My maternal grandmother was born in November 1902 in a small village in northern Vermont. Both of her parents had been born in England. Her mother had been abandoned as a young child and shipped to Canada, where she basically became an indentured servant until she married my great-grandfather, a dashing young man who later left her for a red-headed woman named Lucille.
This crush of abandonment and loss left my great-grandmother with a love of all things impractical and beautiful. She spent money she didn’t have on fragile painted teacups and raised beautiful dahlias and delphinium well into her 90s. She collected stereoscopes of intriguing foreign places she would never visit -- the Pyramids, the Coliseum, Paris. When I visited her as a child, we played Euchre and looked through the stereoscopes together. She always smelled of lavender. She lived in in a quadraplex next to a gas station, which had linoleum floors, a washer with a wringer, a party line for a telephone -- and a spectacular small garden.
Perhaps in reaction to her mother’s impracticality, my grandmother was the most practical woman I have ever known. She could knit, sew, crochet, garden, can, bake, jar ~ and she was an amazing cook. I never did figure out from whom she learned all these skills. She married my grandfather, a WWI veteran and avid Red Sox fan, when she was 17.
It was at their Vermont farm that I learned to cook and bake, learned to jar, learned to crochet and knit (although I never possessed my grandmother’s skill at either of these) and, most importantly, learned a life lesson that has served me well:
Use it up.
Wear it out.
Make it do.
Do without.
I still have the quilts my grandmother made for me for my high school graduation present. Each square was made from a patch of cloth leftover from dresses my grandmother had made for me while I was growing up. I treasure these quilts, which are not only warm and beautiful, but constitute a literal patchwork of happy memories.
I spent a great deal of time on my grandparents’ farm in Vermont when I was growing up. For months in 1962, when my Dad was deployed during the Cuban Missile Crisis, we lived there, and I had the chance to go to school at the four-room school from which my Mom had graduated as the top fourteen percent of her class of seven. And we spent a lot of each summer there. I still remember spending hot summer afternoons stripping blackberries off their thorny bushes, and picking tiny red wild strawberries and bringing buckets of them into my grandmother’s steamy kitchen, where she made jam and put it up for the winter in their root cellar. (The best part was the blackberry cobbler you got as a reward for scratched hands.)
I remember watching my grandmother run leftover pot roast or corned beef through a meat grinder, mix the meat with leftover vegetables and potatoes and make the mixture into delicious hash.
(Note: Today, you might want to consider Turkey hash.)
And I still remember seeing my grandmother take the leftovers of the leftovers and make them into tiny baked cakes for the barn cats.
Because of my grandmother, I still have an incredible aversion to throwing out any kind of food that could be made into something else. These days, that is more important than ever.
Let’s talk turkey.
Do you have some leftover today?
Take all the leftover turkey off the carcass, and break the carcass down. Put the leftover turkey into the refrigerator, and stick the roasting pan with the carcass parts back into the oven (at 350 degrees or so) for about 30-45 minutes.
Take the roasting pan out of the oven, and let it stand while you roughly chop three peeled carrots, two peeled yellow onions, and four or more stalks of celery.
(The next step can be done in the roasting pan -- to save on washing up -- or in a large Dutch oven.)
Toss the vegetables in. To this, add salt and pepper to taste, a bay leaf, maybe some Bell’s seasoning or tarragon. If you have some parsley left over, throw it in, too.
To this add water or vegetable or chicken broth (and/or white wine if you have some leftover) to cover (actually, what I do is place my index finger on the tallest vegetable and cover to my second knuckle) place the pan or Dutch oven on top of the stove and bring to a boil; reduce heat to medium-low and skim off the scum as it forms; reduce by half. Cool. At this point, pour the broth through a colander (to remove all the solids) and into a large bowl. Refrigerate overnight and skim off the fat.
The rich broth you have made can be used to make turkey pot pie or turkey soup. (If you don’t want to use it right away, pour it into Glad bags and place them flat on a cookie sheet in the freezer; after they are frozen, they can be stacked.) The leftover turkey you have can be made into a gazillion things. Leftover turkey recipes.
Here’s one of our favorites:
Spicy burritos with pumpkin sauce. This recipe is just as good with turkey as it is with chicken and is loaded with nutrients. Plus, you can extend the turkey by adding rice and black beans to the filling.
Leftover root vegetables (carrots, turnips, parsnips, squash, potatoes) can be pureed in the blender and used in any soup recipe to make it creamier and more filling. (Note: these all freeze well after being pureed.; see note above about bags on a cookie sheet.) (Second note: remove any leftover marshmallows, of course.)
Leftover salad with an oil and vinegar dressing? Put it in the blender and use it as a base for gazpacho.
Stale bread? Make croutons, French toast, or stuffing.
Apples, pears, other such fruits that you overbought? Applesauce.
Bananas going bad? Freeze them. Frozen bananas make excellent banana bread. You can also toss a frozen banana into a blender with milk (or soy milk or yogurt), any other fruit you like, some wheat germ and a splash of orange juice for a great smoothie.
The point is: don’t just stick leftovers in the refrigerator with foil over them. Consider how to use them to make something else that isn’t just a leftover.
Now a few inexpensive recipes:
My Mom’s Awesome Turkey Chili (adapted from a recipe in Southern Living magazine):
1 medium yellow onion, chopped (I love Vidalias in this, but any yellow onion is fine.)
1 Tbl. vegetable oil
2 garlic cloves, chopped
1 lb. ground turkey
3 Tbl. Chili powder
3 tps. Cumin
3 Tbl. Tomato paste
1 (28-oz.) can diced tomatoes
1 (16-oz.) can black beans
1 C. chicken broth (or use some of the turkey broth you made from the turkey)
1 C. beer (leaving four ounces for the cook)
1 tsp. salt (or to taste)
1 tsp. pepper (or to taste)
¼ C. chopped cilantro (unless you are a cilantro hater)
Sweat the onion in a pan over medium heat until beads form, then add the oil and heat over medium-high heat until tender (about 5 minutes or so); add garlic. Sauté one minute.
Add turkey, chili power and cumin, stirring often, until the meat crumbles and is no longer pink. (I’ve never made this with leftover turkey and don’t recommend it.) Stir in tomato paste; cook 2 minutes. Add tomatoes and next 5 ingredients. Bring to a boil; cover, reduce heat to low, and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Sour cream, avocadoes and cilantro are all excellent as garnishes, but none is necessary.
Note: This recipe serves at least 6; it can serve ten if you serve it over rice or bulgur wheat, both of which are good with it. (It can be made a day ahead and it freezes beautifully. Reheat it in in the oven at 300 degrees.)
Leftover crudités? Make some vegetarian chili with carrots and celery and peppers.
The best Vegetarian Chili I’ve ever eaten, from my battered and splattered copy of Mollie Katzen’s classic Moosewood Cookbook . All of Ms. Katzen’s cookbooks are superb.
Vegetarian Chili (copyright held by Mollie Katzen)
2½ C. dry kidney beans, soaked
1 C. tomato juice
1 C. uncooked bulgur wheat
2 Tbl. olive oil
2 C. chopped onion
6-8 large cloves garlic, chopped
1 medium carrot, diced
1 medium stalk celery, diced
2 tsp. cumin (or more, to taste)
2 tsp. basil
2 tsp. chili powder (or more, to taste)
1½ tsp. salt (or more, to taste)
Black and red pepper to taste.
1 medium bell pepper, chopped
1 14½ oz. can tomatoes
3 Tbl. Tomato paste (half a small can)
Toppings: minced parsley, grated cheese, chopped scallions, sour cream, organic corn chips (suggestions)
Soak the beans for at least four hours (preferably overnight).
Place the soaked beans in a Dutch oven, cover with water and bring to a boil. Partially cover, turn heat down to a simmer, and cook until tender (about 1¼ hours). Watch the water level and add more if necessary. Drain off any excess water when beans are done.
Heat the tomato juice to boiling. Add it to the bulgur wheat in a small bowl, cover, and let stand 15 minutes. Add this to the cooked beans.
Heat the olive oil in a medium-sized skillet. Add onion, half the garlic, carrot, celery and seasonings. Sauté over medium heat for 5 minutes or so. Add bell pepper, and sauté until the vegetables are tender.
Add the sautéed vegetables, tomatoes (with juice), and tomato paste to the beans. Simmer over lowest possible heat, stirring occasionally, for 20 to 30 minutes (or longer). After about 15 minutes, add remaining garlic. Taste to adjust seasonings, and serve hot (with or without suggested toppings).
And, finally, a really frugal, delicious recipe (NO TURKEY) that is all my own.
Noweasels’ Pea Soup. (Copyright noweasels.)
Note: I learned how to cook from two masters (my maternal grandmother and my mother) and I am terrible with measurements, because neither of them ever measured anything. I do everything from experience, which is not great for writing recipes. Please feel free to add or subtract vegetable broth or water from this recipe. I like my pea soup pretty thick.
2 leeks
2 shallots
4 carrots
1 bag split peas
1 qt. low sodium vegetable broth*
Water
Olive oil
Kosher salt, regular salt & pepper
Chervil
Paprika
Frozen baby peas
chives
Sherry and/or sour cream (if you wish)
I recommend using a heavy, enamel-coated Dutch oven for this recipe, but whatever kind of pot you use should be fairly heavy so that the peas do not stick and burn on the bottom.
Pour the split peas into a colander and pick out any icky ones. Rinse. I always put mine into a glass bowl and pour water into it after rinsing and take out all the floaters. I THINK my grandmother taught me this, but I’m not sure.
Chop the leeks into ¼ inch rounds, using all of the white part and all of the green part until you get to the part of the green part that is tough and woody. Chop the shallots into thin slices. Chop the carrots into ¼ rounds. (If you are particularly partial to carrots, as I am, you can put in more.) Heat about 1 – 2 Tbl. olive oil on medium high and add the leeks and shallots and carrots and a little Kosher salt and pepper, stir, and cook until the leaks and shallots are translucent. Keep an eye on them and move them around so they do not brown. Then pour in the vegetable broth and bring to a boil. Add ¾ (or so) of the split peas. Return to a boil; then reduce to a medium simmer. Skim off the nasty foam as it develops. You can check the soup every ten or so minutes and do the foam skimming. About thirty or forty minutes into the soup-making, stir it and add about 2 C. of water. (This soup will be perfectly fine if you are busy blogging; don’t worry too much about racing to the kitchen to check on it.) Keep skimming for foam. (You don’t have to stand over the soup – you can check it occasionally.)
After another 15 minutes (or whatever), add the last ¼ of the split peas. Check it again in 20 – 40 minutes – if it’s too thick, add more water. (Or some more vegetable broth if you have some.) When the first peas are completely soupy and the second peas are chunky (but not hard), it’s ready to serve. Add chervil and paprika and salt and pepper to taste. Put frozen baby peas in the bottom of the bowl and ladle the soup over them. Sprinkle about a tablespoon of fresh chives over the soup. (A splash of sherry doesn’t hurt. And if you are not vegan, a dollop of sour cream is also nice.)
This makes a lot of soup, but it freezes really well. (If you freeze it, do not add the frozen peas; they should only be added immediately before you serve it.)
*You can also use beef broth for a richer soup.
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My grandmother died, very suddenly, from a heart attack on December 13, 1981. From New York, I took the overnight train during a snowstorm to Vermont for her funeral. The next day, my Mom, her sister and I took the last loaf of her wonderful bread out of the freezer, defrosted it. toasted it and ate the whole thing ~ slathered with butter and sprinkled by salty tears.
I am a fairly proficient bread baker, but I have never been able to replicate the sheer magic of her bread. I do remember, though, how very good it was.
Thank you, Nana.