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Behold the
cranberry
Every family has holiday traditions that define the essence of the holiday and along the way, the essence of the family itself. Whether your practice is to gather the whole extended lot of you around the table for the customary turkey and trimmings, or to provide an eclectic potluck haven for holiday orphans too far away, geographically or emotionally, to make the trip home, or to avoid the whole ordeal by resolutely eating Regular Food in defiance of the calendar, you've got traditions that betray your family soul. Our family soul is a hungry one. That we love each other, and our kids and grandkids and relatives and friends, goes without saying, but most of all, I sometimes fear, we love our food. It's not fancy, but it's our own. On Thanksgiving, we always have the turkey of course, and these days we definitely brine it before roasting (see accompanying recipe). I stuff it with sage and thyme-scented bread dressing just like Mom's, except that I add lots of mushrooms that she didn't, since my squeamish siblings and I would have fastidiously picked them all out. There is also plenty of rich, thick gravy (with even more mushrooms), mashed potatoes (tons of butter, whole milk, salt and pepper), and candied sweet potatoes bathed in a rich caramel of brown sugar and cinnamon. And just out of the spotlight, not looking to upstage these luminaries of the holiday table, is a quivering, ruby-colored bit player. Not the star of the show but, at least in the house I grew up in, just as important to its final success — the ever-present canned cranberry jelly. As a child I was mesmerized by that jelly. The challenging effort to get it out of the can in one piece — opening both ends and shaking until, with a loud, spelching sound, it finally arrived, whole and trembling in the serving dish. The fact that it was molded exactly like the inside of the can — internal ridges and seams and all. The way you could slice it into perfectly smooth circles, the knife gliding cleanly through the shimmering mass, or just scoop at it with a spoon until it had the look of a piece of paper worked over with a hole-puncher. Cranberry jelly was an odd and fascinating kind of food for a kid — neither jam, nor Jell-O, nor sauce nor relish. It was just cranberry jelly, a peculiar but essential food group all its own. I knew even as a kid that not every family ate its cranberries in a solid can-shaped form. I'd seen whole cranberry sauce in grocery stores, and when I grew older I saw bags of actual cranberries in the produce section but still, stuck in my retro 1950s food mentality, cranberry jelly seemed the way to go. What else would fit so perfectly with the green bean/mushroom soup/canned onion ring casserole that I added to my family's holiday repertoire when I was in college? Many years later, time has changed my family's eating habits in some dramatic ways, but change at our holiday table has been harder to achieve. Every old dish given up, even those we weren't so wild about, is like losing a familiar pal. So we tend to add, but not to subtract, and the holiday board gets heavier and heavier. The green bean casserole still makes an occasional appearance, although I use wild mushrooms and a homemade cream sauce now without, much to my secret chagrin, the canned onion rings on top. One of my good friends has nudged the green bean tradition in a different direction, with an Indian dish that is crunchy and spicy with black mustard seeds, garlic, and chilies. I love it and when she can't join us, I sometimes make a not-quite-so-good version of my own. The cranberries are still with us too but these days, though I always buy a can of cranberry jelly "just because," I also make a chutney, simmering cranberries with red wine, sugar, pearl onions, garlic, raisins, and balsamic vinegar. It is super-delicious — excellent with turkey but good enough to eat with a spoon. It turns out, no matter how enthralled I used to be with the canned stuff, real live cranberries are more fun to cook with because they pop when they get hot, bursting their skins with teeny-tiny explosions. And while they are too tart to eat by themselves, if you sweeten them they make a terrific sorbet, or bread, or glaze for roasted meats. Believe it or not, cranberries even make excellent candy. Try the sugar-dusted, jellied fruit pates made by Cranberry Sweets and More in Bandon, Oregon (www.cranberrysweets.com). Looking like glowing pieces of stained glass, they are sweet, tart and luscious — especially dipped in chocolate! Cranberries are actually the perfect choice for a Thanksgiving Day food. Not only do they taste great with turkey, but they are a truly native American crop, and they were even named by Pilgrims, who thought the spring blossoms looked like the head of a crane (hence, "craneberries.") The fresh cranberry season is short (from September to December) so the ever-inventive cranberry industry has come up with other ways for us to eat them year-round. There are chewy sweetened dried cranberries (cleverly sold as "craisins" by Ocean Spray) that are drop-dead wonderful in oatmeal cookies with chopped macadamia nuts and white chocolate chunks, or in salad (try them with fresh greens, red onions, and pistachios, all dressed with a good red wine vinegar and fruity olive oil.) Another all-season product is cranberry juice, sales of which are boosted by myriad health claims. There is currently a National Institutes of Health study under way to confirm cranberry juice's ability to ward off urinary tract infections (apparently a chemical in the berries keeps bacteria from adhering to the bladder wall), and other research claims that the same anti-adhesive properties make cranberries useful in preventing tooth decay, stomach ulcers, cancer, and the build up of LDL cholesterol. As these claims are verified, the industry-supported Cranberry Institute will be the first to let you know at www.cranberryinstitute.org. Regardless of their other health benefits, cranberries are already proven to have a beneficial warming effect on the heart when eaten as part of a Thanksgiving meal. If you can't bear to look at canned cranberry jelly this season, I'll share a few other ways to enjoy them, culled from the favorites of some ace-cook friends of mine. Bon appétit, and, whatever your traditions, have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
Christine would love to hear from you on one of her favorite topics — food.
Reach her by e-mail at
cbarbour@heraldt.com. Food Fare partner Jennifer Piurek will tell us how to
use all those Turkey Day leftovers in her column next week.
Cranberry Chutney Adapted from the Canadian Cranberry Confit in Cold Weather Cooking, by Sarah Leah Chase (New York: Workman, 1990) 1 1/2 pounds frozen white pearl onions (The frozen onions are already peeled. You don't need to thaw these before cooking if you don't want to. If you use fresh onions, you must peel them yourself — a real chore.) 2/3 cup golden raisins 2/3 cup dark raisins 2 cups boiling water 6 tablespoons ( 3/4 stick) unsalted butter 1/2 cup sugar 1/2 cup balsamic vinegar 1 1/2 cup dry red wine 3 cloves garlic, minced 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme 1/2 teaspoon salt 12 ounces fresh cranberries Combine the raisins in a small bowl, cover with boiling water, and let stand 10 minutes to plump. Melt the butter in a large heavy saucepan over medium heat and stir in the onions. Add the sugar and 1 tablespoon of the vinegar. Cook, stirring constantly, until the sugar is dissolved and beginning to caramelize, about 5 minutes (longer if the onions were frozen when you added them). Add the remaining vinegar and the wine; bring to a boil, and continue to boil 2 minutes. Add the raisins with soaking liquid, the garlic, thyme, and salt. Simmer the mixture covered until the onions are tender, about 45 minutes. Add the cranberries to the pan. Simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the cranberries are cooked and the confit has thickened, 20-25 minutes. Let the confit cool and serve at room temperature. Store any leftover confit in the refrigerator, but be sure to serve at room temperature.
Makes about 4 cups. Alice Waters' Cranberry Upside-Down Cake New York Times, Nov. 17, 1999 Thanks to Scott Feickert For the topping: 4 tablespoons ( 1/2 stick) unsalted butter 3/4 cup brown sugar 9 ounces (2 2/3 cups) fresh cranberries 1/4 cup fresh orange juice For the batter: 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour 2 teaspoons baking powder 1/4 teaspoon salt 8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature 1 cup sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 eggs, separated 1/2 cup whole milk 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar To prepare topping: In a 9-inch round cake pan over low heat, melt butter and add brown sugar. Stir sugar until it dissolves, swirling pan to coat bottom. When sugar starts to caramelize, remove pan from heat and allow to cool. In a small bowl, combine cranberries and orange juice. Toss to coat berries well. Spread berries evenly in pan, and sprinkle with any juice remaining in bowl. Set pan aside, and prepare the cake batter. To prepare batter: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large mixing bowl, sift together flour, baking powder and salt. Set aside. Using an electric mixer, cream butter with sugar until pale, light and fluffy. Add vanilla, and beat in egg yolks one at a time, scraping bowl once or twice. Add flour mixture alternately with milk, ending with dry ingredients. Set batter aside. Using electric mixer, whisk egg whites with cream of tartar just until whites are stiff enough to hold a slight peak. Fold whites into batter 1/3 at a time. Spoon batter into prepared pan, and spread it evenly over cranberries. Bake until top is browned and cake pulls away slightly from edges of pan, 25 to 35 minutes. Let cake cool for 15 minutes before turning onto cake plate. Serve with slightly sweetened whipped cream, flavored, if desired, with orange liqueur.
Makes eight servings. Honey-Brined Turkey From Bon Appétit, November, 1999, on the Web at www.epicurious.com. NOTE FROM CHRISTINE: People who have commented on this recipe on the Web site suggest not stuffing the turkey (since the brine makes it saltier). Some suggest putting the bag with the turkey into a cooler if it is very cold outside, or into a cooler with ice packs outside the bag is you need the fridge space. For other comments, rave reviews, and an accompanying giblet gravy recipe, see the Web site. 1 19- to 20-pound turkey; neck, heart and gizzard reserved for gravy 8 quarts water 2 cups coarse salt 1 cup honey 2 bunches fresh thyme 8 large garlic cloves, peeled 2 tablespoons coarsely cracked black pepper 2 lemons, halved 2 tablespoons olive oil 5 cups (about) canned low-salt chicken broth For turkey: Line extra-large stockpot with heavy large plastic bag (about 30-gallon capacity). Rinse turkey; place in plastic bag. Stir 8 quarts water, 2 cups coarse salt and 1 cup honey in large pot until salt and honey dissolve. Add 1 bunch fresh thyme, peeled garlic cloves and black pepper. Pour brine over turkey. Gather plastic bag tightly around turkey so that bird is covered with brine; seal plastic bag. Refrigerate pot with turkey in brine at least 12 hours and up to 18 hours. Position rack in bottom third of oven and preheat to 350°F. Drain turkey well; discard brine. Pat turkey dry inside and out. Squeeze juice from lemon halves into main cavity. Add lemon rinds and remaining 1 bunch fresh thyme to main cavity. Tuck wings under turkey; tie legs together loosely to hold shape. Place turkey on rack set in large roasting pan. Rub turkey all over with 2 tablespoons olive oil. Roast turkey 1 hour. Baste turkey with 1 cup chicken broth. Continue to roast until turkey is deep brown and thermometer inserted into thickest part of thigh registers 180°F, basting with 1 cup chicken broth every 30 minutes and covering loosely with foil if turkey is browning too quickly, about 2 1/2 hours longer. Transfer turkey to platter. Tent turkey loosely with foil and let stand 30 minutes. Pour pan juices into large glass measuring cup. Spoon off fat; reserve juices for gravy. |
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