Our resident chef shares insights and tips on how to create the perfect meal
In 1929, a group of Thanksgiving traditionalists began to meet in secret locations around Atlanta to discuss the formation of what eventually became the Thanksgiving Preservationist Society.
These passionate and dedicated individuals fought against the rising tide of modernist recipes that threatened Thanksgiving’s sacred culinary traditions with trendy, off-beat recipes such as persimmon pudding and parched corn.
In the spring of 1930, Society members descended upon the New York City offices of McCall’s magazine with roasted turkey legs defiantly hoisted above their heads and cloth sacks filled with cornbread stuffing that they balled up and hurled at unsuspecting employees as they entered the building.
As fate would have it, a group of nouvelle-cuisine cookbook editors happened to be meeting at the McCall’s offices that day and fisticuffs soon erupted between Thanksgiving traditionalists and the new cuisine iconoclasts, leading to the deadly “New York Wattle Riots” of 1930.*
In the spirit of full transparency, I will admit that I have been guilty of subjecting my family to non-traditional Thanksgiving abominations for several years. But after numerous, holiday-threatening failed experiments with Chipotle Turkey and Chorizo Apple Stuffing or the great Pumpkin Taco fiasco of 2010, I have learned a very important lesson: Don’t screw around with Thanksgiving in the South.
The traditional, Southern Thanksgiving dishes we all know and love have become staples through a Darwinesque, survival-of-the-tastiest process of elimination that should be viewed with the utmost respect and humility.
What constitutes a “traditional” Southern Thanksgiving may vary slightly from family to family, but unlike Black Friday and Uncle Earl’s Dickel-fueled racism, there are certain Thanksgiving traditions that can and should be continued for the sake of our shared Southern culture and common love of carbs and bacon grease.
Plan Ahead
While planning doesn’t sound like a Southern tradition, talk to Grannie or Aunt Shirlene about their typical Thanksgiving week and planning ahead is sure to come up. About a month in advance, start making lists, lining up turkeys and figuring out who not to invite.
Aside from the ingredients for the meal itself, don’t forget about serving platters, bowls, extra glasses, chairs and for the love of Squanto, buy a Costco-load of beer and toilet paper. The last thing you want is Cousin Lonnie breaking into tears over an empty beer box while his weeble-shaped sons stand outside of your locked bathroom door, clutching their stomachs and mumbling about dropping a pre-meal steamer into your sink because Grandma’s in there improvising with your guest towels because you’re out of TP.
If you buy a frozen turkey, it’s going to take three to four days to thaw (technically, 24 hours per 4-5 pounds of turkey). Letting it sit on the counter to speed things along is the perfect way to make sure everyone spends the next several days shooting liquid out of every orifice. Nancy Hazel aside, poisoning your guests is not a Southern tradition, so get it into the fridge to thaw at a safe temperature a few days in advance.
The Turkey
Let’s be honest, turkey is kind of bland on its own. You can roast it, fry it, smoke or grill it and it will still remain the Kenny G of meats. But nothing provides a better blank canvas for the artistry of a good gravy and starchy side dishes than a properly cooked pavo.
In the battle against bland, I prefer a dry brine over those flavor-diluting wet brines, and I always add a bit of baking powder to my dry brine to help create crispy, crunchy skin.
If you’re new to turkey prep, you need to know that there’s a bag of gravy-making goodies like the neck, gizzards, livers and testicles inside the hollowed out bird carcass. That little bag of terror is what puts the giblets in giblet gravy so grab the kids, pull the turkey’s legs apart and play everyone’s favorite Thanksgiving game “find the offal sack” before you put it in the oven.
Believe me, you really, really don’t want to forget about the offal sack.
Don’t overcomplicate roasting the turkey. Just put it on a roasting pan, rub a bunch of butter all over it and stick it into a 400° oven until an instant read thermometer registers 150°F in the deepest part of the breast, and at least 165°F in the thighs—about 20 minutes per pound is a good rule of thumb.
Once the turkey is done, let it rest for 20-30 minutes before you start hacking away and for God’s sake, don’t just let drunk Uncle Earl carve his own. Either present the cooked turkey before having someone experienced do the carving, or make two turkeys, one smaller to display and fawn over and another business turkey that you spatchcock for even cooking, roast, then slice up in the privacy of your kitchen before serving.
Dressing, Not Stuffing
Whether you refer to it as dressing or stuffing if you cook that delicious mix of bread, vegetables and herbs, inside the hollowed out asshole of a large dead bird, you are asking for trouble. According to Thanksgiving officials, if it’s cooked outside the bird, it’s “dressing;” if it’s cooked inside the bird, it’s “stuffing,” and if you choose the latter you’ll have to decide between two evils: food poisoning or dry, overcooked turkey.
When you fill a turkey with stuffing, the turkey’s juices soak into the stuffing as it cooks, carrying salmonella or any number of other bacterial beasties right along with it. To kill that bacteria, the stuffing must reach a minimum of 165 degrees, which will turn your turkey into a moisture-less, abomination that no amount of gravy can rescue.
If you just can’t imagine Thanksgiving without eating moistened, savory bread clumps out of a dead bird’s chest cavity, then at least cook it separately and spoon it into the cooked bird while it rests. No one needs to know and you can rest easy knowing you singlehandedly prevented another outbreak of holiday salmonellosis.
Side Dishes
Every traditional Southern Thanksgiving must have at least one cafeteria table (preferably borrowed from the church fellowship hall) jam-packed with Corningwear Blue Cornflower design casserole dishes. These casserole dishes must be overflowing with an unnecessarily large, curated selection of starch and butter laden side dishes—I believe that is a law.
Article 27b of that law states that no fewer than four potato dishes shall appear on the aforementioned table. Those potatoes should include sweet, mashed, scalloped and a cold potato salad. If I were being tortured into choosing only one, it would be mashed potatoes, primarily because they double as an edible bowl for both butter and gravy. Yukon Gold potatoes pushed through a potato ricer create my favorite mash, but for traditional Southern flavors use Russets, a hand mixer, and enough butter to cause Lipitor stocks to rise.
Southerners invented gravy because French pan sauces are for wimps and it’s against God’s natural order to eat mashed potatoes by themselves. The perfect gravy is one-part science, one-part art, one-part heart disease and at Thanksgiving it’s what lubricates all the other foods’ easy passage from plate to stomach. The gravy boat is no place for experimentation.
A simple giblet gravy made from the prize you won playing “find the offal sack” earlier in the day is liquid happiness all by itself. But if you want a chef tip, put a few squirts of Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce in your gravy to boost up the umami. Don’t worry, a couple of squirts won’t impart any fishy flavors but will boost the overall flavor.
In the mid-1950’s, the fine folks at Campbell’s soup concocted a dish that simultaneously gave us a way to pretend we were eating vegetables while providing them with a way to unload thousands of cans of gray, gelatinous failure glop mislabeled as cream of mushroom soup. Delusion met necessity and green bean casserole was born.
This is not to imply that green bean casserole isn’t a delicious and necessary part of every Southern Thanksgiving. But just like Chicken in a Biscuits and Easy Cheese, you love it, you can’t stop eating it, but you regret every bite.
Platefuls of bright-yellow deviled eggs are a given, as is the jiggling, gelatinous mass of can-shaped, cranberry-flavored love. Southerners will eat anything if you pickle it, so break out the pickled okra, pickled peppers, pickled shrimp, pickled eggs, and especially the bread and butter pickles, spread ‘em out on a big platter with some tomato slices and sprigs of fresh green onion and back slowly away before you lose a finger.
And then there’s dessert. Sweet potato and pumpkin pie are perfect for capping the landfill of Thanksgiving carbs smoldering away in your stomach, but if you want to end your holiday meal with something unmistakably Southern, end it with a nutty, sweet, and custardy pecan pie.
A touch of vanilla added to your recipe will complement the warm, toasted pecans and don’t forget to blind bake the crust so you’ll get that perfect balance of crisp, crunchy, and smooth that makes pecan pie so good you’ll use pages of the Purgatorio to wipe the pecan dust from your lips.
This Thanksgiving, stand with the preservationists, don’t succumb to the latest culinary trend. Go traditional. Only you can prevent Wattle riots.
*You know this is fiction, right?