I'm reminded of the Sankara Stones, those glowing orbs needed to defeat Mola Ram, the evil voodoo sorcerer from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Separate, the stones merely look pretty (or burn the skin from your hands while clutching a rope-ladder suspended over a cliff). But bring them together, and they wield unfathomable power. So, too, does the Plate of Food bind disparate elements into one.
In the vast range of Plates available to us in any given meal, there is one that stands above the rest: The Thanksgiving Dinner. Within its oval confines, the plate holding said feast procures an alchemy of the highest order; sliced turkey, mounds of potatoes and gravied stuffing changes into something resembling divine fruits plucked from an elysian field. Simply put, they sure do taste good. Our thanks are many on this day.
This most recent outing was no exception. Let us look closely at one such example, and attempt to understand how simple foodstuffs attain the glory otherwise held for the successful rescuing of stolen journalists, or a surprisingly robust box-office draw.
Behold!
That is a serious plate of food. Notice how the only regions uncovered are the very outskirts of the plate. And between each section, barely a speck of plate below is visible. To begin to see how this plate works so well, let us break down each component.
Clockwise, starting at the top:-Pink = Yam Apple Casserole
- Green = Sausage Stuffing
- Magenta = Dark Meat (Turkey)
- Yellow = White Meat ( " )
- Blue = Mashed Potatoes
- Red = Spaghetti Squash
- Black = Green Beans
- White = Cauliflower Casserole
The Yams
Originally a recipe from my step-dad's sister-in-law, the origins of this dish make perfect sense: This is many steps beyond your typical "yam" or "apple" dish, and to eat it makes you feel like Steven Seagal in Above the Law, schooled in martial arts and out for revenge... for all those people eating less-tasty sweet potato dishes. How dare they consume burnt marshmallows atop bright orange paste when they could be eating this? Sumptuous, sweet, and with a viscosity approaching "creaminess," the yams are a vital part of this plate. Best to be eaten first, while still hot. Also a nice addition to post-holiday turkey sandwiches in the form of a tangy condiment.
The Stuffing
See those slightly darker chunks amid all that flaky, scrumptious brown? Those, ladies and gents, are the sausage pieces. This stuffing is not stuffed inside the bird, but instead made separately. Any flavor this variant might be missing due to the lack of turkey-osmosis is overcome by the spicy warmth of the sausage. Some traditions remain -- celery still adds a crisp kick, and the stuffing should still be eaten as an ensemble, as it benefits mightily from a forkful of turkey and a dollop of mashed.
The Dark Meat
Oh, how it glistens. That shine is the beacon of taste, the glint off a moonlit pond beckoning us to disrobe, run down to the water's edge, and jump. The higher fat content of the dark meat allows for a richer, more succulent flavor, which makes most eaters' propensity for white meat all the more unsettling. Do not fear the Dark! For it will encompass you in its shadowy mass, and you will feel safe.
The White Meat
Serviceable as a carrier of protein.
The Mashed
Unfortunately, at least in the sample that I scooped, there was an absence of potato skin. Otherwise this was a fine representation of all that a good mashed can do. The mashed potato is a veritable contradiction: girthy and light, dense yet fluffy. It serves here as a palate cleanser, to be spooned between other, more powerfully flavored bites. Also, its malleability affords one to create a reservoir for gravy. Dunk your bite into this saucy well, then eat the container. Truly a rare delight.
The Spaghetti Squash
Here we come to the dark horse categories. Vegetables, like war, are often foul but necessary. The mother-chef has an answer to such untasty claims: Butter and Brown Sugar. Slice that squash in two, drop heaping piles of each additive into the cavity, and let those puppies bake for X minutes at X degrees. The product is closer to candy than either of its appellations. Also to be eaten early, so as to maintain its ideal temperature. Keep away from the gravy.
The Green Beans
As a young child, green beans filled me with a dread known only to those lost at sea on an inflatable raft losing air. I hated the soft texture, the murky color, the too-cute rhyme scheme of their name. Imagine my surprise, then, when our non-related guests (former housecleaners from Poland) brought a dish of the vile sticks and--shock of shocks--they were yum'tastic. I can't pinpoint the exact flavor that took them from abhorrent to worthy of James Beard. Perhaps their pantry of Western European spices holds a secret taste that, while barely detectable, rectifies even the worst foods into something edible. Call it Umami II.
The Cauliflower
This dish, a specialty of my Aunt J. who sadly cannot eat gluten, is the reason I still come home for Thanksgiving. (Or it would be, if I had an especially dysfunctional and unhappy family. Which I do not. But if I did, I would still come home for this dish alone.) Why? Three words: Butter, Cream, Bacon. Sure there's some cauliflower in there, but the eponymous veggie is not the highlight of this ridiculously good casserole. Here, the cauliflower acts like the tuba in a marching band. Without it, the entire group would fall apart, but nobody's watching the tuba in awe of its tuba-ness. And so the Cauliflower Casserole gets the prominent Center Position in my Thanksgiving Day Plate, allowing it to rub up against as many other dishes as possible to maximize its singular flavor, both exotic and familiar.
:::
I hope you understand better the subtle machinations inherent to a plate of food. Did I dish up a perfect plate? No I did not. Nor do I imagine I ever will. But I can keep trying, and heaping, and scooping, and hoping that this one is the one. And if not? Well, I'd love to go back for seconds, thank you.
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