Thanksgiving 2012

**I wrote this post a week ago with the intention of adding the pictures later in the day.  Unfortunately my computer had other plans.  No pictures for now, but I'd better put the post up about Thanksgiving before we get too deep into December.  Besides, I have a Sinterklaas party to blog about.  Let's all hope I can post pictures for that one.**

Oh, yes, it was that time of year again already.  As always, there was no way to celebrate the holiday on Thursday.  This always depresses me a little bit, and I think even more so now that Facebook and Instagram light up with a million posts wishing everyone a Happy Thanksgiving.  My mood was also not helped when I stopped in for coffee in my regular café and ended up talking to a Notre Dame fan.  The man was obviously American and had a Notre Dame jacket on, so I asked him if he was from Indiana--just to be nice.  He was, in fact, but had about three words to say to say to me after learning that I was not from South Bend and not a Notre Dame fan.  Ugh, that man only served to reinforce my stereotypes about Fighting Irish fans.

The rest of the day was fine and busy with prep work.  A quick call to my father-in-law that night confirmed that the bird had arrived and was big enough for our group of ten.  The only questions in my mind were weather the roasting pan was big enough and if I could just squeak it into the oven.  My father-in-law assured me that everything would fit with room to spare.  He was half right; it all fit, but I had to take out my oven thermometer to get it to fit.

I took Martha Stewart's advice this year and did as much prep work before the actual day arrived.  She was right, I was less stressed on Saturday, but it didn't dissipate my stress, it merely redistributed it.  At least I had help in the kitchen on Friday: two babies (mine and my friend's) and a good friend doing all peeling and chopping that I hate to do.

And for the first time, I felt very good about the bird.  I resisted the urge to take it out early since I, yet again, failed to insert the instant-read thermometer correctly and got a skewed reading of the internal temperature.  Fifteen-pound turkeys don't cook in two hours, they just don't, so I turned off the temperature alarm and kept my eyes on the clock.  All in all, a great success.  I miss my family and friends and get a little homesick, but this year really felt like a Thanksgiving day.  Maybe it was the mass chaos caused by the kids, or maybe it's because I feel more at home here now.  What's really helped make it feel like Thanksgiving are the massive amounts of leftovers we have in our fridge.  I think I may have one more turkey sandwich left in me, and after our turkey soup tomorrow-oh God, there is enough soup for Thursday's dinner--I'll be ready for a break until next November.

Thanksgiving abroad

Unlike in America, I did not get to celebrate Thanksgiving last Thursday.  In some ways I wish the American cultural imperialism that Europeans are so fond of disdaining would also apply to Thanksgiving.  Who wouldn't want to celebrate such a glorious holiday?  Maybe it's because they don't like to watch (real) football here.  Turkey and family with a side of Packers/Lions is a nice way to spend a cold, Thursday afternoon.  Our big gathering was Saturday instead, and it turned out pretty well.  Preparation only involved one trip to the American store this year.  Buying canned pumpkin cut down the time it took to make a pie by at least half, thank goodness.  Have you ever tried baking two pies with a ten week old?  Try explaining to a baby that no, mom can't pick you up right now or she'll overcook the eggs for the custard filling.  It did not go over well.  But we both survived and got some pretty good pies out of it, too. 

Despite assurances from the poelier that there would be a turkey ready on Thursday for pick-up, my father-in-law was sadly informed that some other person had bought his reserved turkey earlier in the day.  Confusing to all involved, unless there is some other Dutch guy with the same name wishing to have Thanksgiving at the exact same time.  Instead of twelve pounds of turkey, we ended up with a 15 1/2 lb. turkey (the only one the poulterer could arrange on such short notice).  I'm not opposed to a bigger bird, really I'm not, it's just that they don't fit in the oven.  The one we got fit, but just barely.  And I mean that--the breast roasted about half an inch from the top of the oven's heating element.  I'm shocked the white meat didn't turn into a dried out, jerky-like disaster.  I supposed I have tin foil, a little bit of luck, and plenty of butter to thank that it was a success. 

And thanks to the mysterious stranger, who bought our turkey, we had plenty of leftovers for the next day (and the next, and a carcass for soup too!).  Niek wanted to know the proper protocol for making a sandwich for lunch.  I'm not one  to smush all the side dishes between two pieces of bread.  Just give me a little meat with some good mayo and I'll call it a day.  Lets all praise the deliciousness of Dutch mayo.  So good!  Do you see Niek diving into the mayo jar?  Yeah, just as it should be.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  I can't believe it's almost December.  Did someone say cookie recipes?

Gobble, gobble

Two years ago I didn't make any plans to celebrate Thanksgiving.  I didn't think it would bother me, and I didn't think it was possible to find a turkey here.  I was completely wrong on both counts.

Last year thinking that I had prepared enough in advance, I ordered a 10 lb. turkey from a butcher at the Albert Cuyp Market three weeks before the big day.  The day I went to pick it up, I had my choice between two birds: a 7 lb. turkey or a 17 lb. turkey.  What oven in the Netherlands is big enough to fit a 17 lb. turkey, I would like to know.  So there I was, two days before our meal, stuck with the scrawny one.  That butcher will never get my business again.  The meal was a success, but there were no leftovers for sandwiches, which everyone knows is the best part.

This year, my father-in-law and I started making provisional plans in August.  Yes, in August.  He buys his chickens from a fabulous butcher, who specializes in poultry and wild game.  The word in Dutch for such a butcher is a poelier.  According to my dictionary, it's called a poulterer in English, but I'll admit that I've never used that word before.  Before moving here, I never had the need to go to a butcher to buy a turkey, although I sometimes bought chicken from my "chicken lady" at the farmer's market.  I guess I should have called her my poulterer.  Anyway, my father-in-law's poelier assured him that she could get us a good bird, guaranteed to be the right size.  Here I am, then, three weeks away from our big feast, making my shopping list and remaining calm as the "to do" list for the day keeps growing.  Yea for Thanksgiving plans!

Pumpkin Pie, what does it take? Pt. II (a.k.a. Epic Failure)

Did I eat this for breakfast this morning?
Of course I did. I also had another piece right after it.
Was it delicious?
Um, well it had hints of what a pumpkin pie should taste like.
Am I embarrassed that I failed on so many fronts of the pumpkin pie making process.
Yes, yes I am.

Let me just come out and say that I think I am a fairly good baker. I'm not going to win any awards, or anything, but I can whip up sugars, fats, and starches into a side of something you would be happy to have with your coffee. What I have never been able to master to a sufficient level, however, is a good pie crust. I've been making them for years and years, and yet, there is something about the simplest of recipes that I cannot master. I was determined that for this pumpkin pie, I would finally bake a pie crust even Midwestern grandmothers would be proud to claim as their own.

Except, this happened...


What the what? That is my "pie" seconds before it is supposed to go into the oven. Do you see my sad, shriveled crust? Do you see the weird, white foam on top of the filling? Do you see my look conveying disappointment, disbelief, and utter uncertainty? I'm not sure I've made a pie this dreadful since I was a kid.
For this recipe I perused my many online haunts, read through some of my cookbooks, and on a whim consulted epicurious.com. Incidentally, I have lost much of my faith in that website, and am not sure I'll be able to visit it again for several months. But I will get to that in a moment.
In the end, I decided to partially bake the pie shell before adding the filling. Why? Because all these "experts" told me to. I've always just followed the back of my Libby's can for pumpkin pie, because I'm lazy like that, but this time I just had to get all fancy with my fancy fresh puree and my fancy European butter.
Well, that decision really bit me in the ass, most likely because I have neither pie weights nor a jar of pennies. In order for your crust not to puff up and then collapse into your beautiful pie plate (thanks for the earthenware, Mom and Dad!), you have to weight it down. The experts at Epicurious.com told me I could use dried beans or rice to do the deed. And since we all know where this post is going, we all know that those experts at the website can suck it, because they were wrong. After rolling out the dough into almost a perfect circle, placing it in the pie plate, refrigerating and then freezing the plate, I set several cups of rice on top of the now aluminum covered pie shell. Twenty-five minutes later, I peeked in to check on the crust and uncover it for the last five minutes to get that beautiful golden color, and I see the horror of a ruined, wrinkly pie shell underneath all that rice.
There I was on the verge of tears because the crust was kind of ruined, and I didn't have enough time to make another one. So, I decided to roll with it and hope for the best, knowing that it wouldn't be the most delicious crust I've ever made. The only other problem with the pie was the filling.
Now, I swear that I followed the The New Best Recipes directions closely. I loved that the recipe called for heavy cream instead of evaporated milk, which I now know is a suitable substitute. One complaint I have about the book's writers is their obsession with using the food processor. I love my processor, but do I really need it to whip my eggs? Also, smarty-pants cooks over at America's Test Kitchen, don't you know that there is a liquid fill line on a food processor and when you add 2 1/3 c. of milk products to 16 oz. pumpkin, your going to have too much gooey pumpkin-ness for a standard Cuisinart? This was the idea going through my mind as I slowly filled my machine with the eggs and then the pumpkin mixture.
After all that, I ended up with a white foam on top of the pie filling. I skimmed most of it off, but the bit that remained ended up burning pretty badly. The crust is pretty crunchy on top and soggy on the bottom, but it will do. I'm going to say that it was not a great success. I will, obviously, need to redeem myself as a baker, most likely when Christmas cookie time comes around. Until then, I will keep on eating my pie, because I can't let all that work go to waste.