, etc.) Simmer until the vegetables are cooked–we like them tender crisp for the first batch. They soften up over the days, so don’t overcook.)
In a separate small pot, cook your noodles until they are almost done. Egg noodles are by the far the best, and traditional, but if I’ve forgotten to buy them and don’t want to make them, any wide noodle will do, as will letter pasta or penne…use what your family likes.
Add the cooked pasta to the soup and continue simmering a few minutes longer.
Of course you can eat this right away, but it gets better and better every day after that, which is good, because one turkey will make a lot of soup. Enough for a week of leftovers.
A few notes: This year, I had a heritage turkey, with little fat. This produced a great, clear broth, with very little fat and no need to skim. My mother never added salt, but I’ve found that adding a tablespoon to the initial cooking helps with the final flavor of the soup. You can add extra meat at the end if you like, but I always leave enough on the carcass to fill out the whole recipe.
I’m sure many of you have your own versions, & I’m sure we’d all love to hear what they are.
By all accounts, Thanksgiving was about not cooking around here. That’s one reason for the dearth of posts about turkey.
The other reason is because the rest of the family was busy making the Thanksgiving movie, which I know all of you have been awaiting as eagerly as a new James Cameron flick, and the computer was tied up. However, the computer crashed last night during the final render, so you just have to wait another day…but I promise you, it’s really funny. And historical.
But we did institute some new traditions around here and revive some old ones. First we are now officially celebrating for 3 days, just like the Pilgrims.
Day 1: We feasted at my husband’s parents new home with 4 generations, and it was a lovely day. I am very grateful to my mother- and grandmother-in-law for their cooking and hospitality. We brought them a bag of gorgeous Indian corn that we picked at the Fall Harvest Festival at Ardenwood farms, and big bouquet of Chrysanthamums, after Capote’s The Thanksgiving Visitor, which Ella and I read in the weeks leading up to the holiday. It’s a gorgeous story, beautifully written, and even if it’s a little sophisticated in its language and content, it’s a story to grow on.
Day 2: We hosted old friends for a very casual afternoon of turkey sandwiches. I roasted what was probably the best turkey of my life, made stuffing from a box (which I would not do again). Ella had made cranberry sauce in school, and we just set everything out on the counter and let people eat what, how and where they wanted.
The turkey recipe is simply this:
Take one heritage turkey, throw 3-4 whole bulbs of garlic and one bunch of sage inside the cavity.
Make garlic butter by mashing salt, 6-8 cloves garlic and about 6 tablespoons of butter, and rub this under the skin of the turkey all over the breasts and legs.
Add 3-4 more bulbs of garlic around the outside of the turkey in the pan, add 1/2 cup of wate.
Roast your turkey. I am not going to weigh in on the high heat/low heat controversy regarding heritage turkeys. This year I did high heat (425 for just under 2 hours for a 12 pound turkey. I think it was too long. Next time, I’ll try slow & low.)
Pour off all of the fat and drippings. Get rid of most of the fat but save the drippings.
Make a quick pan sauce by deglazing the pan with white wine. Add the drippings back in. Serve warm.
The flavor of this turkey is incredible: simple and slightly garlicky, with a nice hint of sage. Aside from putting on the soup, which takes maybe 20 minutes total, this was the sum total of my cooking for the long weekend.
Even so, the highlight of the afternoon was definitely the desserts broughy by our incredibly talented friend, Lisa Chan. On offering were:
Mini Chocolate Anchor Steam Porter cupcakes with Bailey’s Cream Cheese Frosting
Mini Pumpkin cupcakes with cinnamon cream cheese frosting
Individual apple tarts
Individual pumpkin pie tarts, with fresh roasted pumpkins and dulce de leches
Lisa Chan, baker of extraordinary bite-sized desserts.
Contact her at mama_chan@yahoo.com for your next event. You will not be sorry. She’s not just our friend, she has real clients, too!
To be quite honest, the kids ate dessert for dinner.
It was excellent to see our old friends again, with whom we’ve spent many Thanksgivings, and we’ve all agreed to get together every year on Day 2, if not Day 1 of this holiday. Growing up, my family spent every Thanksgiving with my mother’s best friend from grammar school and her very fun family. We alternated homes, ate a lot, and played an annual football game, christened the Turkey Bowl, for which we had a small trophy that was passed back and forth between the families. There was a lot of football watched, a lot of joking and convivial good humor (4 adults and 8 kids will do that) and a long, satisfyingly fun day. So I love the idea of saving some of this holiday to spend in a very laid back way with old and dear friends.
Day 3: We did nothing. The soup simmered, Kory worked on the movie, Ella & I went to Nutcracker rehearsal, and later, we ate the first batch of soup and watched The Nightmare before Christmas. Finn had a meltdown because he can’t really eat and watch a movie at the same time, so some movie privileges were lost, and it was a very sad end of the day for him, but one meltdown in 4 days is really a success, and on the whole we had a very lazy, very relaxing, very peaceful, and very lovely holiday. And for that we are grateful.
Thanksgiving is my least favorite holiday. I love the long weekend. I love the movies Kory and the kids make. I love spending time with whatever friends and family gather around the table with us, but the food and the origin pale for me in comparison to other feasts. A turkey (and I’ve cooked organic, heirloom, local, etc….) just isn’t a leg of lamb and can never be a beef filet. The side dishes are okay, but I always like them better leftover, on sandwiches. It’s just always seemed like a helluva a lot of work for not enough payoff. Culinarily-speaking, that is. I’ve done homemade pumpkin raviolis, pumpkin risotto, all manner of innovations, and the meal just leaves me tired and underwhelmed. In other words, the day is fine, the cooking I could do without.
So, I was especially grateful to spend the day with Kory’s sister last year, and this year we’re going to Kory’s parents new home, where 4 generations will gather and feast and I will not be cooking.
BUT, The catch is that much as I hate cooking Thanksgiving dinner, I am messianic about my Turkey soup, which is the most essential, most traditional, most important part of Thanksgiving food for us. To not have a carcass for soup would just ruin my year. Last year, I took my sister-in-law’s turkey carcass home in the trunk of our car.
And this year, because our movie will be an historical one, about Pilgrims and which I will post as soon as it’s done…but you can read about the what and the why here we have learned that the first Thanksgiving was actually 3 days long. So, we’ve begun a new tradition: Day 1 is for extended family. On Day 2, I will roast a turkey–and only a turkey–and a few friends will join us for sandwiches and I will have my carcass for soup. Day 3 will be our family + soup + watching movies instead of making them.
The soup has a long, honored, idiosyncratic, patriarchal tradition in our family, and I’ll post it, with pictures. And the movie. Soon.
In the meantime, we’re thankful here for our family, our health, our friends, the abundance of good food on our table. And the Pilgrims.
