© 2012 The Joy of Cooking Trust and the MRB Revocable Trust
Every year, I stockpile cookie recipes. I scour blogs, cookbooks, and my relatives' recipe boxes for ideas. I flip through food magazines at the doctor's office and never pass up an opportunity to ogle the cookie selection at any bakery I set foot in.
This time of year, we find ourselves eating greens of one kind or another almost every day. Cabbage, bok choy, spinach, tatsoi, collards, swiss chard, mustard greens, and kale are just some of the greens vying for position in our crisper drawers.
In many ways, I've gone astray as a southern cook. I spent several years as a vegetarian, and now I tend to embrace a wide range of foods, from fragrant Vietnamese soup to spicy Indian dal to vermilion Spanish paella. World cuisine simply holds too many treasures for me to be content with the food of my childhood.
Love it or hate it, pumpkin pie is the quintessential Thanksgiving dessert. I, for one, have always been a fan of its bright orange hue, its custardy texture, and its affinity for whipped cream and mulled cider.
Every Thanksgiving, those of us who follow foodie magazines, blogs, and columns are bombarded with yet more ways to make a turkey moist, more flavorful, less boring, faster-cooking, etc. After sifting through so many different methods and techniques, I'm sure many of us are even less sure about the "best" way to roast a turkey.
I think disliking Brussels sprouts is a kid prerequisite. Sort of like disliking broccoli or raw onions or being paranoid about the different foods on your plate touching each other (or was that just me?). But apart from being green and cabbage-y, there's another reason--a good one--why children (and many adults) won't touch a Brussels sprout.
John and I frequently look through old editions of JOY in an attempt to document the genealogy of its recipes. Often, these recipes can be difficult to trace through the years, as the ingredients and names change to reflect the similarly changing times (case in point: what we call "pizza" today was once referred to as "vegetable shortcake").
Cranberries are a wholly American fruit. Ask any American who lives in Europe or is studying abroad--cranberry juice, cranberry sauce, and whole cranberries are next to impossible to find. Apparently, there's a high-end shop in Paris that caters to homesick American expats, stocking boxed stuffing mix, turkeys, cranberry sauce, and peanut butter among other things.
We go through a lot of vegetables in our kitchen. Apart from my firm belief that everything is better when it starts with onions and garlic, we received a juicer for our wedding, and when the crowded fridge starts to get to me, I have been known to chop every vegetable in sight and roast it.