Last Thursday, Baker Boy came out to play in the Scotsman's kitchen.
Thanksgiving dinner is an ordeal – even more challenging than bacon noodley things – so luckily, we had some help this year from the Midden's sisters, the Bird and the Hen. Here's a peek at the massive feast we attempted last Thursday.
The Bird got to work stuffing...well, the bird. Stuffing is my favorite Thanksgiving dish, and this was my first time tasting her recipe. It is now officially my favorite – I mean, in addition to bread crumbs, onions, and celery, you've got pecans, dried cherries, apples, ground sausage, and port. How can you go wrong?
The Hen makes the best, stickiest, gooiest pecan pie this side of...um, wherever the other side is. We also tried a new sweet potato recipe, with a brown sugar and pecan topping. Pecans were apparently a running theme in our meal.
And me? I got to work on the centerpiece, the big dish, the one dish everyone thinks of when they think Thanksgiving...a green salad.
Okay, maybe that's not drool-worthy. But The Hen did bring some pomegranates, so I used the juice to make a tasty dressing with olive oil, lemon juice, cumin, and coriander, then tossed the seeds right into the salad.
Speaking of dishes that'll make you slobber, let me tell you about these brussel sprouts. No, really. I insisted for most of my life that brussel sprouts tasted about as good as stinky gym socks, but cooked this way it's a whole other story – browned in butter, then mixed with white beans, pecorino romano cheese, and lots of garlic.
All the usual suspects were included, like homemade cranberry sauce, buns, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn pudding. And the Scotsman put together an oyster dressing (recipe courtesy of Court of Two Sisters) that was outstanding.
And of course, the turkey! Our 18 pounder was basted in butter, then tawny port to give him a nice, glossy brown color.
Here's the spread, both on the table and the bar behind it. (Notice the lack of plates? We didn't until we sat down to eat.)
We tucked in and did a fairly good job, eating our way through maybe one third of our formidable opponent. The remains were a tight squeeze in the fridge, and the sink disposal apparently gorged a bit too much.
But by the time all was clean and sparkling, and we'd taken a walk to settle our bellies, we were ready to stuff ourselves again with several sticks of butter and cups of sugar disguised as pumpkin, cherry, and pecan pies, along with our previous hit – apple cake in an iron skillet.
In the spirit of the holidays, the Scotsman passed the job of scoring the meal onto someone else. The verdict?