ALL GOOD THINGS must come to an end. It’s a cliché for a reason. True of this year’s bounteous harvest, and of our ongoing blog-fest cooking marathon. But with the ultimate foodie holiday on the horizon, I’ve got some good things to give thanks for, and to share.

When your life turns upside down, either by choice or by force, it can take a long time, years even, to see what’s been transformed, and what’s remained the same. When my family and I left Los Angeles nearly four years ago for our now-not-so-new home in the (very) rural Hudson Valley, we were able to anticipate a lot of the changes. But one I didn’t foresee was that my Thanksgiving traditions, ones I’d held to perhaps a little too tightly, would fall away without my even noticing.

You see, my children had to remind me last week that yes, in fact, this Thanksgiving would be the very first one we’d spend dining, myself at the culinary helm, in our now-not-so-new house. After years of hanging on like a solo mariner in a gale, I’d let go of the lines. Not one but three different sets of friends have hosted us over these last few years. I helped, I brought, I ate, but every time,  I was decidedly not in control of anything from menu to table setting to guest list. And guess what? I survived. (Should we take it personally that none of them have invited us back? God, I hope not.)

This year, I’m back in charge, at least nominally. The turkey, from a new and dear friend’s farm, is in the fridge. I’ll be hunting for local sweet potatoes today, and hitting my favorite bakery for bread for stuffing, too. I haven’t yet figured out exactly what’s going in my turkey brine, nor which stuffing recipe I’ll use. (For years, and years and YEARS: I sent invitations. In the MAIL. I made and remade guest lists. And my menu? It never varied. Not a whit.)

Is it better this way, loose and a little serendipitous? Yes, and no. Is it different? Yes, and no. But we’ve found our way through all the changes to a place that suits us. I’m as excited as ever for my feast, but a lot more relaxed about what the day will bring. It’s a nice metaphor, really, for the pace of rural life, where you are constantly butting up against the unexpected, the inconvenient, and the just plain absurd, most attributable to natural, not human, capriciousness.

So this year, I’ll raise a glass to the unexpected, and a newfound ability to embrace its gifts as well as its challenges. What better way to appreciate the bounty that feeds us?

(Need more substantial Thanksgiving guidance? Be sure to check out some of my favorite Thanksgiving recipes here, here and here. Need to relax? Check out our best-ever picks for Thanksgiving movies. And whatever you do, be sure to visit my fellow Fall Fest bloggers for this last week of goodness.)

Alana of Eating from the Ground Up on Turkeys and Apple

Caron of San Diego Foodstuff : Bounty to Be Grateful For in the Form of Community (And Pecan Pie.)

Liz and the crew at the Food Network on Thanksgiving Bounty We’re Grateful For.

Jennifer at The Gilded Fork on gratitude.

Caroline at The Wright Recipe on Butternut Squash Biscuits.

Tara at Teas and Cookies on surprisingly wonderful stuffed pumpkin.

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from 'Seasonal Surprises', compiled by The Junior League of the Lehigh Valley

CAN YOU BELIEVE that Thanksgiving is next week? I can’t, not least because if Thanksgiving is next week, Christmas is less than six weeks away, and that’s terrifying. But rather than panic, I’m going to drown my sorrows in cookbooks––specifically, my old standbys, the Ladies’ Auxiliary collection that seems to be breeding like rabbits (or maybe turkeys) on my bookshelves. This week, in preparation for, uh, next week, it’s time to consider the cranberry.

I love cranberries, and cranberry sauce, as much as anything on the Thanksgiving table. So I was a little surprised, maybe even shocked, when my trove of cookbooks (and I have a lot of these, mind you) yielded only one recipe for the classic turkey accompaniment.

From 'Dine with Forks', compiled by the Forks of the Delaware Garden Club, 1990

Instead, the tart little jewels are used in an an occasional jam or butter, and astonishing number of desserts, cakes and breads (the latter of those was a particular childhood favorite of mine, thanks to a wonderful kids’ book, Cranberry Thanksgiving, which includes a perfectly good recipe) and jello molds (an entire category of recipes that, sorry, I just can’t endorse; feel free to try to change my mind).

from 'Connecticut Cooks II', the CT Division of the American Cancer Society, 1985

Most of those molds (which tend to call themselves “salads,” an instance of misplaced optimism) are fruit-based: pineapple is a popular ingredient. One contained cashews, which I love (not enough to actually make the recipe, though). But one version, which I found in multiple cookbooks, was a stunner, not in the good way.

From The Junior Saturday Club's 'Philadelphia Main Line Classics', 1982

Tuna? Cranberries? Together? No.

I decided that maybe the absence of sauce recipes was a tacit endorsement of my own low-effort approach to this favorite condiment. I do not buy it in cans, don’t buy the jellied stuff, either, though I know some love it. I make my cranberry sauce from scratch, because it’s the easiest thing I do for the whole Thanksgiving meal. My recipe of choice is the one on the Ocean Spray bag, but I add some orange zest, a couple of cloves and a cinnamon stick. The one sauce recipe I found, from the Junior League of Greensboro, North Carolina’s 1978 Out of Our League compendium, was a gussied-up version of that humble recipe, quite close to my own.  How about you? Will there be cranberries on your table? (Sister Marion already described hers.) Have you ever made a disastrous cranberry surprise? C’mon, you can tell your sisters…

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My Favorite Ladies Auxiliary Sweet Potato Recipe: Basic

WITH THE BEGINNING of the winter holiday juggernaut breathing down my neck, meaning multiple menus to plan, this is the ideal time to revisit favorite recipe sources in search of the perfect (or, sometimes, perfectly frightening?) side dishes from sisters past and present. Whether it’s creamed onions or green-bean casserole that you love (or loathe), our TSP collection of Ladies Auxiliary cookbooks has something for everyone. And let’s be honest––we all need a little humor and perspective in order to survive the next seven weeks. 

These wonderful old cookbooks, created by sisterhoods ranging from the Junior League to the Sisters of Pythia, have provided us with the ultimate potato salad, the greatest meatloaf, even multiple interpretations of tuna casserole. I couldn’t wait to see what I’d find there for the traditional Thanksgiving side-dish lineup.

I wasn’t disappointed. For Thanksgiving planning, the books’ offerings boggle the mind, but I had to start somewhere. To me, sweet potatoes or yams are a holiday challenge: Nearly everyone wants them, but coming up with a version everyone wants to eat is a different thing altogether. My go-to recipe is from a sister-friend, or, more precisely, from my sister-friend’s great aunt––how’s that for provenance? It’s slightly hokey and very retro, and also, most important, delicious. But I wondered what cooking sisterhoods around the country and through the eras might offer.

What I discovered in my ever-expanding trove of sisterly cookbooks is that America’s cooks take their sweet potatoes (and yams: the terms are mostly used interchangeably, even though the two vegetables are actually different) seriously. When it comes to sweets, save the perplexing and perennial marshmallow affectation, cooks mostly leave them unmolested, allowing their natural charms (and they are many) to shine through.

Several cookbooks, including the irresistably named Panic in the Pantry, compiled by the Junior Section of the Manor Club in Pelham, New York, offered a variation on this super-bare bones theme: apples and sweet potatoes, sliced, baked together with little or no added flavoring. It strikes me as too minimalist, but then my version includes water chestnuts, so what do I know?

I was astonished that only one cookbook, the tony Main Line Classics, featured what I think of as the classic, slightly nauseating (sorry) sweet-potato casserole topped with mini-marshmallows. Published by the members of the Wayne, Pennsylvania, Junior Saturday Club, the book is relatively recent, 1982, though the club’s history dates back to 1886. (This recipe? I’m guessing it’s more recent.)

The oddest creation I found (for the sweet potato, mind you––just wait to see the travesties unleashed on the poor cranberry in next week’s edition) was the recipe for Sweet Potato Balls from the Junior League of Greensboro, North Carolina’s Out of Our League compendium (1978.) These contained not only marshmallows and crushed corn flakes. Not for me.

The most promising, I thought, was the admirably straightforward Sweet Potato Souffle from Jan Atkins, of Christ Episcopal Church, Farmington, Connecticut. Apparently, they’re not quite as wild in Connecticut as in Pennsylvania, but that suits me just fine––I might even break with my own tradition, and try something new. How about you? Do you have an old standby, or do you experiment on the holiday? Tell us how you’ll be serving sweet potatoes this year; if you use your sister’s recipe, so much the better!

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