Here’s a recommended holiday recipe, adapted for modern kitchens, from Hannah Glasse’s classic 1747 jokebook, First Catch Your Turkey—The Art of Foolery Made Plain and Easy:
Mise en place: Carefully select the audience for your joke. Those who are particularly proud of their ability to solve riddles will be the ideal audience for this joke.
Prep: Lean in close, suggesting that you have something to share—just with them, and not for anyone else nearby. Make them feel special.
Marinate: Look from side to side, to be certain that no one else is listening—and make sure that your “audience” sees you do it.
Bake: When you’re sure you have their complete attention, lean in closer, and in your best conspiratorial whisper—sotto voce— ask, “How do you keep a turkey in suspense?”
Plate and Garnish: Sit back, and maintain a completely neutral expression.
Serve: Do, or say, nothing. Just wait. And wait. And wait.
Just Desserts: For you, alone—and they’re especially sweet if your victims keep asking for the answer because they don’t get the joke.
The following oh-so-seasonal article is included in my book, Galloping Gourmand: A Culinary Collection, the latest thing from Penwipe Publishing.
Thanksgiving
Our American Thanksgiving, which was originally a modified form of older harvest festivals, has gradually evolved into a different kind of harvest festival—one that celebrates processed foods. Family farms have been replaced by agri-business, and the supermarket is the true focus of pre-holiday activity. As a result, entirely new “traditional recipes” have become “family favorites”—traditions that have little or nothing to do with seasonal or regional foods.
It’s nearly impossible to escape a holiday table groaning under the weight of casseroles of frozen green beans, sauced with canned soup, and topped with fried onions (also canned). Nearby, the obligatory pan of sweet potatoes, their presence obscured by a mantle of marshmallow, glows menacingly.
In a sense, the holiday has become more, rather than less, of a uniquely American institution. Interestingly enough, while most of us wholeheartedly embrace the changes, all the marketing is designed to foster the impression that we are still celebrating the old Thanksgiving.
One can almost picture Squanto, and friends, marching out of the forest primeval, bearing cans of mandarin oranges and baskets of freshly harvested marshmallows.
Aside from the turkey, one item on the table might actually been a part of the Pilgrim’s original feast (albeit in somewhat altered form): cranberry sauce.
A friend used to be one of the line cooks at The Trellis in Williamsburg, VA. Every year, the staff held their own Thanksgiving dinner—and one year he brought his homemade cranberry relish.
Most of the staff complained bitterly about not having canned cranberry jelly.
The following year, he made the exact same relish—but added raspberry Jell-O, and molded it in a used, but well-scrubbed, tin can. The result slid out of the can most satisfyingly—and exhibited the requisite crowd-pleasing ridges.
And it did please the crowd.
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