Passing a Thanksgiving Dinner

Lest you think my topic is about a certain moving of the bowels, let me clarify: I speak instead of that choice, made by the wary eater, to skip a plate full of turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing and cranberry sauce when offered to them. We know these people by a bevy of names: Lunatics, Crazy Talkers, Pesticide for the Soul, Gastronomical Idiots, Sun-Dried Doodle Berries, The Wrong... I could go on. You know one of these people. You might, in fact, Batali save you, be one of these people. If you read the description above and thought: "Yes. That is me," do not worry. There is still hope. If you read the menu above and thought: "Boy, I truly can't stomach all that food," fear not, for I can save you. And this is how.

You've been eating Thanksgiving dinner much too late.

In years past, my family and I have eaten this annual feast at around, oh, six o' clock. You know, dinner-time. (Note: My house's D.T. is normally around 9:00pm, but that is for another discussion.) It makes sense, really--The pilgrims didn't call it Thanksgiving Brunch, after all! (Note: They called it 'Gratuitous Slaughter of Mainlanders with Wacky Hairdos,' though no official records remain.)

But a few problems occur when you wait so long for such a mammoth meal. You inevitably snack. The cooks are cooking their annual delights; people gather and linger near the kitchen. You sneak a morsel of dark meat here... you scrape a cracker into lump-crab artichoke dip there. You fill your glass, again, with the smooth, thick creaminess of Egg Nog. By the time dinner-time rolls around, you barely have room in your tiny tummy for that first buttered roll, let alone the meat and the taters and all dem loverly fixins'. So my suggestion to you, fair gluttonous warrior -- Eat Thanksgiving Dinner at noon. That's right. 12:oo pm. Call it 'High' if you wish, for you will be soon on all that glorious seratonin coursing through your nourished-by-midday body. I love my breakfast, but sometimes, on those special occasions where long-lost-relatives gather to cook their beloved Cauliflower Casserole and whisk together some potato water and meat scraps into a thick, bountiful gravy, sometimes you need to hold off on the pancakes and tuck into an evening's meal six hours early.

Soon to come: More ideas gleaned from a Very-PA Turkey Day, including Egg Nog Coffee Creamer, and the ludicrous splendor that is Rita's Kielbasa with Pineapple.

More Impromptu Recipes: Or, How poor young people eat.

Yesterday, I glanced in the cupboard. One box of Magic Stars (generic form of cereal rhyming with 'Mucky Barns'), box of whole wheat thin spaghetti, an old corn muffin. I glanced in the fridge. Half a gallon of 1% milk, some vanilla yogurt, a banana cut in half, still in the skin, browning at the edge. And then I looked to the bottom drawer in the fridge, what I call the "meat locker." Some sliced deli ham, 1/4 chunk of sharp cheddar, half a tub of Roasted Pine Nuts hummus. From a carefully selected array of the above, I made quite a substantial, satisfying meal. I share the recipe with you below, less so that you can make your own Ham, Hummus & Cheese Open-Faced Muffin Sandwich, but that you remain fearless when staring an empty kitchen, and an evening of rumbly tummy, in the face.

Ham, Hummus & Cheese Open-Faced Muffin Sandwich

1 corn muffin, week-old.
4 slices ham, thinly-sliced and smelling "okay."
Small hunk of sharp cheddar, about the size of a print cartridge
3 oz. hummus (quantity approximate, for fanciness sake)
Parkay margarine, scraped from the crevices of that tub surprisingly still there.


- preheat skillet over medium heat

- slice muffin in thirds, length-wise

- drop margarine in middle of pan, or slather on muffin cross-section

- heat muffin thirds for 4 minutes on each side, or until yellow-ish brown (the color of your golden retriever's coat in winter)

- meanwhile, slice cheese into rectangles of desired thickness. Recommended: As thick as the white part of your over-grown thumb nail.

Option a) - slather muffin pieces with hummus, then layer with cheese and ham
Option b) - top warm muffin with cheese, then dollop hummus on cheese, capped with a slice of ham

- pick up as you would a cupcake, eat, and enjoy the thrilling fact that you've made it another day without going to the grocery store.

This open-faced sandwich is a great snack for after a late grad school class, on Saturday afternoon while watching your alma mater's football game on ESPNpi, or any time you wish to impress your friends with your skillet-heating skills. Also: The tang of the cheese and hummus goes surprisingly well with the hearty, mealiness of the corn, and if you've timed it just right, that mysterious translucent coating on the ham will give the dish an unexpected mouth-feel somewhere between "carrot cake" and "chunky bleu cheese dressing."

Happy frugality!