Even more than Thanksgiving, the day after is nostalgia squared, or maybe cubed. Memories rush back from the day before. The turkey. The perfect pies. Seeing loved ones, yet missing absent ones, and being thankful to have both. But now, layered on top, is a day of leftovers that are often better the day before.
My morning after: stuffing in a circle in a skillet with sunny side ups in the center, a piece of pie before that gets under way, freshly made strawberry raspberry jam and angel biscuits.
This year I’m making homemade butter—crunchy maple butter— to serve with them, and I’m sharing the recipe with you ahead of time so you see how quick and easy it is to make. And the flavor is definitely butter squared. Or maybe cubed.
All you need is to pour 3 pints of organic heavy cream in a stand mixer and begin to whip as if you are making whipped cream.
A man in one of my cooking classes asked me, ” How do you make butter?!”
I answered, “Do you remember anyone warning you that if you whipped cream too much it would turn into butter?”
This is the first Thanksgiving that we are eating a turkey that someone else raised. That is one of the first things I will be thankful for. The next thing will be the great friends and family that I get to share this holiday with. Why didn't we raise a turkey? Simple, we just kept waiting for it to stop raining here in Maine, but it never really did. What you have heard about turkeys being less than sensible is all true. They will stay out in their pen in driving cold rain when they could be in a nicely heated house with a foot of pine shavings. Being out in the rain wouldn't be most poultry's first choice, but you can't stop a turkey from self-destruction. One year we decided to experiment with Heritage turkeys like Bourbons and Narragansetts, old varieties. They have a richer, denser meat because they take so long to grow and we were hoping that they would be smart enough to know when to "get in, out of the rain." We ordered our heritage turkeys from Murray McMurray, the premier poultry breeder and 18 of the cutest baby turkeys arrived by mail. The minimum is 18 because that is how many it takes to generate enough warmth for them to arrive safely by mail.
You certainly don’t need me to tell you that the Big Food Holiday is next week. Everywhere you turn you see tips, tricks and ideas for Thanksgiving so you’ll understand me when I say that I’m going to join the chorus!
Last month I cooked a Thanksgiving dinner and a Christmas dinner. The only thing missing was a crowd around the table. Why the feast? I was developing recipes for Roast Turkey, Brown Sugar and Mustard Baked Ham, Maple Mashed Sweet Potatoes, Lightened Green Bean Casserole, a Holiday Salad (with pomegranate seeds and pepitas) and Harvest Apple Stuffing. I also created some recipes using leftover ham and turkey and for a few fun things you can make for the holidays to give as gifts like Peppermint Bark and Chocolate Chip Cookies in a Jar. The recipes were for 
I’m grateful for many things at Thanksgiving– family, friends, health, light traffic on the 405…all the usual suspects. But as the person who hosts that gathering year after year, I am also grateful for this technique for a perfect dry-brine roast turkey that makes my old wet-brine birds seem spongy, bland and far too much work by comparison.
, Rodgers goes into great detail on why salting meats and poultry days ahead of the actual cooking promotes juiciness, texture and enhances flavor…flying in the face of what, until then, had been the conventional wisdom that the salting of meats should be done only at the last minute. Per her instruction, I tried it with dozens of dishes–from chickens to chops to pot roasts–and, in every instance, the technique worked beautifully. But it never occurred to me to use it on the all important Thanksgiving turkey until The Los Angeles Times’ Russ Parson, one of my favorite food writers, declared it the definitive way to beautify the bird. And, boy, was Russ right.