Ever since Jeff and I moved to Southern California seven years ago, my parents have flown from Rhode Island to celebrate Thanksgiving with us.
Each year about a week before they leave, Mom calls and asks,"Do you want us to bring anything? Bread from Buono's? What about some soppressata from Venda's?" After taking down our requests, she invariably asks me one question: "Is Jeff going to make those rosemary nuts this year?"
I make the turkey, the stuffing, the cranberry relish, the vegetables and all the desserts. But what do my parents want to know? If Jeff is making the rosemary nuts.
These Sweet and Spicy Rosemary Nuts have become such an integral part of our celebration that none of us can imagine Thanksgiving Day without them. Jeff makes them early in the morning, enticing us with the aromas of earthy rosemary and sweet honey. We traditionally serve them with drinks before dinner. When there's about half a bowl left, we take turns, saying, "Put them away. I've had enough."
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving
Learning to Love Brussels Sprouts
What exactly is the root of all this antipathy toward Brussels sprouts? Is it the color? Sometimes it's not easy being green. Or yellowish-green.
Is it the smell? You know what I'm talking about. Boil Brussels sprouts on your stove top for 10 minutes and the neighbors will begin to wonder which farm animal you recently adopted.
Is it your mother's fault? If she served mushy, water-logged, brown Brussels sprouts when you were a kid, it's not your fault that you hate them.
Let me attempt to ingratiate Brussels sprouts with you, especially since many of you will likely be cooking and/or eating them next week on Thanksgiving.
Though Brussels sprouts have been around since ancient times, they are named after the city of Brussels in Belgium, where they have been cultivated (and appreciated) since Medieval times. Brussels sprouts are members of the brassica family, so they're related to broccoli, cabbage, cauliflower, and kolrabi, none of which are going to win any popularity contests. That's why Brussels sprouts taste like cabbage and are sometimes referred to as "mini cabbages."
Roasted Acorn Squash with Honey-Lime Glazed Pepitas
American Thanksgiving. It's all about the big bird. Or is it?
Every year it's the same thing: Cooks everywhere spend countless hours debating the merits of free-range, organic, grass fed, wild, and frozen turkeys. Then when they finally decide on a turkey, they spend even more hours debating how to cook it: Will brining make the meat succulent? Should it be basted every hour? And what about the stuffing? Every family has that relative who insists on stuffing the turkey. So should you stuff the turkey and risk salmonella poisoning for your guests or incur your Aunt Edna's wrath? These are not easy questions.
That is why my favorite part of Thanksgiving has always been the side dishes. You know them – the perennial favorites such as cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, winter squash, string beans, and Brussels sprouts. Probably like most of you who celebrate Thanksgiving, I expect these dishes to grace the Thanksgiving table every year, but sometimes they need a little spicing up. Rather than traditional butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon, this acorn squash has some Latin flare.
Giving
It is 3:30PM November 26, 2009. I take a deep breath as I swallow a spoonful of green bean casserole—probably from my third round of food. I look at the table to see what is left for another helping. My eyes
get big as I notice that the vegetarian stuffing hasn’t been touched
and that there are a few shrimps left at the end of the table. “Yes!—I
think.” Shortly after, I go into a food coma, throw on my sweatpants,
and curl into a ball for an afternoon nap. Not before long, I awake and
pounce on apple pie for dessert. This is Thanksgiving…this is a true
American Thanksgiving. This year I won’t be having one of those. This
year I will be saying “Grazie” rather than “Thank you” and I will be
stuffing my body with endless baskets of bread, bowls of pasta, and
bites of pizza. This year I will spend Thanksgiving in Florence, Italy.
It was just two years ago that I spent Thanksgiving in Rome, Italy. At the time, the class that I had studied abroad with was fortunate enough to have our group leaders organize a Thanksgiving dinner at one of the most prestigious hotel rooftops in all of Italy, The Marriott on Via Veneto. As a few of my roommates, my brother, and I approached the beautiful hotel, we began to ponder what we would be filling our plates with that night. Of course I cried out, “There better be green bean casserole.”
Thanksgiving
Here's the deal about Thanksgiving dinner at our house: it's the same every year, except for one thing. Every year one thing changes.
Sometimes we try something new and it stays forever, like the apricot jello mold that's been a guilty pleasure of our Thanksgiving dinner for at least fourteen years.
Sometimes it's something that makes the cut for several years - like sweet potatoes with pecan praline - and then, for no real reason, falls off the menu never to be spoken of again.
And sometimes it's a mistake, like the pearl onions in balsamic vinegar, which turned out to be a dish that was far too full of itself.
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