Turkey Stock - after 2 days - the real nectar of the gods

Our family Thanksgiving is full of traditions. There is always a whole fresh pumpkin pie stashed in the fridge for the day after Thanksgiving. Breakfast and leftovers wouldn't be the same without them. We also save a bag of rolls for cold turkey sandwiches. And, about 4 years ago we inaugurated Friendsgiving at out house. All traditions, entrenched.

The tradition I look forward to for it's amazing fragrance over the Thanksgiving weekend, is the making of Turkey Stock on the stove. I gather the bones and cart them home when my sister has Thanksgiving. This year we combined friends and family and had the dinner party at our house. So just after the guests left and my Dear was on the 3rd load of dishes, the turkey popped into my La Creuset Doufeu, with yellow onions and carrots and just enough water to cover it. I had also reserved the turkey roasting pan drippings and side by side they spent the next day reducing into the most wonderful stocks. Of course the small version from the pan was done the first night. This morning I let the big pot finish and drained the nectar to these jars. (There are 3 of them.)

I'm quite happy to have this brilliant base for soup -- which we can use almost anytime -- and for sauces. Someone was suggesting a Turkey pot pie, too. And since I made the (amazing) Torrisi's Turkey Breast recipe I found at Food 52, (thank you!) we may have just enough turkey left for a pie. Turkey soup sounds good, but we're facing 75 degree weather right now. When the temperature changes, I'll pull the stock out of the freezer, hopefully in December, and make a beautiful pot with fat noodles.

I had a wonderful experience with Ina Garten's make ahead gravy this year. I had a jar of chicken stock for the base. The recipe calls for chopped red onion, butter and flour and seasoning. I added drippings and a crisp white wine when the turkey finished and it was so good. Next year, I may make a turkey around the beginning of fall and save that stock for the big day.

Thanksgiving with all its traditions is an evolving tableau. This year we added a wild rice dish and my son's new favorite, Mrs. Board's chopped sweet potatoes. (He fell in love with them, so those sweet potatoes in jackets just had to move over on the plate and give space to their bright orange goodness.)

Thanksgiving is such a creative and inspiring holiday for me. How about you?

Thanksgiving & Julia and Ina and me.

I'm often surprised by, well, the surprises my computer brings forth.

Today, prepping, cleaning, making leaf garlands for our Thanksgiving Day celebration I clicked on iTunes. I thought I'd listen to my pal Christine's Thanksgiving playlist -- amazing -- with Appalachian Spring and Natalie Cole all in one fabulous hour or so of music. But, iTunes started a fantastic podcast from July of 2009 on the Chef's Table. (I had no idea I had this podcast.) It focused on Julia Child and the movie, Julie and Julia. Lot's of people talk on this wonderful program -- as I listened I thought about Julia Child and her whole-hearted living. Fantastic. Wonderful. Amazing.

I also heard Nora Ephron talking about the script and her book and movie, Heartburn. And I felt that thing I love so much -- deep, quiet, almost spiritual connection. I cook all the time. I have since I was 13 years old. I try new things like when I was 13 and made a warm chicken salad -- flash cooked lettuce -- yup.

It made me so happy as I look at Thanksgiving in a couple of days. My turkey is in the fridge, wrapped, as Ina Garten suggested in plastic wrap, holding a brine, and getting ready for tomorrow. Every other week or so, I make Ina's Perfect Sunday Roast Chicken. I love making it. The scent of thyme and lemon and garlic floats through the house. We eat, slowly, chatting, enjoying and later I make a stock for the freezer.

I'll be using the same style of cooking for this year's turkey. Entirely undaunting and I think of the process as fun and joyful and exciting.

I love the thought of these women, connected over time by a love of preparing and enjoying food. And I'm equally glad to be sharing their workspace and history as I plan for the party this week.

I hope your Thanksgiving planning is bringing you joy too.

Happy Birthday Pop - Again

I'm reposting the post about my dad from 5 years ago.
It's his birthday and the loss is upon me.

I can hear him singing car songs in my head. And I hear him calling my girlie Roxy and Sahara, anything but her own name, as he plots for ice cream with her.

I miss my dad and all that we may have said.
________________________________________________________________________
September 18, 2009

Yesterday was my dad's birthday. He would have been 81, but he slipped through my hands in a hospital room a couple of years ago. Actually, he slipped through my hands when I was little and he left our backyard for greener pastures. My thoughts of him recently have been wide and wondering. I have thought about his deep rich voice and his love. I've thought about the unanswered questions that didn't go unanswered for lack of asking, but for the lack of clarity, depth and self-knowledge required. I have thought about his laughter and the way I often felt like he was in cahoots with me in some way of thinking or adventure.

A week or so ago, my friend John took us on a ride around the block. John is taking care of his brother's '63 VW Van (in perfect restoration). My eldest dug the backseat with the refrigerator and surfboard. And my youngest giggled with laughter, sitting in the front seat, being bumped as the very long stick shift shifted. The sound of the motor and the feel of the drive brought to mind the winter, turned spring then summer Dad restored my own VW. A '72 bright orange Superbeetle Convertible we'd bought for a song (well, actually, an aria) that went from wreck to vision in those long months. I thought about the anticipation, the updates, the long drive home when it was really mine and the music of the radio as well as the engine. I recalled the drives around the block to see how she was running and the thrill of knowing that this project would be mine.
Last night my daughter showed me the cover of her new journal, entitled "Dear Grampa." Without a word between us, she too has been thinking about him a lot lately. When she showed me the book, she explained that it's not for me to read. It is instead, a special place for her to share the things that grow in a young girls heart with the man who gave her five nicknames in five minutes, took her on her first nighttime swim and snuck candy to her from behind his back while I (kinda) wasn't looking.
So in this day my heart is full of gratitude, in the midst of oceanic loss, for the small things. And I realize with great relief, that small things drenched in the acting of love and held in our hearts, are sometimes the very big things in our lives.