Weekly Dish

Clearly, I have been cooking a lot of sweet potatoes lately. My love for the orange tubers has never been a secret on this site, but lately, it has gotten ridiculous. We tend to eat a lot of them anyway, but since Josie has started her first solid food in the last few weeks, it seems like there is always mashed sweet potato in the fridge.

Inspired by these pumpkin waffles and these whole wheat pumpkin pancakes, I made use of a leftover sweet potato in these whole wheat waffles last weekend. Coincidentally, it happened to be the day after I made the holiday cranberries, so that’s what went on top. With a side of sausage, it made a fabulous fall breakfast. So good, in fact, that I mixed up a batch of waffle batter to take with us on the road. If there happens to be leftover cranberry sauce, it will make a perfect post-Thanksgiving brunch, but if not, these are good with maple syrup too.

I hope your Thanksgiving is filled with the blessings of good food and folks you love. That’s how we’re planning to spend ours, and I can’t wait. I’ll be back after the holiday!

Whole Wheat Sweet Potato Waffles

1 - 1 1/2 cups cooked, mashed sweet potato
1 cup buttermilk
3 eggs
1/2 t. vanilla
4 T. butter, melted
1 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 T. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
1 T. orange zest
1/2 t. grated nutmeg
2 T. brown sugar

Mix the mashed sweet potato, buttermilk, eggs, vanilla, and melted butter together in a small bowl. Sift together the dry ingredients in a separate bowl. Dump the wet ingredients into the center of the dry ones all at once and fold until just incorporated. Cook according to your waffle iron instructions and serve immediately. Makes 8-10 standard-sized waffles.

…just in case I forget. I tend to do that. Forget, I mean, about dinner.

It’s just that I get so wrapped up in the flurry of holiday cooking that sometimes I turn around at 6 pm and glance gleefully over the roasted butternut squash resting on the stove, the sweet potatoes that have just been pureed in the blender, the discs of pie dough awaiting refrigeration, and I realize: we’re going to have to eat take-out for dinner. Again. Which seems absurd, since it seems like I’ve spent the whole day in the kitchen.

So, tonight, and most likely for the rest of the week, we’ll be having this soup. If you happen to have some already-cooked sweet potato on hand, it comes together easily; the only trick is to think about it before 6 pm (unless you typically eat around 9, as we sometimes do), so it will have some time to simmer. If you don’t already have sweet potatoes cooked, you’ll need a bit more time, but since your oven is already set to 350 (you know, for all of those fabulous Thanksgiving baked goods you’re working on), you can throw in the potatoes and garlic at any time, and then, with the chop of an onion, it’s just a matter of assembly.

The soup is good, hearty comfort food, and, as an added bonus, it’s also packed with all sorts of good-for-you nutrients. Which, let’s face it, is even more important this week, as our bodies are gearing up for the holiday of excess. The best part about the soup is that the potatoes and garlic lend their creaminess to the texture, so no cream is actually needed. To cut out even more fat (and to make this a vegetarian soup), you could also omit the bacon and cook the onion in olive oil instead. Or, leave out the stock altogether, and use the potato mixture in enchiladas or burritos.

Or, make an entirely different soup, based on what you have that you could throw into a pot, or make pizza or pasta or a 5-course meal, but, please, whatever you do, don’t forget about dinner. Your body will thank you, come Thursday, for not having spent the week surviving on snatches of cake batter and take-out. At least I know, from painful past experiences, that mine will.

Smoky Sweet Potato Stew

The bacon, chipotle, and maple syrup pack this soup with flavor, so if you don’t have stock on hand, don’t worry, water will probably be just fine. Same goes for the corn — I had it, I liked the crunch it added, but it certainly isn’t essential.

4 smallish sweet potatoes, scrubbed (or 2 cups cooked, mashed potato)
Olive oil
1 head of garlic
4 slices thick-cut bacon, diced
1 medium yellow onion, small-diced
3 T. chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, finely minced (less if you are heat-sensitive)
2 T. maple syrup
1 T. coarse salt plus more to taste
1 can black beans
1/2 cup corn kernels, scraped from the cob or frozen
1 cup beer (preferably something dark)
2 cups stock, chicken or vegetable (or water if you don’t have stock, and more, if you want a thinner soup)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Poke holes in the sweet potatoes, rub them lightly with olive oil, and bake them whole, on a foil-lined baking sheet, for about 2 hours. Set aside to cool.

When the potatoes have 30 minutes left, slice off the top of the garlic head, wrap in foil, drizzle with a little olive oil and sprinkle with salt. Roast for 30 minutes. Set aside to cool with the potatoes.

While the potatoes and garlic are cooling, cook the bacon in a large soup pot. When it’s done, remove with a slotted spoon and set aside. Pour off all but about a tablespoon of the fat, and add the onions. Cook the onions over medium heat, stirring frequently, until well-browned and very soft, about 15-20 minutes.

Turn the heat on the onions up to medium-high and add the syrup and the chipotle peppers in adobo. Stir and cook for a couple of minutes, then pour in the beer. Stir, scraping up any bits from the bottom of the pan, and cook for another 5 minutes, or until the liquid has reduced by half.

Meanwhile, peel the potatoes and squeeze the garlic cloves from the skin. Mash the flesh from the potatoes and garlic together, and add to the pot, stirring to combine. Stir in the black beans and corn and salt well. Add the stock and bring the soup to a boil. Reduce to a simmer, and let it cook for 10-15 minutes (or longer, depending on how hungry you are and how long it took you to remember about dinner). You may need to add more liquid to get the soup the consistency you like; ours was quite thick (and we liked it that way). Season to taste with salt. If you like, serve topped with a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkling of the bacon pieces. Will feed two hungry people for dinner at least 3 times (about 6 main dish servings).

Cranberry sauce has been one of my favorite parts of Thanksgiving dinner for as long as I can remember. And by “cranberry sauce,” I mean the dark burgundy, vibrantly tart-sweet condiment made by cooking fresh cranberries with sugar. I do not mean the lump of pink, wiggly, high-fructose corn syrup-saturated, nutritionally vacant, pale imitation of cranberry sauce that comes in a can. My mom always made fresh cranberry sauce for our Thanksgivings, so thankfully, my taste buds never acclimated to that cloyingly sweet jellied variety. Cranberry sauce, from this opinionated cook’s perspective, should be tart because cranberries are tart. Period.

My mom’s, as far as I remember anyway, is super simple — cranberries and sugar, and that’s about it. Which I love so much that I often served myself what some people might consider a condiment in side dish proportions (and can still be found guilty of eating it by itself). But when I started making my own a few years ago, I wanted to tinker a bit, to dress up the traditional just a smidgen. Not enough to interfere with the pronounced cranberry flavor — cinnamon and cloves, I found, were too strong for my taste, as was ginger — but enough to make cranberries that were decidedly my own. I found Scott Peacock and Edna Lewis’s version fit the bill (from the fabulous book, The Gift of Southern Cooking), so what you’ll find below is a slight adaptation of their recipe. There are many, many, many varieties of cranberry sauce out there, so find one that suits your taste. I like this one because it’s sweet enough, but true to the tart flavor of the berries, which are enhanced by the wine and orange zest but not overpowered.

If you’ve never made your own cranberry sauce, let me begin my saying how easy it is. Really. You put the berries, a little liquid, and a bit of sugar in a pot, and cook, stirring, until the berries begin to burst and the sugar dissolves. The natural pectin in the berries will give you the chunky, jam-like texture, and the whole process takes about 10 or 15 minutes. All that is required of you is to stir and taste to make sure you’ve achieved the sweet-sour ratio you like.

If you still need convincing, look at how pretty it is in a cut-glass dish. See? Don’t you want that on your table? Even if your dining companions just look at it, you’ll be glad you made it.

Holiday Cranberries
–Adapted from The Gift of Southern Cooking by Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock

The original recipe calls for port instead of marsala, and I tried that last year. To be honest, I made the substitution because I had marsala in my pantry (left over from this meal) and no port, but, as it turns out, I like it this way better. Marsala is a little sweeter, so I was able to reduce the sugar, and the wine’s subtle flavor slips under the berries quite nicely (the port is a little more robust). But, by all means, use what you have; I imagine any sweet fortified wine would do the trick.

12 ounces fresh cranberries (or about 3 cups)
1/2 cup marsala wine
2/3 cup sugar
zest from 1 large orange (about a tablespoon)

Rinse the berries, carefully picking through them and discarding any that have shriveled or burst. In a saucepan, bring the wine just to a boil over medium-high heat, and add the berries. Cook, stirring continuously, until the berries begin to pop (David loves this part), about 5 minutes. Pour in the sugar and orange zest, and continue to stir constantly until the sugar dissolves, about another 5 minutes. The mixture should be thick like jam. Remove from the heat until completely cool; cover and refrigerate. Before serving, allow the sauce to come to room temperature.

Is it Thanksgiving already? Are you sure? Well. I’d better get busy. It’s the first Thanksgiving for the little one, and I’d hate for her to look back through the Weekly Dish archives the year of her birth and see that I posted not one holiday recipe for her first food-obsessed holiday. Not that I’ll be cooking for her exactly, as her repertoire of food experiences includes only avocado, sweet potato, and banana so far. But I am planning to make a butternut squash pudding, reserving some of the roasted flesh for her to sample, so that counts for something. Her first Thanksgiving vegetable perhaps.

I guess with a baby around, it’s inevitable that a person becomes obsessed with firsts. Nearly everything is a first for Josie — just in the last month, she’s grown her first teeth, sat up by herself for the first time, tasted her first solid food. I know, I know, all of you who don’t have a baby are rolling your eyes right now. I know because I used to do the same thing — who wants to hear about someone else’s baby’s first teeth, anyway? It happens. Babies get teeth. And they have to sit up some time, so there inevitably must be a first time. Yawn. I swore I wouldn’t be one of those moms who oohed and aahed over her kid’s various universal — and therefore terribly mundane — developmental accomplishments to folks who could care less, so I won’t bore you with the details.

And yet. I have to just say that it is incredibly amazing to watch a tiny little person discover something utterly new. Do you remember the last time you discovered something really, truly new to you? It doesn’t happen that often in our adult lives, but for infants, virtually everything is a miraculous introduction to the world from a new vantage point. Even just the sound of her own voice takes on monumentally delightful proportions when she learns how to vary the pitch, volume, or use of spit to make new squeals, sputters, or growls.

Partly because of the sheer delight she takes in all things new and partly because I am particularly fond of the holidays, I am trying to make a special effort to establish celebratory traditions for our family this year. And, of course, a good deal of what makes a celebratory tradition in my definition of the term is food.

I know my posting this last year has been sporadic, but over the coming week, I hope to share with you the food I am making for Thanksgiving. (Maybe even every day, but I won’t make any promises.) Some recipes will be old, some will be new, some will be a combination. We are traveling to Mississippi to celebrate the holiday with our family, so I have plans to spend the next several days preparing my culinary contributions, recording them here as I go.

As I get my Thanksgiving dishes ready, of course I’ll need something to snack on as I cook. I’ve made this dip for a couple of years now around this time of year, and for whatever reason, I’m just now getting around to sharing it. Probably because it’s one of those things I seem to make at the last minute, when we need an appetizer to take to a Halloween party or a neighborhood art show or to a last-minute fall dinner with friends, and I never quite seem to get proportions written down or photos taken. Finally, though, I’ve tinkered with the recipe and taken exact measurements (and even a photo!). If you are buying canned pumpkin for a pie or some other Thanksgiving dish, I highly recommend saving one for this snack — it’s easy, tasty, and looks pretty on the table. Plus, it’s nicely suited to stand up equally well to a platter of carrot sticks and radish slices as it is just plain-Jane crackers. Or, if you’re feeling especially holiday-decadent, David likes it with the hottest variety of Zapp’s potato chips (but don’t you dare take that shiny metallic chip bag to Thanksgiving dinner; I do not want to be blamed for treading on what may be the most sacrosant of all food-related occasions, at least in this country. Turkey every, single year? That, my friends, is one heck of a stubborn tradition.)

So, here we go, kicking off Josie’s first-ever week-before Thanksgiving cooking extravaganza. She may not understand exactly what’s going on, and experts say that she won’t really remember. But just in case, I want the scents and sounds and sights of the holidays to be forever tinted with a joyful flurry of kitchen activity. From the very beginning.

Since I missed posting on her first Halloween, here’s a photo to make up for it. She was a happy pink leopard who growled at all the other trick-or-treaters. And we took this dip to the Gatewoods’, our dear friends, for a pre-trick-or-treating cook out. It was almost as big a hit as the pink leopard.

Spiced Pumpkin Dip

This is a highly adaptable recipe, one in which the proportions can be varied widely. I have made it with twice as much cream cheese and half as much pumpkin, and vice versa, mostly depending on how much leftover pumpkin I had on hand. After several tries, this is my favorite ratio, both for flavor and texture, but if you have a crowd to feed with this dip, you can certainly increase the cream cheese to use a whole package. I also like it to have quite a punch in terms of spices, but if the amounts of paprika and cumin seem like a lot to you, start with one teaspoon of each and add as you see fit.

1 head of garlic
olive oil
1 15-ounce can pumpkin puree
4 ounces cream cheese
2 t. ground cumin
2 t. Hungarian paprika
1/4 t. cayenne pepper
2 t. coarse salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and set your cream cheese on the counter to soften. Slice off the top of the garlic head and remove the loosest layers of the papery skin (you don’t need to peel it entirely — just get rid of the stuff that comes off easily). Place the whole head on a square of aluminum foil and bring the edges up all around to make a little pouch. Before twisting the top to seal it closed, drizzle the garlic with a little olive oil (about a teaspoon). Roast for 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and open the foil pouch to let the garlic cool.

When cool enough to handle, squeeze the cloves from their skins into the bowl of a food processor. Add the remaining ingredients and process until very smooth. Taste for salt and spice — you may need to add a little extra. Sprinkle the finished dip with extra paprika for garnish. Serve with crudites, pita chips, or crackers. Or, if you’re feeling especially indulgent, Zapp’s potato chips.