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Nothing says Thanksgiving like stuffing
By C.W. Gusewelle/The Kansas City Star, Mo. (MCT)
As in previous years, the question is whether we will prepare Thanksgiving dinner ourselves, or trust that duty to strangers.
And, once again, the decision properly is mine.
The turkey is not the issue. Anyone can cook a bird. You just stick the thing in a plastic bag, set the oven at 350 degrees and go watch a football game or two. And when the guests arrive, you put it on the table.
"Don't you have one in the freezer?" my wife asked. "A wild one?"
"Yes, but the date on it says 1997. By now it will have turned to cardboard."
"Well, there won't be many of us this year," she said. "We'll only need a small one."
"Size doesn't matter," I replied. "Anything larger than a Cornish hen will do. The turkey's incidental. It's the stuffing that's important."
Of course, prefabricated Thanksgiving dinners are available. Nearly all the big grocery stores offer them.
For one reasonable price you get the whole package: the bird, the green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry relish and pumpkin pie. The works.
It's a perfectly acceptable solution for those who are too inept or too feckless to prepare the meal themselves.
The one drawback is the stuffing, which tends to be both too little and distinctly subpar.
I speak with authority on this subject, for I am the surviving custodian of a long-standing family tradition.
My grandmother Sue made a passable cornbread stuffing, as did my mother, Dorothy. But it was three of my aunts -- Nancy, Gladys and Thelma -- who elevated the art to a level beyond anything taught by the CIA. That is, the Culinary Institute of America at Hyde Park, N.Y.
From earliest childhood, my memories of the holidays centered on the stuffing. Not only was it delicious. Those dear ladies made it in satisfying quantity -- at least a roaster pan full, sometimes two, besides what went inside the bird.
My only complaint was that, at the urging of some relative with depraved taste, occasionally there would be a side dish profaned by the introduction of oysters, which have no proper place in the mix.
Both our daughters will be with us this Thursday next. Preparations will have begun two or three days before, with the tearing into small pieces of three or possibly four loaves of white bread, the baking and crumbling of an equal amount of corn bread, and setting all that aside to crisp and dry.
On the morning of cooking there's the final assembly. One of the girls will chop and add the celery -- a generous bunch of it. The other, sniffling and weeping, will dice the four large onions -- a job I must avoid in order to keep my head and vision clear for the exercise of my leadership responsibilities.
The remaining delicate steps are too important to be delegated.
Black pepper is required -- just a hint of it. Then ground sage in exactly the right amount, which can be determined only by repeated tastings.
Four or six eggs are beaten and incorporated, along with the turkey's liver, heart and gizzard, cut into small pieces.
Finally, then, the whole masterwork is moistened with broth created in the boiling of the giblets. Here the amount is critical. Too much fluid and the stuffing will be unacceptably soupy. Too little and it will dry out in the baking.
It's a matter of feel. The broth must be kneaded in barehanded. (We're family, after all.)
The only thing left is to pluck from the roaster-sized loaf an uncooked sample -- one each for the maestro and his sous-chefs. And then to contemplate the joy that awaits us three or four hours later in the day.
I'll admit that once or twice in the past, when obliged by circumstances and a crush of time, we've resorted to the commercially prepackaged feasts.
Those aunts would be disappointed to know it, and the regret will be with me to the end.
To see more of The Kansas City Star, or to subscribe to the newspaper, go to http://www.kansascity.com.
Copyright (c) 2009, The Kansas City Star, Mo.
Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.
Subscribe To Lake AlertsAnd, once again, the decision properly is mine.
The turkey is not the issue. Anyone can cook a bird. You just stick the thing in a plastic bag, set the oven at 350 degrees and go watch a football game or two. And when the guests arrive, you put it on the table.
"Don't you have one in the freezer?" my wife asked. "A wild one?"
"Yes, but the date on it says 1997. By now it will have turned to cardboard."
"Well, there won't be many of us this year," she said. "We'll only need a small one."
"Size doesn't matter," I replied. "Anything larger than a Cornish hen will do. The turkey's incidental. It's the stuffing that's important."
Of course, prefabricated Thanksgiving dinners are available. Nearly all the big grocery stores offer them.
For one reasonable price you get the whole package: the bird, the green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and gravy, cranberry relish and pumpkin pie. The works.
It's a perfectly acceptable solution for those who are too inept or too feckless to prepare the meal themselves.
The one drawback is the stuffing, which tends to be both too little and distinctly subpar.
I speak with authority on this subject, for I am the surviving custodian of a long-standing family tradition.
My grandmother Sue made a passable cornbread stuffing, as did my mother, Dorothy. But it was three of my aunts -- Nancy, Gladys and Thelma -- who elevated the art to a level beyond anything taught by the CIA. That is, the Culinary Institute of America at Hyde Park, N.Y.
From earliest childhood, my memories of the holidays centered on the stuffing. Not only was it delicious. Those dear ladies made it in satisfying quantity -- at least a roaster pan full, sometimes two, besides what went inside the bird.
My only complaint was that, at the urging of some relative with depraved taste, occasionally there would be a side dish profaned by the introduction of oysters, which have no proper place in the mix.
Both our daughters will be with us this Thursday next. Preparations will have begun two or three days before, with the tearing into small pieces of three or possibly four loaves of white bread, the baking and crumbling of an equal amount of corn bread, and setting all that aside to crisp and dry.
On the morning of cooking there's the final assembly. One of the girls will chop and add the celery -- a generous bunch of it. The other, sniffling and weeping, will dice the four large onions -- a job I must avoid in order to keep my head and vision clear for the exercise of my leadership responsibilities.
The remaining delicate steps are too important to be delegated.
Black pepper is required -- just a hint of it. Then ground sage in exactly the right amount, which can be determined only by repeated tastings.
Four or six eggs are beaten and incorporated, along with the turkey's liver, heart and gizzard, cut into small pieces.
Finally, then, the whole masterwork is moistened with broth created in the boiling of the giblets. Here the amount is critical. Too much fluid and the stuffing will be unacceptably soupy. Too little and it will dry out in the baking.
It's a matter of feel. The broth must be kneaded in barehanded. (We're family, after all.)
The only thing left is to pluck from the roaster-sized loaf an uncooked sample -- one each for the maestro and his sous-chefs. And then to contemplate the joy that awaits us three or four hours later in the day.
I'll admit that once or twice in the past, when obliged by circumstances and a crush of time, we've resorted to the commercially prepackaged feasts.
Those aunts would be disappointed to know it, and the regret will be with me to the end.
To see more of The Kansas City Star, or to subscribe to the newspaper, go to http://www.kansascity.com.
Copyright (c) 2009, The Kansas City Star, Mo.
Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.
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