For me, Thanksgiving has always been associated with my paternal grandmother, whose cooking was, in my father's opinion, the apex alongside which all other cooking fell short. You can imagine how popular this made him with my mother, who was a very good and creative cook in her own right. (Although she's still alive, I refer to my mom's cooking abilities in the past tense since she's refused to use any kitchen appliance more complicated than a microwave since her mid-40s, in part because of the aforementioned comparisons vocalized by my father, but that's another story.)
But "creative" cooking wasn't really what my grandmother was all about — at least in the way the word is commonly understood. Her skills shined with the basics: she was a meat-and-potato-and-Yorkshire-pudding kind of gal. A genius at canning, baker of the world's best pies, originator of the sweetest razor clam fritters and the creamiest blue cheese dressing I've ever tasted.
All of which is to say, there was nothing like an old-fashioned American Thanksgiving at my grandma's house - and by "old fashioned," I mean mid-20th century, turkey-with-all-the-fixin's old-fashioned. To this day I've never had gravy that came close to hers: rich but not greasy, and so full of flavor that you wanted consume it with a spoon, akin to a big bowl of soup, unfettered by bothersome mashed potatoes or turkey ... or at least you would, if her mashed potatoes weren't so incredibly light and velvety, almost like a heavy, whipped cream, and her roasted turkey wasn't drippingly moist and perfectly seasoned.
As with all gushing reviews, there are a couple of caveats to the above. The first is that my grandma adored me, and my reciprocated adoration of her may have compromised my objectivity ever so slightly. The second, more interesting caveat is that it turns out she was the queen of shortcuts.
It wasn't until I started cooking my own Thanksgiving dinners a few years ago and became frustrated with my inability to match my grandma's cooking that my mom (with detectable glee) confided that the reason grandma's potatoes were so fluffy was because she used half real potatoes and half (gasp!) instant. The caveat to this caveat was that she also added butter and cream to the combination. Even more sacrilegious, I was told that at some point she'd begun to bake her pumpkin pies in Pillsbury crusts rather than the homemade, blue-ribbon-winning crusts of my youth. And no one had even noticed.
That being said, I shouldn't have been too surprised. In fact, this is where I modify my previous assertion that she wasn't creative in the kitchen. Flying by the seat of her pants, this untrained cook had learned that too much vinegar in her free-form vinegar and oil salad dressing could be cured with more salt than a healthy adult should eat in an entire month - and everyone agreed that her salad dressing was unrivaled. A couple of extra eggs added to the recipe for pumpkin pie on the back of the can, as well the substitution of brown sugar for half of the white, resulted in a fluffy and light filling that somehow maintained an intense density. And pre-packaged stuffing, when combined with her own mixture of sautéed celery, onions, water chestnuts and seasonings, would've rivaled any Gourmet magazine, ripped-not-sliced-toasted-baguette-and-fresh-herb recipe you've ever had the pleasure of sampling.
My grandma passed away Thanksgiving weekend, 2000. When she died, she left me her engagement ring, which I've worn every Thanksgiving Day since. While I've never made a turkey that's come close to hers, I credit her with my homemade pie crusts and proudly copy her magnificently depraved (how else can you describe something that requires over half a stick of butter?) sweet potatoes every year.
One final caveat: If you're one of the many people who don't already appreciate sweet potatoes, these are not likely to change your mind. If, on the other hand, you're open to the rich, fattening and tremendously sweet decadence of this traditional American side dish, this particular recipe will knock your socks off. And it's not Thanksgiving in my home without them.
GRANDMA DOWELL'S SWEET POTATOES
Serves 8
1 tablespoon salt
6 sweet potatoes (or a combination of sweet potatoes and their sweeter sibling, yams)
1 cup of brown sugar
5 tablespoons butter, cut into 12 or more piece (plus more to grease pan)
❚ Bright and early Thanksgiving morning: boil water in a pot large enough to comfortably fit all potatoes. Add salt and sweet potatoes. Cover pan and cook 15 minutes or until potatoes are cooked through but not mushy.
❚ Drain and peel potatoes when they're just cool enough to handle but still very warm.
❚ Cut potatoes lengthwise into ½-inch slices and fit side by side into a buttered jelly roll pan.
❚ Drop butter pieces evenly over potatoes; sprinkle with brown sugar. Place pan on the counter and let it sit there and soak up the juices until about half an hour before dinner (this is the most important step and the true genius behind these most lovely, candied sweet potatoes).
❚ Bake at 350 º F for 30 minutes. Serve hot or at room temperature.
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