When speaking of a Drunken Turkey at one's Thanksgiving Dinner, one hopes the term does not refer the time Aunt Betty's third husband absconded with the Jack Daniels that Granny was using in the kitchen. The preferred Drunken Turkey would be the roasted bird, having been previously marinated or brined in a spirited liquid.
The whole question, "to brine or not to brine," has become a heated issue, with adamant claims of scientific foundations, talk of osmosis and reverse osmosis, saline balance and reverence for the flavors Nature intended. Having avoided high school chemistry in favor of extra courses in Shakespeare, I can only refer to Falstaff who definitely favored meat soaked in liquor of any kind. As to what Nature intended, that would be teeth and claws shredding flesh raw in the bush, and I don't think even Falstaff was equipped for that.
I do know Alice Waters recommends leaving the turkey in brine for up to 72 hours. That is quite different from the overnight soaks suggested in most recipes. As I understand it, the salt water (brine) draws fluid out of the turkey for the first 12 hours or so. Then the balance of salt to fresh gradually shifts, and fluid moves back into the meat, carrying with it any flavors infused in the brine. Whatever the science might be, in my experience a briefly brined bird is dry and salty, but a bird that has luxuriated in its own little whiskey spa for 36 to 48 hours is juicy and delicious. That sort of Drunken Turkey is heartily welcome at my Thanksgiving Dinner.
On Saturdays we share some of our
favorite things – appliances, websites, kitchen gadgets & tools, cookbooks
& books about food, and anything else that we think is cool.
It was my plan to steer you toward the New York Times Dining section online for their wonderful Thanksgiving recipes. But I can't. The link is there, but I really don't recommend it. I do not want to be responsible for turning your family holiday into something truly memorable, as in, "Remember the time Aunt Jennifer put shrimp in the turkey stuffing?"
> / <
Maybe my fussy relations are more fussy about what goes inside their poultry than other families' fussies, but I rather doubt it. I suspect a sizable majority of the American voting and eating public - red and blue states alike - would not be pleased to find shrimp where they expect to find cornbread and sage.
Then there are those sweet potatoes. My mother has a certain way of smiling and saying, "Well, Sta-arr, all ri-ight." That translates as, "Well, here's another lame-brained idea to ruin our holiday." Personally, I plan on leaving the potatoes of all kinds outside the bird.
Another NYTimes suggestion with potential for raised eyebrows is Lemon Barley Stuffing With Shiitakes, Hazelnuts and Chive Butter. That sounds like a terrific side dish, and could sit in Great Grandmother's blue willow china bowl with pride. But shoving it inside the turkey might not be such a good idea.
I'm going to say this once, so pay attention. The stuffing that goes inside the turkey starts with bread.
When it comes to Thanksgiving Dinner, the pie is easy. Let me say it again: making a pie is not difficult, but EASY. Where do you think the expression, "Easy As Pie," came from, anyway?
American cooks have been told a big fat lie, and it's no mystery where it originated. First it was "instant" pie crust mixes, soon replaced by ready-made pie crusts in the freezer case. Never mind the pleasure inherent in manipulating fragrant, pliant dough with your hands, watching it come together into a smooth ball or feeling it surrender beneath the rolling pin. Children still mimic all these actions with glorious Play-Doh, not because they are tedious, but because they are fun.
But, no, American women have been so utterly convinced that these are not pleasures but miserable work, that the New York Times' food writer Florence Fabricant assumes that anyone who bakes pie has to fuss and worry over it, then goes on with suggestions, "For those of you who would rather cross the cold Atlantic in a small wooden boat than roll out dough and crimp it. . ."
Oh for heaven's sake, enough!
This sort of nonsense has been around so long that lots of us never learned to roll out a pie crust from Mom or Gramma. So here are step by step directions, with nothing tedious and nothing to fear except calories. (You'll also find a recipe for Pie Crust made with Lard and an egg on the Pasty page.)
Green Bean Casserole sits right up there next to the turkey and dressing as traditional Thanksgiving food. But this year we have a terrible problem -- barely a week ago we learned that all our canned food is contaminated with the endocrine disrupting chemical BPA. All canned food, including (gasp!) green beans and cream of mushroom soup. How can we set the Thanksgiving Dinner without Green Bean Casserole? Is it even possible to make everyone's favorite vegetable dish without opening two cans of beans, a can of soup and canned crispy onions? Has anyone ever done it before?
Yes, we can!
Starting with the green beans, we can use either fresh or frozen instead of canned. In fact, one of the recipes claiming to be "the original" calls for frozen beans. But to end up with a casserole that your family will recognize, be aware that fresh or frozen green beans are not the same as canned. The canning process cooks the beans in a way freezing does not. When you bite into a canned bean, your teeth meet almost no resistance. Compare that to the crunch of fresh or frozen beans, and the difference is obvious.
If your family is accustomed to Green Bean Casserole prepared with canned beans, boil fresh or frozen beans in salted water for at least 20 minutes or longer before putting your casserole together.
Now, what about that canned mushroom soup? No worries. The soup is no more than a convenient substitute for basic white sauce, with the mushrooms contributing almost no flavor. Unless your family recipe calls for the addition of fresh mushrooms, you'll get the closest approximation to the canned version by leaving the mushrooms out. The flavor in the soup is primarily salt and monosodium glutemate. We can do much better.
Will you add cheese? Our family recipe calls for a hefty glob of pasteurized cheese product, popularly known as Velveeta. While researching this article, I found a recipe calling for two cups shredded cheddar plus half a pound of Velveeta. That's a lot of cheese! Yet several other recipes, again claiming to be "the original," included no cheese at all. So it's up to you.
Those crispy onions, commonly found in their own tidy (and rather expensive) cans, actually are quite simple to turn out in your own kitchen. Unfortunately, like the canned version, home cooked crispy onions are so yummy that they tend to disappear before the casserole reaches the oven.
Sweet Potato Pie is popular in the American South, and practically unknown through the rest of the country. That's a shame, because it's not only delicious, it's full of nutrition. Either real whipped cream or vanilla ice cream are perfect accompaniments, but I wanted something to go with the pie that a lactose intolerant guest could enjoy. A variation on the traditional Italian dessert, Zabaglione, hit just the right note. (I promise to post a recipe and video for traditional Zabaglione closer to Christmas.)
And while we're considering that lactose intolerant guest, we can let them enjoy the pie, as well.
Recipe: Zabaglione Sauce
This happy accident occurred during my effort at making traditional Zabaglione. Everyone agreed it was terrific on top of the pie. One comment: "If I can eat and drink at the same time, I'm happy!"
4 egg yolks
2 Tbs. raw sugar (fine)
3 Tbs. brandy
Combine egg yolks and sugar in the top of a double boiler or heavy bowl. Set over simmering (not boiling) water, and whisk constantly for 3 minutes. The bottom of the bowl should not touch the water. This is an opportunity to use your hand-held mixer, or perhaps that nifty little immersible blender someone gave you last Mother's Day. Your goal is to have the eggs thicken without turning into scrambled eggs.
As the mixture begins to thicken, drizzle the brandy in very slowly. Continue to whisk the mixture until it is thick enough to hold its shape for a moment when dropped from the whisk back into the pan. This might happen very quickly.
Remove from heat and use a rubber spatula to turn it into another bowl to cool. Serve a heaping spoonful on top of pie or fresh fruit, warm or chilled.
Recipe: Sweet Potato Pie
A clever cook would bake extra sweet potatoes specifically with this pie in mind. They bake so easily in the microwave there's no point in buying canned sweet potatoes, which, in my humble opinion, are too sweet and watery.
2 c. cooked sweet potatoes, mashed
3/4 c. raw sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ginger
1/2 tsp. nutmeg
1 tsp. vanilla
1 2/3 c. evaporated milk OR
. . . . . 1 c. soy milk plus 2/3 c. coconut milk
unbaked 9" pie shell
Combine all the filling ingredients in blender or food processor. Pour into pie shell.
Bake at 400 degrees for 50 minutes. Test by inserting a knife about halfway between the center and the edge. It will come out clean when filling is done.
Serve warm or chilled with real whipped cream or Zabaglione-Style Sauce
If you love cooking, putting together a plan for your Thanksgiving Dinner menu can be a great start to the holiday season. On the other hand, if you hate cooking, your plan consists of either making a restaurant reservation or ordering the entire menu, appetizers to pumpkin pie, from one of the services so eager to do that for you.
Let's assume you love cooking and go from there.
Start with the basic outline of the feast. Roast turkey will be the centerpiece, of course, with some sort of stuffing (a.k.a. dressing) and gravy on the side. A second type of stuffing is a good idea if you are feeding an army with many different expectations. Then create a check list for the rest of the meal:
Appetizers -- Couldn't be easier. Ask a guest to bring a cheese ball and crackers, or whatever. Maybe Cousin Rita just took a cooking class at Williams-Sonoma and will offer her Curried Pumpkin Chowder. But if she doesn't, no worries. Honestly, everyone prefers a cheese ball.
Optional green salad -- Who looks forward to a green salad for Thanksgiving? But if a guest offers to bring tossed greens, or more likely, a gelatin mold to set on those greens, you won't refuse.
Bread -- You could show off your freshly baked Daily Bread or hearty Oatmeal Bread. Alternatively, you can save your energy for trussing the bird and ask your bachelor uncle to bring brown-and-serve rolls.
Main course -- You're already roasting the turkey. Now plan the side dishes according to color:
White potatoes / Sweet potatoes Either of these can be rubbed with olive oil and salt and baked whole alongside the turkey, while the other can be mashed or whipped and combined with something; butter, garlic and cheese for whites; butter, pineapple and walnuts for sweets.
Green / Yellow / OrangeVegetables: one of each color.
Green: Green beans, asparagus, broccoli, spinach or other greens, Brussels sprouts or cabbage.
Yellow: Corn in some form: on the cob, creamed, pudding, or with butter and onions or chile peppers OR yellow zucchini squash, acorn or other yellow squash. We'll also include onions or cauliflower here.
Orange: Carrots in any form, along with any of the orange squashes such as butternut and pumpkin. If you already have a sweet potato casserole (above) that can count here.
Red Relishes: This is cranberry relish, of course, which comes in many varieties. My husband's favorite is Mother Stanford's Cranberry Relish, which is a close approximation (and misspelling!) of Susan Stamberg's cranberry relish of National Public Radio fame. The simplest possible cranberry relish is found on the back of the Ocean Spray fresh cranberry package and here.
Dessert course -- Pumpkin Pie is the standard, and a second type of pie underscores the general feeling of abundance and pleasure. If Pumpkin Pie seems too mundane, Sweet Potato Pie is a tradition in the American South that makes a nice alternative. It's also smart to have some fresh fruit on hand just in case someone suddenly remembers they are trying to lose weight and already feels the guilt from all that stuffing and green bean casserole. Fresh or frozen berries and peach slices, citrus sections and pineapple wedges could be combined with a splash of wine earlier in the week, ready to appear as you bring out the pies. Vanilla ice cream or a Zabaglione Sauce nicely top both the pie and the fruit, as would whipped cream, as long as it is actual whipped cream, not fluffed up chemicals.
Now that you have the general plan for dinner, figure out how many places you'll be setting and how many cooks plan to be there. Then contact those cooks and determine what they will contribute. If you have mutual history, that conversation might be: "Everyone will be expecting your pecan pie. Can we count on you to bring it this year?" Otherwise, a safer approach would be: "I'll be doing the turkey and dressing, of course, and Bob is bringing the brown-and-serve rolls. But we need a green vegetable, some sort of potato and a dessert. Which one of those would you like to bring?"
You want to give your victims guests a choice, so if they really don't want to cook, they can pick up a pie at the supermarket. But if you have someone coming whose sense of self-worth is based on her famous spinach souffle, you want to give her the opportunity to shine.
What if Aunt Ruth announces she is bringing Green Bean Casserole, and Grandmama is already committed to Spinach Souffle? Oh, dear, two green vegetables! No worries, variations on the plan make life more interesting. As long as Ruth and Grandmama are not BOTH bringing green beans, you're in good shape.
Savory Pasties are the perfect excuse for playing with pastry crust made with lard. ("Pasty" rhymes with "nasty." The word rhyming with "tasty" is something completely different.)
A friend of mine tells of her Cornish forebears who worked the coalmines in Britain. Supposedly, the tradition of baking Pasties - hearty half-moon meat pies eaten out of hand - started when the coalminers' wives baked pies that could be dropped down the mine shafts into the hands of their husbands far below.
Those must have been some kind of sturdy pie crusts to survive that drop! My Pasties would fall into crumbs before any miners could catch them, but since these days Pasties only travel from oven to table, I'm not terribly concerned. Still, the tradition grants us some leeway. Whereas one usually tries to handle pastry crust as little as possible to avoid working up the gluten in the dough which makes a tough crust, producing a Pasty that does NOT fall apart at the slightest touch is recognized as a good thing.
Now, please understand that I don't dip into the lard bucket every day; I use olive oil for almost all of my baking, cooking and pan frying. Lard comes out of the freezer only for special occasion pastries that need a solid fat for texture and flake, or the even more rare occasions when something must be deep fried.
If your only experience with hand-held savory pies is something frozen and heated in the microwave, just give the following recipe a try. You might be converted to both Pasties and baking with lard.
Chorizo is a fine sausage for the novice sausage maker. Because it varies from one country to the next, and from one region to the next, no one is likely to turn up their nose and declare, "This isn't REAL chorizo." The worst they might try is, "This doesn't taste like my Tia Rosa's sausage," to which you may honestly reply, "Well, this is how Tia Estrella makes it."
Chorizo may or may not be stuffed into a casing, may or may not be smoked or cured, may or may not be flaming hot with chilies. So we're going the simple route, making fresh chorizo with a generous amount of spices but modest heat.
The only special equipment required is probably already in your kitchen: a food processor or meat grinder. If asked which I thought did a better job, I'd have to say choose the meat grinder, because with a food processor one could process the meat too much. That might produce something like spicy bologna, which would be interesting to try sometime.
Another good tool is small, inexpensive electric coffee grinder - not for the meat, but for spices. You'll get far better flavor than with the stale stuff sold in
tiny jars. But keep your spice grinder separate from the one used for
coffee, or someone might have an unpleasant wake-up experience.
Now let's set up the meat grinder and make chorizo.
It's a good bet that your Great-grandmother cooked with lard and that her food was both healthier and tastier than anything you can buy at the grocery store today.
The sad fact is that we've been badly mistaken about lard for at least two generations. We've been told that it made us fat, raised our cholesterol and put all of us at risk for heart disease. We were persuaded to throw away the old-fashioned lard bucket in favor of shiny new cans of artificially manufactured shortening and oils (such as cottonseed oil) that were never meant to be used as food.
Now, nothing here should be construed as medical advice: I'm a writer and home cook and a hippie grandma, not any kind of medical or nutritional authority. Follow these links if you want to confirm the bad news about trans fats and the benefits of animal fat. Here we want to focus on lard, and how to get Great-Grandmother's bucket of lard back into the kitchen so we can use it thoughtfully and joyfully.
First, do not buy the tidy little boxes of lard sold (unrefrigerated) in the grocery store. That has been processed and contains partially hydrogenated vegetable oils, just like the artificial canned shortening. So leave it on the shelf and walk over to the meat department. If you are exceptionally lucky, your store might have packages of pork fat, beef tallow or suet laid out in the meat case.
But more likely you will need to ask the butcher behind the counter to cut some for you from whatever grass-fed beef or pork they have in stock.
You may be told to call ahead next time because they will consider a request for pork fat a special order. If the butcher should offer to grind the fat for you, say YES.
A note on terminology: lard comes from pork fat, tallow and suet from beef or bison.Schmaltzis a fine Yiddish term for chicken fat. Blubber comes from whales and other sea mammals, but that's slightly out of our range, so we'll just call it all lard if no one minds. Rendering is the process of melting the fat. After the lard is rendered, strained and solidified, it can be safely stored in the refrigerator for weeks or in the freezer for years.
Once you get your lovely fat into your kitchen, plan on rendering it fairly quickly, at least within 24 hours. I made the mistake of assuming fat would have the storing qualities of lard, only to end up with 2 pounds of very nasty rancid fat in the fridge. But you won't make that dumb mistake, because if you read on, you'll see how simple it can be to render out your own natural, old fashioned lard just like Great-Grandmother would do it.
On Saturdays we share some of our
favorite things – appliances, websites, kitchen gadgets & tools, cookbooks
& books about food, and anything else that we think is cool.
This isn't your mother's Crock Pot.
Well, maybe it IS your mother's Crock Pot, but it isn't your mother's Crock Pot cooking. No more chunks of rubbery gray meat and mushy vegetables. No more chili that tastes gruel or gravy with the texture of kindergarten paste. We've learned a few things about how to produce meals from a slow cooker that are both convenient AND edible, so you might consider hauling your pot out of the box in the bottom of the closet and giving it another try.
Or, if in fact that is your mother's cooker in the bottom of the closet, you might treat yourself to one of the newer models. If you have a household full of hungry people, look at the larger 5- or 6-quart units. There are even slow cookers with two or three pots that can simmer different dishes simultaneously.
On the other hand, if it's just you and your Honey Muffin, it's a very good idea to invest in a smaller slow-cooker, maybe as small as two quarts. I have a big 6-quart unit (above) that sits quietly in storage until the clans descend upon us demanding food. The oval 3.5-quart comes out when I'm making a meal for just the two of us, for example, the Quick & Easy Crock Pot Pork that makes me hungry just thinking about it.
The advantage of the slow cooker (which is the generic term for these appliances; "Crock-Pot" is a brand name) is its ability to safely cook meat, vegetables, soups and other things so slowly that you totally forget about it until your nose tells you dinner is ready. You toss ingredients into the cooker on your way out the door in the morning then return home after a long day at work to the aroma of a perfectly finished hot meal. At least that's the theory.
That "toss it in and forget it" mentality was responsible for many of the gray tasteless Crock Pot meals of the '70s. Now we've learned that a few extra steps like browning the meat, arranging food properly rather than just tossing it in the pot, and adjusting the sauce an hour or so before serving can make a huge difference in the results.
There's no point going any further without acknowledging Beth Hensperger's contributions to the slow-cooker revival. Her "Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker" series persuaded me to drag out the old Crock Pot, and I'm glad I did.
After mentioning that Crock Pot Pork, I'm tempted to make it again. But I've already defrosted sausage for tonight, so let's do something different. Here's a riff on a Spanish Rice recipe from Beth Hensperger's "Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Cookbook." The original uses brown rice, but I'm using my own Salsa Verdi instead of tomatoes and chicken broth in place of water. Either version is terrific, so drag out your slow cooker and give it a try.
Instant Oatmeal is one of the most remarkable products in the grocery store. I say that not because Instant Oatmeal is convenient, attractive, kid-friendly or parent-pleasing, although it certainly is all those things. Instant Oatmeal is remarkable because it is an outstanding example of how clever marketing can overcome common sense.
The following rant-and-rave has been brought on by a contest sponsored by a major oatmeal company (as if we don't know who THAT is.) Celebrity chefs supposedly inspire a "recipe" in which toppings are created for instant oatmeal, viewers vote online and the winning chef receives $10,000 for a favorite charity.
Why would I find that offensive and worth of a rant-and-rave? For one thing, slicing fruit over oatmeal is NOT a recipe. More importantly, in my opinion, Instant Oatmeal is not food.
Why did the world even need Instant Oatmeal? We already have Quick Oats that cook in about a minute, and "Old Fashioned Oats" that cook in about 5 minutes. That doesn't amount to a whole hunk of time saved. For that matter, when Quick or Old Fashioned Oats are heated with water or milk in the microwave, they are both just as "instant" as Instant Oatmeal.
So exactly why have the savvy shoppers of the western world so enthusiastically embraced Instant Oatmeal? Are we toting those oatmeal packets off to work with us, to stir up in our cubicles with hot water from the office coffee machine? Or are we sending them off to school with the kids, to consume dry directly from the paper pouches, like high-fiber Pixy Stix?
Or maybe Instant Oatmeal saves us money? Let's see -- one of those big round boxes of Oatmeal costs about $.12 per ounce and has around 30 servings. One box of the instant stuff contains 8 to 10 cute lil' packets and costs about $.26 per ounce, depending on the flavor. You could even buy the "Weight-Control" variety for $.32 per ounce, even though it has more calories than the original Instant Oatmeal. So I guess we aren't saving any money.
How about the carbon footprint? No . . . lots of little packets don't compare well to a single cardboard carton.
I could go on, but I think you get the idea. We've been sold a bill of goods on a products that is no more convenient, economical or nutritious (oops, I didn't even go into that, too scary) than the original natural minimally processed product.
Actually, oatmeal is an excellent food. It is a minimally processed whole food that provides good fiber and significant protein, at least when it isn't fiddled with too much. I'm even going to include a link to the Quaker Oats website because they have some truly fine recipes for their real oats. But remember to choose from the recipes with the same care as you choose from their products: carefully reading the listed ingredients before deciding whether you want it in your kitchen.
Following the jump, you'll find a recipe of my own that came about when I needed a dessert for a Thanksgiving gathering that didn't require a fork and plate. It doesn't involve any Instant Oatmeal, but it has lots of whole food flavor.
I cook with meat. That’s perfectly obvious when you take a quick glance through the recipe archives on this site. You’ll also find recipes that use butter, lard, eggs, and animal products of all sorts.
But the main theme of this website is healthful, responsible cooking. I am deeply committed to food that promotes the health of my family and the health of our planet. Doesn’t that commitment demand a vegan or at least a vegetarian lifestyle?
Not at all.
While I know that the typical American consumes far too much beef, pork and poultry, and that our meat-producing industry is a significant contributor to greenhouse gasses, the destruction of rain forest and a host of other environmental ills, I do not agree that we need to stop eating animals all together.
We simply need to eat less of them.
The all-or-nothing mentality assumes that if one isn’t completely vegan or at least vegetarian then one is forking up quarter pounders or rib-eyes once or twice every day. That is not the case.
In the 1928 presidential campaign, Herbert Hoover promised prosperty with the slogan “a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage.” That hope was rooted in the imge of the once-weekly Sunday chicken dinner shared by an extended family that included several children, grandparents and an odd aunt or uncle.
No one imagined in 1928 that every working family could have a bucket of chicken every evening, and certainly not half a chicken or more per person!
Most of us could easily cut our meat consumption by half and suffer no ill effects. To the contrary, the reduction of fat, calories and excess protein would do us a lot of good. Replacing much of that animal flesh with whole grains, vegetables and fruit would add interest and flavor to our daily meals. We would feel better, literally less weighted down, and we would be taking a big step toward returning balance to our planet.
To change the way we eat we need to learn different ways of cooking. More accurately, we need to remember different ways of preparing food, the way our grandmothers and great-grandmothers cooked when chickens didn’t come wrapped in plastic and juice didn’t arrive in tiny cartons. There is a wealth of knowledge in our traditional recipes, in our old dog-eared cookbooks, and in the cultural celebrations that are rooted in the yearly cycle of the seasons.
We already have all the information we need; we just need to find where it was buried beneath the piles of frozen dinners and stacks of processed snacks. We can learn to distinguish real food from imitation processed food products. And in the process of eating less meat we may discover we are enjoying it more.
This quick and easy Crock Pot Pork is so simple it's hardly a recipe. Better still, you get two suppers from the same pot, saving energy, saving time, and saving money. What's not to love?
I stumbled on this dish the day after a party when we had leftover white wine that had been open too long to drink. Since it had been a rather good party, I lacked energy to do much in the kitchen beyond plugging in the slow-cooker, so I dumped the wine on top of the pork, and Voila! About 6 hours later, deliciousness burst forth. It never occurred to me to take photos of the process, but the result is too good not to share.
Recipe: Quick and Easy Crock Pot Pork
The "quick" part refers to the amount of effort on your part. The slow-cooker needs at least 6 hours to do the rest. Adjust the amounts according to the size of your slow-cooker. I used my 4 quart oval which could easily handle another pound of meat. If your slow-cooker is larger and you don't want huge amounts of meat, throw in more root vegetables to fill the pot and ensure proper cooking. Because the heating elements in slow-cookers encircle the sides of the pot, you'll get better results by putting vegetables in first, then piling the meat on top of them.
Ingredients:
onions, peeled and quartered
carrots, peeled and quartered
potatoes, white or sweet, peeled and quartered
2 lbs., more or less, pork shoulder boneless ribs or other boneless cut
1 c. white wine, more or less
Spray slow-cooker pot with non-stick cooking spray. I prefer the olive-oil spray.
Place root vegetables in the pot. Sprinkle pork with salt & pepper, and place on top of vegetables.
Pour in white wine.
Cover and cook on Low setting at least 6 hours. Since this dish will have plenty of broth, it could easily simmer away for 8 - 10 hours, getting better every minute.
Before serving, set aside and refrigerate a portion of the pork and most of the broth for Next Night Noodles, below.
Options:
> I like to turn the slow-cooker to the High setting for the first hour, particularly when cooking pork, just to get it up to safe temperatures as quickly as possible. Then I reduce it to Low for the rest of the day.
> Eliminate the potatoes and serve the pork and broth over rice, dressing or cornbread.
The Leftover Candy Blues -- Whether your children hauled home buckets of mini-chocolate bars, or your party guests left you with three bowls of uneaten candy corn, the problem is the same every November 1st: what the heck do we do with all this candy?
I am not touching the question of what you let your kids do with their trick 'r treating loot. That's an issue you have to work out with the aid of your own conscience, dentist and spiritual counsel. I only offer recommendations regarding those sugary treats that are rightfully your own, of which there are likely far too many sitting around your house at this moment. With fear and trembling, therefore, I meekly offer three suggestions for your burden of leftover candy :
1. Throw it in the trash.
Yes, it is possible to throw away leftover candy and completely legal in North America, Europe and Australia. It is, however, rather difficult, particularly if you or your mother or grandmother grew up in the Great Depression (that was the 1930s, not last summer as some would claim.) My own mother insisted any waste of food, leftover or otherwise, was justification for damnation, and that the children starving in Germany would somehow suffer more if I failed to eat every bean on my plate. Her principles extended to Halloween candy, and I'm still not clear on how those hungry WWII orphans were more content because I was, shall we say, plump.
Mom may be rolling in her grave as I write this, but the exercise might do her good. Go ahead, throw the candy away.
2. Give it away.
Admittedly, the Food Police frown on this option. But if you simply cannot bring yourself to throw away good food, giving leftover candy to others is a kindness, although of a warped variety. I confess that I set out two containers at our church fellowship hour on the first Sunday of November; one of candy corn and one of Jujubes. Mea culpa.
3. Grind it up to use as decorative sugar.
After all, candy is nothing but sugar with artificial color ... and flavors and emulsifiers and conditioners and every other gross additive concocted in the food chemist's laboratory. You don't want to eat it yourself or serve it to others in quantity, but a teaspoon or two in a pitcher of iced tea or sprinkled on an otherwise wholesome cake would not be mortal sin. This works particularly well with leftover chocolates, which should be processed in your blender or food processor separately from licorice varieties and the straight up sugar stuff such as candy corn. Marshmallows process better when nicely stale and hard, as they probably are by November, anyway.
A variation on this suggestion is to simply grind or break up the offensive little sweets and pack them prettily into glass bottles and jars, to use as kitchen decor. (The attractive lavender sugar in that smallest jar used to be purple Peeps.) After 6 months or years, you may easily convince yourself that the leftover candy is no longer fit to be eaten and throw it out without offending the spirits of any ancestors.
Oh, hold on, my video technician just reminded me of a fourth possibility. It's gross, but quite practical: mix the ground-up candy sugar with either baking soda or boric acid, then dust it lightly behind the stove and refrigerator as ant and roach bait. Either formula will do in the lil' pests, and if PETA complains, you can assure them the critters died a sweet death. Meanwhile, you're rid of the leftover candy blues.
Baking bread from scratch? Making your own sausage or rendering lard? Why would anyone go to all that trouble? There is convenient food in nice little packages, ready to cook or reheat right in the store!
True, sometimes our own families think we're crazy for passing up convenience in favor of cooking from scratch. That is, until they taste the sausage or bite into the pie crust.
Health and safety are two big concerns here, along with adapting recipes for family members with food allergies. But beyond all that, we're determined that food should taste wonderful. Food is meant to be gathered and prepared and shared and eaten with great joy.
"You are what you eat." If that is true, what have we become? What do we want to be?
