Over the more than three decades that I've been teaching and writing about cooking, the biggest challenge has been coming up with fresh ways to talk about coping with our big cook's holiday, Thanksgiving. In all that time, the focus, both in my work and most everyone else's, has been on tackling a feast for a crowd without killing ourselves.
It never occurred to me—or apparently anyone else—that, as challenging as cooking for that crowd might be, it's nothing to the challenge of The Dwindling Thanksgiving Table. That, I had to learn the hard way.
When we moved to Virginia, I happily imagined our dining room table at Thanksgiving, crowded with food and a family that overflowed to a "kids' table" in the breakfast room. The hard reality was that our family here was long accustomed to other arrangements: I got to experience that once, and am not likely to get it again.
Oh, we're invited to share in those other arrangements, and friends are generous with invitations to their tables; it's not like we've been abandoned. But. My two favorite things about this holiday are cooking for it and having a refrigerator crowded with lots of delicious leftovers. I love having a crowded table, too, but even if it's just the two of us, I'm going to put out a spread.
The challenge, then, hasn't been a feast for a crowd, but how to provide one for just a few that isn't going to overwhelm me or those at my table. You might well argue that this is a time to welcome strangers and be generous to people who are alone or facing physical and/or monetary challenges that make providing everyday meals difficult, never mind a feast. And you'd be right.
But the unhappy companion of that dwindling table is dwindling stamina. Many of us are no longer up to creating that whopping big feast, at least, not alone. The key, of course, is balance, but finding that balance is easier said than done.
I'm still looking for it and learning. And over this coming week, I'll be sharing what I've learned, beginning today with my favorite part of Thanksgiving dinner: the dressing.
Because I didn't grow up with stuffing inside the bird, that always seemed exotic and special. So when I was finally free to do as I pleased, for years my turkey was stuffed. But to have enough of the stuffing to go around, some of it always had to be baked in a separate dish anyway, and I quickly learned that a stuffed bird required more care if it was going to turn out as moist and succulent as my mother's had always been. Now I fill the bird with moisture rich, flavor enhancing vegetables and herbs, and have gone back to dressing.
Sage and Onion Cornbread Dressing (Small Batch)
The challenge in making a smaller batch, aside from it having the flavor and texture of the dressings from my childhood, is making just enough for the leftovers to be welcome but not overwhelming. This will make up to six servings depending on your appetites and the rest of the menu, so if it's just going to be two at your table this year, there will be leftovers, but if I didn't have those, it would be almost as disappointing as not having it at all.
Note the "about" on the amount of broth: a lot will depend on the bread—how dense it is to begin with and how stale and dry you've let it get; you'll probably need more than a cup. It shouldn't be soggy and soupy, but still needs to be quite wet, so you're not likely to need less. Still, add it a little at a time rather than all of it at once, just in case.
Makes about 6 servings, depending on the rest of the menu
1½ tablespoons unsalted butter
1 small yellow onion, trimmed, split lengthwise, peeled and diced small
1 large or 2 medium ribs celery, washed strung, and diced small
2 cups (lightly packed) stale (day old) crumbled cornbread
2 cups (lightly packed) crumbled stale white bread (about 3 slices, 4 with crust removed)
1 tablespoon chopped fresh or 1 rounded teaspoon crumbled, dried sage
Salt and whole black pepper in a peppermill
1 large egg, well beaten
About 1-1½ cups poultry broth, preferably homemade
1. Put the butter, onion, and celery in a 10-inch heavy-bottomed skillet and set over medium heat. Sauté, tossing often, until the onion is softened but not browned, about 4-5 minutes. Turn off the heat.
2. Put both kinds of crumbs in a large mixing bowl (you'll need room to toss). Scrape in the onions and celery and add the sage. Season well with salt and pepper and gently toss until everything is well-mixed. Add the beaten egg and toss until the crumbs are evenly coated with it. Add enough broth to make a wet yet loose and slightly crumbly batter.
3. Lightly butter a baking dish that will hold the batter in a layer at least an inch deep. Pour in the batter and flatten it with a spatula. You can actually make it up to an hour ahead to this point. Cover it with foil and set it aside in a cool spot. Don't try to make it hours ahead and refrigerate it: it doesn't do as well. When you're ready to bake it, position a rack in the center of oven and preheat it to 350° F. Bake it in the center of the oven until it's puffed and golden brown and the middle is set, about 30 minutes.