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Archive for the ‘Dessert’ Category

Meyer Lemon Rosemary Biscotti

Remember Rosemary Focaccia? No, she wasn’t that friend of your Mom’s with the big hair. I baked it last week and wrote about it here. Well, I‘ve barely used any of the big hunk of rosemary (the herb, not the woman with the scary baby.) The rest has been sitting on my kitchen shelf, waiting for its next assignment. Every day as I walked by it I thought, “Don’t want to waste that, gotta use it in something.” I swear the rosemary kept eyeing me anxiously, like a Little Leaguer waiting on the bench for the coach to send her in to play shortstop.

Finally, I stopped and looked at the rosemary, and smelled its turpentine-soaked perfume for inspiration. Dubiously I thought, “Chicken?” Even the rosemary rolled its proverbial eyes at that one. I guess the world doesn’t need yet another take on Rosemary Chicken (the entrée, not your Dad’s prom date.)

Okay, I need to explain why I’ve been indulging myself here in cheap, vulgar word play which you tired of after the first instance. I have a friend who over the years has gotten me hooked on something we call “The Name Game.” I think you’ve gotten the unfortunate drift of how it works. I believe it started one day when he and a family member were assembling a piece of Ikea furniture. Stopping to decipher the instructions, they realized that the little tool that you use to assemble Ikea furniture had gone missing. Returning to the store they asked for a little replacement tool and the clerk answered, “Oh you mean an Allen wrench?”

I wasn’t there, but I’d love to have been a fly on the wall to see the clerk’s reaction when my friend replied, “Allen Wrench? I went to high school with him.” I imagine the clerk’s reaction was exactly the same as yours.

In the years since, my world has become populated by the likes of Chuck Steak, Bob Forapples, and the distinguished Count Yourchange.

The game is addictive, but I’ll stop and address the question at hand: what should I do with rosemary? (Now I’m restraining myself at great pain.)

I got to thinking that after January (my month of virtuous eating) I have been avoiding my best mate, the cookie. I’ve missed him so. That was all the inspiration I needed. My challenge was to make a cookie using rosemary, a somewhat grassy herb with a raucous perfume that is usually more at home as a savory note. An even better challenge, I thought, was to access my inner Alice Waters, and use whatever was fresh today at the market.

Since it is winter, the market wasn’t offering me any inspiration. So I wondered what would happen if I stole a page out of the chicken cookbook and made a Lemon Rosemary Cookie. I was intrigued but unconvinced. Just then, I spotted Meyer Lemons. (Okay, I’ll restrain myself, but c’mon, doesn’t that sound like a character Woody Allen would have played in one of his early movies?)

Rosemary; Meyer Lemon

I rarely see Meyer Lemons here in New York as they are not really the stuff of mainstream supermarkets. Meyer Lemons are delightfully odd in that they are a cross between lemons and oranges. They look like an orange, taste like a lemon, have strong undertones of lime, but lack a lot of the sourness of lemons.

Meyer Lemon Rosemary Biscotti would just hit the spot. I thought biscotti would be better than cookies because you can dip them in wine, taking advantage of the savory notes being sung by the rosemary.

I think a lot of folks who like to bake don’t realize that biscotti are really easy to make, and the flavor combinations are limited only by your imagination. And yes, even some of the sweet varieties are wonderful dipped in wine. A simple, light dessert? Biscotti dipped in a sweet dessert wine. Granted, not great for kids.

As biscotti doughs tend to be rich in eggs I knew that the aggressiveness of the Meyer Lemon and rosemary would be muted, resulting in a cookie that is just mildly sweet. My target was not to make the cookie equivalent of a Starburst candy.

Of course, if Starbursts are your cup of tea, you can drizzle the biscotti with a Meyer Lemon glaze that gives the cookies an almost drippy citrus zing. Meyer Lemon glaze has two ingredients. Does it get any easier? (No.)

The resulting biscotti were exactly as I imagined. They have a challenging crunch, and a vanilla heartiness that is merely “influenced” by the Meyer Lemon and Rosemary. The resident Butter Flour Eggs Oenologist (a/k/a my friend Marnee) recommends dipping them in the nectary sweetness of Mezzacorona Moscato – a more restrained Moscato than the “raisin-y” varieties that may be familiar to you.

If you prefer your fruit of the vine to be much less sweet, she also recommends the flowery Trader Joe Honeymoon Viognier or even the oaky darkness of Columbia Crest Grand Estates Merlot. I think the latter is where the Meyer Lemon Rosemary biscotti will shine.

All that’s left now is to set out a plate of the biscotti, uncork the wine, and enjoy a few relaxing moments with my friends Eileen Dover and her brother Ben.

Sorry. Couldn’t resist.

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Click here for the Meyer Lemon Rosemary Biscotti recipe.

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Write to me at the email address below with any thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

Profiteroles

“One nice thing eez, the game of love eez never called on account of darkness.” – Pepe Le Pew

Pepe Le Pew: now there’s a true romantic. He never gives up on love. He approaches it with a single-mindedness that could almost be enviable. And yes, you may have noticed that he is as French as une baguette. The last bit makes sense, given that Parisians, indeed all French, have had a reputation for romance grafted onto their identities like a tattoo. (That Pepe Le Pew happens to be a cartoon skunk is irrelevant to my thesis.)

I have been trying to find out why Paris is considered the most romantic city in the world. No matter who I ask or where I look on the internet, the closest answer I can get is that “it just is.” Songs have been written about it, movies have been made, and books have been published. So who am I to argue?

Perhaps you are familiar with the famous “French Paradox.” This is the observation that the French suffer a relatively low incidence of heart disease, despite having a diet relatively rich in saturated fats.

Pepe Le Pew

But herein lies my French paradox: how can it be that a place and a people so famous for being romantic can also be famous for rudeness? (Not like New Yorkers, who are sooooo nice.) It reminds me somehow of what Socrates said about love, “The hottest love has the coldest end.” So perhaps my paradox is explained by twisting Socratic reason: French passion burns white hot, but is icy cold when you ask for your vin ordinaire to be refilled. They may be rude, but they’re rude with style.

(Quoting Pepe Le Pew and Socrates in the same story must be some kind of journalistic breakthrough.)

The following bit of news is unlikely to come as a surprise: for me all roads lead to food, and any place where your visit isn’t considered complete unless you’ve partaken of an éclair or two (or three) gets a gold star on my map. So if the people are rude, I figure I can always drown my sorrows at les patisseries, non?

Valentine’s Day is this weekend. Last week I described baking Valentine Heart cookies. They are a sweet and wonderful thing to make for your special someone, but if something more transcendent is called for then may I suggest a really cheap trip to romantic Paris?

No, I am not saying that you should fly to Paris for a day in the middle of winter (although if you want to that’s good too.) But the Butter Flour Eggs Travel Bureau would like you to know that Paris can be as close as your kitchen, and just as romantic as the real thing. All that is needed is a touch of atmosphere, and, yes, some butter, flour, and a few eggs. Oh, and a big hunk of chocolate. Okay, two big hunks of chocolate.

Here’s the bottom line: if Paris is the most romantic city in the world, then why not toss out the flowers and the candy, and instead serve something typically Parisian? Life may be a box of chocolates, but for me, Valentine’s Day is all about Profiteroles.

Profiteroles are a staple of Parisian patisseries. In simplest terms, they are small cream puffs filled with ice cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce. Such an underwhelming description, yes, but like Paris, it’s more about the experience and the sum of the parts than about the mere bricks and mortar.

I don’t remember the first time I had Profiteroles, but it wasn’t in Paris. I’ve had them through the years here in New York at the venerable Café Un Deux Trois. While I was preparing to write this article I Googled, “Who serves the best Profiteroles in Paris?” Number one on someone’s list was a patisserie named Carette. (Warning to office dwellers, their website site plays music.) If you’ve been to Paris it is likely you are familiar with Carette as it is hardly an undiscovered secret. For several days I have been fixated on their website, specifically the pictures. Looks like a place I could spend an afternoon, eating.

You may be thinking, “Are you crazy? You want me to make cream puffs?” I’m not crazy (at least not measurably), the effort is all in the name of romance, and cream puffs – Pâte à Choux – are ridiculously easy to make. Really. Meatloaf is harder, I swear.

There’s also a dirty little secret about Profiteroles: they can be made a day or two ahead and stashed in the freezer until you need them. Just thaw them for a fleeting twenty minutes or so – long enough to unwrap jewelry (hint hint) – glaze with the intense, oozing gloss of a special chocolate sauce and l’amour is alive in your kitchen. Feel free to eat them with a spoon, but they’re small, so why not pull a “Mickey Rourke” and feed each other with your hands? Messy? Ah, you’ll figure it out.

If your kitchen isn’t especially atmospheric, light a few candles and fire up some classic French love songs on your iPod; anything by Charles Aznavour, Edit Piaf, or Yves Montand will do the job, and they’re all available on iTunes.

As one of those songs says, “C’est si bon / Lovers say that in France / To the tune of romance / It means it’s oh so good.” I think that is as true for romance as it is for Profiteroles.

Of course on Valentine’s Day, I know a few folks who may prefer a little ditty sung by Beyoncé that beseeches the listener to, “put a ring on it.”

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Click here for my recipe for Profiteroles.

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Write to me at the email address below with any thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

In glorious Technicolor, and Stereophonic Sound

Every time I watch a holiday movie, an angel gets its wings. I can’t help it. During the holiday season my fascination with food as it is portrayed on screen dovetails with an obsession I’ve long had with holiday-themed movies. Yes, I know everyone loves “It’s A Wonderful Life”—me too. But there are other movies I watch that are perennial favorites which also tickle my foodie-bone.

“Holiday Inn” is a veritable buffet. Most folks would be content with Fred Astaire dancing and Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” beside a glowing hearth in an empty inn. Not me. I look for the scenes where Bing is in the kitchen plating New Year’s dinner to music, and later, lovesick over losing the girl (you know the formula: boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back), he refuses to eat “Mr. Jones”, the Thanksgiving turkey, claiming he knew “Jonesey” too well. The Thanksgiving dinner he refuses always makes my mouth water – startling when you consider that the movie is in black and white.

Crosby is perhaps better known for singing “White Christmas” in a later movie named for the song itself. As much as I enjoy that movie, and in spite of the fact that it is also set at an inn, it doesn’t have the same culinary appeal as “Holiday Inn.” The most we get to see is a glass of Coke and the remains of a sandwich. But that’s okay, the movie has other charms.

This year though, my attention has been drawn to a lesser-known holiday movie, “Christmas in Connecticut.” I have been writing this blog for several months and writing about the charms and limitations of cooking in my small New York apartment is, I think, part of what makes the engine run. “Christmas in Connecticut” shares a similar theme, albeit with the conceit that in addition to working from a tiny New York City apartment, the protagonist, Elizabeth Lane, “America’s Best Cook” (played by Barbara Stanwyck), actually can’t cook. (I can!) But here’s a taste of what I mean, and why, this year, I am so tickled by this film:

The camera pans from a close up of a woman’s hands typing on a portable typewriter to a grimy window from which we can see the backs of several New York City buildings. In the foreground, waving in the wind, laundry is drying on the clothesline of a neighboring apartment.

Elizabeth: “From my living room window as I write, I can look out across the broad front lawns of our farm like a lovely picture postcard of wintery New England.”

The camera tilts down to a radiator, which is hissing loudly as steam escapes from a valve.

Elizabeth: “In my fireplace the good cedar logs are burning and crackling.”

The camera pans back to the desk to reveal Elizabeth Lane as she takes a bite of her breakfast: a plate of sardines.

Elizabeth: “I’m just about to go into my gleaming kitchen to test the crumbly brown goodness of the Toasted Veal Cutlets á la Connecticut in my oven. Cook these slowly…”

I’ll spare you the plot synopsis—rent the DVD from Netflix—but suffice it to say that Stanwyck finds herself in a bind and ends up having to go to great lengths to live up to the farm housewife image she has created. It’s a charming film, perhaps a bit old fashioned, but if you’re looking for lessons about life to reflect on during the holiday season, this is not the movie to screen. Stick to “It’s A Wonderful Life” for sermonizing; this flick is purely a romantic comedy.

But it’s that small patch of real estate that Elizabeth Lane and I share that makes me reflect on some of the hoops through which I must leap in my own cracker box-sized urban kitchen. The flip side is, of course, that I think I could teach a thing or two about project planning, including risks, milestones, and scope creep. Cooking or baking is the supreme exercise in organization. Start with a concept, make a list, end with a birthday cake; it’s not magic, it’s organization. (That thumping noise you hear is yours truly patting himself on the back.)

I always joke that if, someday, I am blessed to have a huge, fully tricked out kitchen, due to my experience in my itty-bitty kitchen, I will still use only a few square inches of space, and continue to balance all the bowls on the edge of the sink (uh, the huge, deep, white porcelain farmhouse-style sink.)

Ha ha ha.

The truth – hopefully—will likely find me luxuriously spread out around a marble-topped island while in the background, the oven of my six burner restaurant-grade stove is preheating. “Where did I leave those eggs? Uh-oh, they’re all the way over there.”And ‘round and ‘round that island I will trot, lap after lap, burning off the calories of the goodies I am preparing.

Ah, one can dream. Are you listening, Santa?

Many years ago I waited tables in a distinguished Manhattan restaurant run by an equally distinguished chef. The dirty little secret was that the kitchen was smaller (and hotter!) than most home kitchens, including some New York apartments. Yet, they turned out four-star cuisine (still do.)

I always consider eating to be one of life’s great pleasures. There’s a reason food tastes good. There’s a reason why food in every culture is an expression of love. Consider the word “feed.” We feed our stomachs. We feed our souls. Sometimes if we’re lucky we accomplish both in the same exercise. Food maintains us, helps us thrive and grow—sometimes to excess, yes, but you get the point.

So, it isn’t the size of the kitchen, is it? It’s the size of the heart.

(I’ll just keep repeating that over and over the next time I feel hemmed in by my kitchen.)

Okay, my holiday sermon is done. I’m hungry! Let’s eat!

You’re wondering: what is that big, fat, chocolaty concoction in the picture above? That’s the Buche de Noël I made for a friend’s Christmas party. Also known as a Yule Log Cake, it is not exactly subtle or delicate. Calling it sweet would be an understatement. While transporting it to the party I kept referring to it (in my mind) as “The Beast”—understandable, as it was large enough to serve at least fifteen people. What makes me laugh is that folks at the party were a bit intimidated by it. Someone had to drag me out of the kitchen (where all good parties end up) with the exhortation that, “Everyone wants to eat the Yule Log, but they’re afraid to touch it unless you make the first cut.”

Really? That wouldn’t have stopped me: I would have asked, “Hey, where’s the knife?”

Of course I also made cookies for the party, but I wanted some kind of special focal point on the dessert table, something epic. If I were in the movie business this would be my big holiday release. Consider it my “White Christmas in Connecticut at Holiday Inn.” It stars two flavors of buttercream (chocolate and coffee), with cocoa biscuit á roulade (jellyroll cake) in a supporting role. A chorus of beautiful meringue mushrooms rounds out the cast.

I hope you are duly entertained.

Happy Holidays to you and the ones you love! Don’t forget to leave cookies for Santa and the reindeer.

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A few days ago I had the great pleasure of spending time with a wonderful woman named Helen Stafford of the Ronald McDonald House of New York. Helen gave me a tour of this amazing facility which provides a temporary “home-away-from-home” for pediatric cancer patients and their families. The Ronald McDonald House is supported entirely by private donations. Please read about this amazing place, and keep them in mind when considering your year-end charity donation.

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Want to make your own Buche de Noël? Write to me at the email address below if you want the recipes and process for the Buche de Noël—or any other thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

What happened to the turtledoves?

We’re in the thick of the holiday rush. That perplexing commercial for Elizabeth Taylor perfume (“…these have always brought me luck”) is on heavy TV rotation, the Food Network is re-running every holiday-related challenge, Iron Chef competition, or Rachael Ray special they ever produced, and I went to sleep last night unable to get the smell of sugar out of my nose.

Not that I mind, because I think all of this frantic activity is fun. However, my tiny kitchen is on the verge of tears. My kitchen need not fret: the bulk of its work is done, and now my attention has moved to my holiday card list. All any of this requires is a little organization and the right tools.

The latter reminds me of my Dad. When I was a little kid, we lived in an old two family house. I doubt that my Dad ever baked a cookie in his life, but off in the corner of the basement of that old house he had a workshop. I remember the basement as being a dark, kind of spooky place (although it couldn’t have been too bad: my Mom went down there every day to do the laundry) but I remember Dad’s workshop as being bright, clean, and well organized. In my memory, he had every tool needed for every “handy” job that might come up around that crumbling old house. No mere dabbler my Dad, no sir! He rebuilt our entire kitchen himself, including tearing out walls with just a hammer and his bare hands (okay, maybe he didn’t have the right tools for every job, but then he didn’t go around tearing down walls that often.) He was a real handyman. My brother and I have inherited those skills, albeit in a very watered-down form. (Very.)

What I got from watching my handyman Dad is a respect for tools, and this has served me well in the kitchen (ah! You were wondering when I would bring this back to cooking, weren’t you?) I think having the right tools in the kitchen is important if you enjoy cooking—and essential if you are a casual, infrequent, or unwilling cook. If this seems a touch counter-intuitive, keep in mind that the unwilling or unskilled cook can accomplish a lot more, and do it easier and faster with the right tool in hand.

I’m not advocating expensive machines or gadgets here, but merely the addition of a few simple implements. Let’s put it this way: if you’ve always been struggling to eat your eggs with a straw, wouldn’t you be happy if one day someone came along and introduced you to a fork?

Since we are on our final approach to Christmas, lets make sure our tray tables are in the upright position and I’ll introduce you to a few items and tips that could make holiday time in the kitchen easier and more fun. (It’s the holiday season, so yes, it’s supposed to be fun.) I’m going to use holiday cookies as my laboratory for this, but truth be told some of these ideas will serve you well in the kitchen at any time of the year.

The Butter Flour Eggs Cookies 101 Primer

Cookie sheets. Ideally you should get decent cookie sheets that are heavy enough that you feel some heft when you pick one up. The weight of the cookie sheet usually indicates the thickness of the metal. Too thin and the bottoms of your cookies will burn before the tops finish baking. If you can bend it don’t use it. The cookie sheets with the pocket of air between two pieces of metal are good in gas ovens, iffy in certain electric ovens. You can get decent cookie sheets for twelve to fifteen dollars. Be wary of the ones hanging above the eggs at the grocery store. If you’re sitting there thinking, “Hey, I promised to bake cookies for my kid’s class. I’ll do that and then never bake again—ever. I don’t want to spend that much money on cookie sheets.” Fair enough. Buy the disposable aluminum cookie sheets, but stack three together to get approximately the thickness you need to avoid bottom burn. I make no promises for this technique.

Non Stick Finish. Unnecessary. Walk over to the foil and plastic wrap department and buy parchment paper to line your cookie sheets. One roll will set you back less than five dollars and will likely last you a couple of Christmases or more. If you’re more committed to being a baker (in for the long run, eh?) you can invest in a Silpat. Silpats are reusable silicone liners that will last through hundreds of batches of cookies. They usually cost about fifteen dollars. I’ve used both and prefer the parchment paper. It is less friendly to the environment, yes, but I can cut parchment to fit any pan (including cake pans), and I never worry that the flavor of the spice cookies I made yesterday will somehow find its way into the chocolate chip cookies I’m baking today.

Frenchie and pin bands

Rolling pin. Optional. But again if you’re in for the long run, check out the different kinds before you buy. Go to Williams-Sonoma and take them for a test drive. I use what is called a French rolling pin: a simple straight cylinder of ash wood, I find that I have more control with this kind of pin. And it’ll make a good weapon if someone ever tries to attack me while I’m baking. If you don’t want to invest in a rolling pin, make slice and bake cookies, and using small cookie cutters (or freehand with a knife), cut the shapes out of the slices. (I’ll go into more detail about this with the recipe linked at the bottom of this posting.)

My dirty little secret about rolling out cookie dough is that I cheat and use rolling pin bands. These are color-coded elastic bands of varying thicknesses that slip onto each end of the rolling pin and limit how thin I can roll the dough, i.e., yellow equals ¼-inch. I use an Offset Spatula to transfer the cut out cookies to the cookie sheet. This tool’s angled blade lets you slide it under the cookies.

Offset Spatula

Space.Hey, I have a small kitchen too. But if you’re going to bake cookies you need to make a trade off: either lower your expectations about how many cookies you can make, and how fast, or clear the decks to make room for this project.

Stand mixer or bowls. I use a Kitchen-Aid, and am very spoiled by it. But a lot of cookies (and some cakes) can be made with a big bowl and a wooden spoon. Use a bigger bowl than you think you’ll need. You’ll go out of your mind trying to keep all of the batter in your cereal bowl.

Timer. C’mon. You know you’ll use this. Or you can use the clock on your cable box and burn your cookies. I have.

Organization. This is the biggie, the crucible, the scripture. Even if you have every piece of equipment and a gigantic kitchen, you need a game plan. Here’s what I do: I read the recipe through a couple of times to make sure I have all of the ingredients. Then I break the project into three milestones:

ONE: Mise en place: This is a term the pros use that I will translate as: pre-measure all of your ingredients before you start mixing. Pre-chop the walnuts, pre-grate the orange zest, and let the butter and eggs come up to room temperature. Cardinal rule: liquids are measured in a liquid measuring cup (usually made of glass by Pyrex) and dry ingredients are measured in a dry measuring cup (usually metal or plastic.)

TWO: Mix. Whether you use a wooden spoon or a Kitchen-Aid stand mixer, make your cookie dough, wrap it tightly and store it in the refrigerator. Then clean up. You’re done for the day.

THREE: Bake. The next day, bake your cookies, and you won’t have to worry about the space or time for cleaning dirty mixers, bowls, and counter tops while you bake. You’ll be much more relaxed, and most cookies taste better and the dough is easier to handle when it has been allowed to chill for at least a few hours.

Wet measuring cups

Dry measuring cups

My last piece of advice is to start small. Roll out just a little bit of dough until you get used to the feel of the dough, how much flour you need to use to keep the cookies from sticking to the board, and how cold the dough should be when you handle it.

Have fun. Remember no one expects you to be a pro; your family and friends will be delighted by your efforts. This is a great messy project to do with your kids. Mind my pearl of wisdom for baking with kids: keep them away from the hot stove, sharp knives, and whatever they do is the most beautiful and delicious cookie you’ve ever seen and tasted. Ever.

This is the stuff of which happy memories are made.

Click here for my Chocolate Pepper Cookie recipe (pictured above) and more holiday cookie baking suggestions.

Holiday cookie questions? Feel free to drop me an email at the address below. I’ll try to help.

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

But my GPS said around the river and through the wood...

I would have been a lousy pilgrim. I don’t think they had chocolate. Thanks to their Native American hosts they had plenty of corn, yes, but somehow I doubt that John Alden was able to drown his sorrows in a Hershey bar.

Never mind: I’m here to give thanks.          

I love the time I spend in the kitchen. Even my tiny apartment kitchen can keep me fed for several days, including cookies—and I don’t have to load a musket for a hunt to keep it stocked. A few taps of my computer keys and food magically shows up at my doorstep. Sometimes I take it for granted, but when I walk the aisles of my supermarket and really pay attention to what is on the shelves it blows my mind. I’m thankful for that.

I am also thankful for family and friends who challenge, cajole, nag, amuse, indulge, include, and, best of all, feed me—you know who you are and which of the above applies you. (Yes, YOU.)

I am thankful for parents who infuriated, pushed, prodded, nagged, paid attention, worried (sometimes to excess), ignored me when appropriate (a/k/a “gave me my space”), and otherwise put their collective foot down—and continue to do so.

While we are on the subject of parents, I’d like to single out my mother for the moment of clarity she had many years ago that saved Thanksgiving. I recognize that this sounds like hyperbole, but for our family it is true: she saved Thanksgiving.  The moment of clarity happened when she realized that poultry cooking skills eluded her. “My turkeys were turkeys” is how she continues to describe those efforts. I prefer, “Bird 1, Mom 0.”

For several years she was saved from ruining cooking turkeys by the insistent Thanksgiving invitations of her formidable sister-in-law. Unfortunately the hospitality was extended to a rather dowdy, dusty, country club. The best way to describe the country club’s food is that every year when the invitation was extended, it included the news that there was “…a new chef this year.” To which we always silently replied, “New chef, same crappy food.”

Then one year came a flash of my mother’s inspiration and we found ourselves celebrating Thanksgiving at Longfellow’s Wayside Inn in Sudbury, Massachusetts.

The Wayside Inn is the oldest continually operating inn in the country. When you’ve finished reading these pearls of wisdom, follow the link to the Inn’s website. Be warned: that simple act will put you in the mood for their fragrant, juicy roast turkey and their soul-satisfying dressing. The inn was our Thanksgiving home for many years.

Okay, let’s step back for a moment. You’re thinking, “You write a blog about cooking and food, yet on Thanksgiving YOU EAT OUT?”

I understand that you may take exception to this, so let’s consider the average Thanksgiving dinner of turkey, cranberry sauce, dressing, and your preferred sides. Along with the fact that we pause each year to gather together, what are these items but an array of rituals? Yes, the players, the table, and the menu may change slightly from year to year, but the whole stays the same in spite of any varying parts.

My family’s ritual just happens to be slightly more codified than others’. This continues to delight us. Contrary to the rather jaded modern Thanksgiving image of a squabbling family choking down an unsatisfying meal, we are perhaps more content on Thanksgiving than at other times. My mother called me the other night to make sure that one of our yearly Thanksgiving activities is still on the itinerary—more, I think, because she was enjoying the anticipation than because of any particular worry.

By the way, if you think eating out is peculiar to my family, you should know that the Thanksgiving reservation book at the Wayside Inn opens every year on the Tuesday morning after Labor Day weekend, and is usually sold out within an hour or two.

As time has passed, our Thanksgiving ritual has undergone some changes. My dad has been gone many years, and our annual family picture standing in front of the inn’s fireplace serves as the photographic equivalent of pencil lines on a door post measuring my Baby Niece’s march to adulthood. The rest of us have not changed even one little bit.

As my brother and I made lives elsewhere and my mother moved south, we found a wonderful alternative to the Wayside Inn at The Elms in Ridgefield, Connecticut. An intimate, home-like setting, we have had so many Thanksgivings at the Elms, that each year it is like visiting family.

The ritual even allows me to invoke the memory of my Dad each year. He loved Baked Indian Pudding, having originally discovered it at Boston’s famous old Durgin Park restaurant. When it is placed in front of me for Thanksgiving dessert, my Pop is again seated at the head of the table where he belongs.

I am not going to advocate that you must include Baked Indian Pudding on your Turkey Day dessert roster. I think it’s delicious, however I recognize that compared to the other pies, cakes, jello molds, and sweets available, this milky cornmeal molasses mush is a bit plain. In fact, straight from the oven it is just a hop, skip, and a half teaspoon of salt away from being a side dish, like some supple spoon bread. For dessert you must dress it up with vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of warm maple syrup. It reaches its full potential as a humble team player.

I don’t cook on Thanksgiving. I have no (pardon the pun) sage advice on roasting the best turkey ever, or whether you should smear butter under or over the bird’s skin.

I just know that I am thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Click here for my Baked Indian Pudding recipe.

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