From the Jan., 2013 Bon Appetit

In its idealized state eating good food for me is not just about carving out a quiet space in which to savor something I love, but also a time to enjoy the company of friends, or myself, or even that TV series I can’t wait to tune into each week. I say idealized because while that frame of quietude may be the goal, as often as not I find myself wolfing something down while thinking about the various other tasks I need to do next. It’s an internally noisy kind of experience that’s the exact opposite of my food ideal, and often a source of some disappointment—like when the movie-version of your life fails to even remotely resemble the less well-acted, well-lit, well-directed reality. This pull is one I’ve been acutely aware of during the past week as I raced through various recipes I wanted to try (not surprisingly, none of which hit the mark), and as I’ve attempted on a number of occasions to sit down and compose this posting. Sometimes the noise of life—the schedules, the emails, the whatever it is that keeps us running—has a way of making creativity really challenging. Or at least it has that affect on me. So this is my attempt to say STOP!, to find a little window of quiet… and yes, to write something about these braised lamp shanks that makes some sense.

Let’s start with this: they’re wonderful, as is the recipe that helped me produce them. And this from someone who has never been a big fan of lamb… or for a long time didn’t think he was. That said, when I was in Morocco last December I found myself eating a fair amount of lamb, and liking it, which I suppose is one reason this recipe grabbed me when I came across it in the Jan. issue of Bon Appétit. On a superficial level it reminded me of the (many) lamb tagines I ate during my ten days there, though the truth is that the only real characteristic it shares with the classic North African dish is its slow cooking process. This, of course, is a key component of braising—a technique that has a number of advantages, not least of which is the wonderful flavor and texture it imparts on even the toughest cuts of meat, producing something that falls right off the bone.

The other thing this particular recipe has going for it (and that differentiates it from any of the lamb dishes I ate in Marrakesh) is the presence of two large fennel bulbs (sliced into 1-inch wedges)—an element that once cooked lends the dish a subtle, aromatic sweetness. As such it’s the perfect counterpoint to the potatoes, the carrots, the olives, and, of course, the meat that also make up the dish. And all of these ingredients benefit from the presence of the braising liquid, which in this case is a mixture of white wine (or dry vermouth) and chicken stock—with the former imparting a mild acidity to the finished product.

I’ll resist the temptation of walking you through the various steps involved in the actual cooking process, as the directions are listed below and require little annotation from me. I do, however, want to underscore the importance of searing the meat well prior to braising (it should be a deep brown color), as this step provides a wonderful caramelized quality to the meat while also imparting blasts of rich flavor into the braising liquid (the magical combination of fat and seasonings plus heat). It’s a critical process that’s aided by a fast cooking of the various base ingredients, namely fennel seeds, garlic, anchovies, thyme, and tomato paste, none of which is particularly distinct in the final tasting, but that together combine to deliver a depth of flavor to both the sauce and the shanks.

Having said that, the one tip I can offer is to work with a heavy pot that holds in the neighborhood of 7½ quarts (I used a 6½-quart size and had a hard time squeezing in my six pounds of shanks along with the braising liquid and the various vegetables). The other thing worth mentioning is that, as with any dish that involves slow cooking, most of the real work occurs in the early stages of the process (the chopping, the searing, the stirring), with the remainder completed in the oven. In other words, this is the perfect dish to make when you have a few friends coming over and don’t feel like racing around the kitchen while everyone is gossiping and telling funny stories in the other room. Also, as with any braised dish, the flavors will only deepen with an overnight stay in the fridge, so if you can, prepare the shanks the day before, then reheat them prior to serving (precise directions are included below).

Although the magazine suggests the dish as the perfect cold weather meal, I also think it’s great for these early spring days when the temperature outside is still cool-ish, but it’s only just drifting into dusk as you sit down to eat. it’s warming and filling in just the way you want, while also being bright and sunny. Time it right and all that noise will just fade into the background.

Ingredients:
—1/2 tsp fennel seeds
—6 lamb shanks (about 1 lb each)
—Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper (to taste)
—4 tbs olive oil, divided
—4 garlic cloves, chopped
—2 anchovy fillets packed in oil, drained, chopped
—1 tbs chopped fresh thyme
—1 tbs tomato paste
—1½ cups dry white wine or dry vermouth
—2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
—2 bay leaves
—2 large fennel bulbs (about 1½ lbs total), cut into 1” wedges
—1 lb baby red-skinned potatoes, halved
—1/2 lb medium carrots (about 3), peeled, cut into 3” lengths, halved lengthwise, if large
—1/4 cup pitted, halved green olives (such as Picholine or Lucques), divided
—1/4 cup coarsely chopped flat-leaf parsley

Special equipment:
—A spice mill (optional)

Directions:
—Place a rack in lower third of oven; preheat to 325˚.
—Toast fennel seeds in a small skillet over medium heat until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Let cool. Grind in spice mill or with a mortar and pestle.
—Season lamb shanks with salt and pepper. Heat 2 tbs oil in a large heavy pot (about 7½ quarts) over medium-high heat. Working in batches, cook lamb shanks, reducing heat as needed to prevent overbrowning, until browned on all sides, 8 to 10 minutes per batch. Transfer lamb shanks to a plate.
—Add remaining 2 tbs oil to pot and reduce heat to medium-low. Add ground fennel seeds, garlic, anchovies, thyme, and tomato paste and stir just until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add wine, scraping up any browned bits from bottom of pot. Bring to a simmer and cook until wine is slightly reduced, about 3 minutes.
—Add broth and bay leaves. Return lamb shanks to pot, arranging shanks “head to toe” so they fit in an even layer (the meat should not be completely covered by the broth). Cover pot and transfer to oven. Braise for 1½ hours.
—Turn lamb shanks over. Add fennel, potatoes, carrots, and ¼ cup olives and tuck in around lamb shanks, submerging some in the liquid (they will cook whether they are submerged or not). Braise until meat and vegetables are fork-tender, about 45 minutes longer. (Note: Lamb can be made up to 3 days ahead. Let cool slightly, then chill, uncovered, until cold. Cover and keep chilled. Rewarm before continuing.)
—Using tongs and a slotted spoon, transfer lamb shanks and vegetables to a serving platter. Scatter remaining ¼ cup olives over and cover with foil to keep warm.
—Discard bay leaves from cooking liquid. Bring to a simmer over medium heat. Skim fat from cooking liquid. Simmer liquid until it thickens slightly, 15 to 20 minutes (you should have about 1½ cups).
—Season sauce with salt and pepper and pour over lamb shanks and vegetables. Sprinkle with parsley.
—Serve with a loaf of crusty bread for sopping up the juices.

Serves 6

The post 04/30/13 • BRAISED LAMB SHANKS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen 

I know, I know, lasagna—not exactly consistent with the theme of last week’s posting in which I gave voice to a post-holiday impulse to lay off the sort of rich, rib-sticking foods I’m usually drawn to. What can I say? I did that for a few days, and then, well, I didn’t want to anymore. And in truth, I’m a big believer in giving your body what it’s asking for, so if it wants spinach give it spinach, and if it wants pizza, give it pizza… at least in moderation. Anyway, that approach has pretty much worked for me, with an understanding that if the pizza begins to outweigh the spinach, it may require a dialing up of the exercise routine. Still, lasagna is the sort of thing I never make and rarely order, despite the fact that it’s a dish I really, really like (I mean seriously, who doesn’t?). It’s simply one of those foods, like chocolate cake and fried chicken, that I managed to erase from my inner favorite foods hard drive, having determined that it posed too much of a challenge even for my relatively speedy metabolism. But several months ago, when my friend Dennis casually mentioned that he’d made lasagna the previous weekend, the lost (or at least hidden) memory of that seductive dish came rushing back, reigniting a craving that proved as powerful as it was insistent. I’m not exaggerating when I say that anytime the issue of what to cook arose, lasagna was at the head of the line, demanding equal consideration. And so, in the end, there was nothing to do but ignore my reservations and welcome the dish back into the kitchen.

Of course, that eventual waving in process also involved finding the right recipe, a process which took longer than expected as I discovered one more reason the dish hadn’t been featured on my table lately: most versions of it can take the better part of a day to prepare. That was more time than I was ready to commit to something I wasn’t convinced I should be making at all. Still, if I could find a recipe that somehow sped up the process to no more than a few hours without giving up the rich sauce and classic mix of ingredients I associated with all of my favorite lasagna-eating experiences (namely ricotta cheese, mozzarella, Parmesan, and sausage—this last an absolute requirement) then I was in. And after scanning my own archives and a variety of cooking magazine websites, that’s exactly what I found in the ever-reliable America’s Test Kitchen cookbook.

As I recall, “simple” was the key word in their description, and while I question whether any lasagna, no matter how speedy its assembly, can ever be called simple (let’s face it, with its multiple layers of sauce, noodles, and cheese, few dishes require more assembly than this one), two key shortcuts promised to get me to the finish line in record time. The first involved fashioning a bolognese that had all of the rich, well-rounded flavors of a long simmered sauce but in just a fraction of the time. And the second with swapping out traditional lasagna noodles with the no-boil variety (also called “oven ready”) that are now standard issue on most supermarket shelves—a step that eliminates the laborious process of boiling the noodles, then plunging them in ice water and carefully laying them out so they don’t clump, all prior to putting together the actual dish.

Of course, many recipes make promises—the question is: do they deliver? In the case of this one I’m here to tell you that it does, in large part because that meat sauce is so damn good. Traditionally the sauce’s richness comes from a slow-cooking process that takes hours to complete, but that here is achieved through a handful of steps completed in little more than 20 minutes. The key is simmering the onion, garlic and meat together for a few minutes, adding a small amount of cream for body, then incorporating both the puréed and the diced tomatoes in the final minutes. It’s a combination that ensures the finished sauce will be velvety smooth while still offering the homey satisfaction of chunks of whole tomatoes—a case of having your cake and eating it too. Just be sure to pour the juice off the diced variety before adding it to the pot or the finished product will be disappointingly wet and loose. It’s a mistake I made, and while it had no discernible effect on the flavor of the dish, a slice of lasagna should look firm and almost block-like and not, well, like a melting mound of tomato-smothered noodles.

That said, I tend to like my sauce slightly tangier than I found this one to be. If you’re similarly inclined, increase the salt from a ½ to ¾ of a teaspoon, and add a ¼ cup chopped fresh basil along with a ¼ tsp dried oregano—minor tweaks that ratchet up the flavor quotient. Of course, where anything tomato-y is concerned I lean towards the heavily seasoned, so let your own preferences guide you here. Either way, the sauce will still have plenty of full-bodied flavor.

And as for the all-important meat component, the recipe suggests using a pound of meatloaf mix (equal parts beef, pork, and veal), though it notes that a ½ pound each of beef and sweet Italian sausage will also do the trick. Given my porky preferences mentioned above, I naturally went for the sausage alternative—a move that delivered just the sort of mildly spicy flavor I was looking for. And if you buy the sausage in bulk form you can avoid the time consuming process of removing the meat from its casings.

Although the cooking time required an additional 10 minutes to achieve the bubbly, spotty brown appearance called for in ATK’s directions, the entire recipe from start to finish is still blessedly fast—clocking in at less than an hour-and-a-half, including 10 minutes for cooling. Which means that other than waistline concerns there’s absolutely no reason not to satisfy your lasagna craving on a regular basis. Of course, add the slick of melted cheese to tender noodles and a rich meat sauce and you have a combination that’s famously hard to say no to, which means it’s great dish to have on hand when you’re feeding a crowd but dangerous if it’s just one or two of you (in other words, leftovers spell danger). As Alfredo said to me last night after we’d each inhaled a second serving, “Definitely make this again… just not too often.”

Ingredients:
—1 tbs olive oil
—1 medium onion, chopped fine (about 1 cup)
—6 medium cloves garlic, pressed through a garlic press or minced (about 2 tbs)
—1 lb. meatloaf mix or 1/3 lb. each ground beef chuck, ground veal, and ground pork. (Note: ½ lb ground beef and a ½ lb sweet Italian sausage removed from the casings can also be substituted.)
—1/2 tsp table salt (TRG note: increase to ¾ tsp if you like things a little saltier)
—1/2 tsp ground black pepper
—1/4 cup heavy cream
—1 28-oz can tomato purée
—1 28-oz can diced tomatoes, drained
—1/4 tsp dried oregano (TRG note: optional)
—15 oz ricotta cheese (whole milk or part skim), (1¾ cups)
—2½ oz grated Parmesan cheese (1¼ cups)
—1/2 cup chopped fresh basil (TRG note: plus an additional ¼ tsp for the sauce, if desired)
—1 large egg, lightly beaten
—1/2 tsp table salt
—1/2 tsp ground black pepper
—12 no-boil lasagna noodles from one 8- or 9-ounce package.
—16 oz whole milk mozzarella, shredded (4 cups)

Directions:
—Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 375˚.
—Heat oil in large, heavy-bottomed Dutch oven over medium heat until shimmering but not smoking, about 2 minutes; add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened but not browned, about 2 minutes. Add garlic and cook until fragrant, about 2 minutes.
—Increase heat to medium-high and add ground meats, salt, and pepper; cook, breaking meat into small pieces with wooden spoon, until meat loses its raw color but has not browned, about 4 minutes.
—Add cream and simmer, stirring occasionally, until liquid evaporates and only fat remains, about 4 minutes. Add pureed and drained diced tomatoes and bring to simmer, along with 1/4 cup chopped fresh basil and 1/4 tsp dried oregano (if using); reduce heat to low and simmer slowly until flavors are blended, about 3 minutes; set sauce aside. (Sauce can be cooled, covered, and refrigerated for up to 2 days; reheat before assembling lasagna.)
—Mix ricotta, 1 cup Parmesan, basil, egg, salt, and pepper in medium bowl with fork until well-combined and creamy; set aside.
—Smear entire bottom of a 9- by 13-inch baking dish with ¼ cup meat sauce. Place three noodles on top of sauce, then drop 3 tbs ricotta mixture down center of each noodle, leveling the cheese by pressing flat with back of measuring spoon. Sprinkle evenly with 1 cup shredded mozzarella, and spoon 1½ cups meat sauce evenly across the cheese. Repeat layering of noodles, ricotta, mozzarella, and sauce two more times. Place three remaining noodles on top of sauce, spread remaining sauce over noodles, sprinkle with remaining cup mozzarella, then with remaining ¼ cup Parmesan.
—Lightly spray a large sheet of foil with nonstick cooking spray and cover lasagna. Bake 15 minutes, then remove foil. Return lasagna to oven and continue to bake until cheese is spotty brown and sauce is bubbling, about 25 minutes longer. Cool lasagna about 10 minutes; cut into pieces and serve.

Serves 6 to 8

The post 01/17/13 • SPEED DEMONS’ LASAGNA appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

After nearly twenty-five years of being partnered with a Miami-born Cuban American, I’ve come to have a certain proprietary feeling for many of the national dishes he grew up with. Okay, maybe ropa vieja and arroz con pollo don’t have the same nostalgic pull for me as they do for Alfredo, but when it comes to the what-to-eat-on-a-Sunday-night-because-you’re-feeling-blue test (the ultimate comfort food yard-stick in my book) Cuban cooking is right up there for me with spaghetti and meatballs. Perhaps that’s why I felt entitled to take some liberties with one of my favorite Cuban dishes, picadillo. For anyone not familiar with this spectacularly satisfying (and easy) dish, it’s essentially ground beef that’s been added to a quick sauté of onions, peppers, and garlic (known as a sofrito — the foundation for most Latin cooking), then enhanced with a variety of savory ingredients such as olives, capers, tomato sauce, and white vinegar. I mean can you imagine a better combination? Of course, like most dishes that have been passed down from one generation to the next, nearly every Cuban cook has his or her own way of making picadillo (some add pork to the ground beef, others fried potatoes), but when it comes to serving it, the standard seems to be alongside a large quantity of white rice (with the possible addition of a fried egg on top). Either way, it’s a combo that’s hard to beat.

Still, as much as I love this dish in its classic form — and especially when accompanied by a serving of fried plantains and black beans — I wondered what would happen if you baked it in a casserole, crowned by a puree of something starchy. It was an idea that first started nagging at me as I flipped through the current issue of Fine Cooking and came across their recipe for cottage pie topped with mashed sweet potatoes.

Of course, the filling for both cottage pie and its cousin shepherd’s pie (the former is made with ground beef, the latter with cubed lamb) is similar to that of picadillo, in that all three involve sautéing the meat with a variety of aromatics, tomato (in some form or other), and a range of other ingredients, though it’s a similarity I’d never given much thought to, that is until I stumbled on that Fine Cooking recipe — or more specifically, the image that accompanied it. What’s more, it reminded me that as much as I’ve enjoyed the meat and lamb fillings in both cottage and shepherd’s pie, I’ve never enjoyed either as much as I have a good picadillo. Which prompted me to ask: why not introduce a little Latin beat into these staid English classics?

Nailing the filling would be easy enough — true Cuban cooks may work from closely guarded family formulas, but I’ve always followed the picadillo recipe found in A Taste of Old Cuba, and it’s never failed to deliver. No, the bigger challenge was what to layer over top. This proved something of a puzzle, as in my (albeit limited) experience of Cuban cooking, mashed or pureed anything has never really had a starring role (the one exception: yucca, which I deemed too fibrous to work here). Might this perhaps be an occasion for the sweet potato topping used in the Fine Cooking recipe? I knew from Alfredo that the starch was one he’d eaten each year at his family’s Thanksgiving dinner (pureed and studded with marshmallows), though that didn’t exactly convince me of its Cuban bona fides, much less that it would do the trick here.

Unsure, I reached out to someone I felt could fill in the gaps in my limited Cuban cooking catalog — Alfredo’s sister, Anika. She quickly shot down the idea of sweet potato as (just as I had feared) it tends not to show up much in the national larder. Instead, she threw out the name of something I’d never heard of, much less tasted: malanga. A quick Internet search revealed this to be a root vegetable popular in the tropics and South America that can be found in the US at “Latin American markets” — not exactly Cuban and, from the sound of it, not exactly easy to find, but perhaps the answer nonetheless. I’m not quite sure what makes a market “Latin American” but none of the ones I know that carry Latin American brands and/or ingredients were familiar with this particular vegetable. So I again threw my net wide, asking a Dominican friend who lives in Queens if he knew where I could find the tuber — the next day, six showed up at my door. My malanga moment had arrived.

Now here’s something you should know about uncooked malanga — it isn’t pretty. That was my reaction, anyway, as I stared at what looked like nothing so much as a dirty potato in need of a shave. But cut it in half and the tuber reveals a sweet, slightly melon-y smell, along with pale pink flesh the texture of eggplant. And, suggesting that the vegetable might be more common to Cuban cooking that I’d originally thought, I discovered that my cookbook did, in fact, offer a recipe for mashed malanga — one I followed to a point, cutting the vegetable in thick slices as directed, then placing the peeled rounds in a pot of boiling water. But when it came to the final step, I decided the preparation called for a little doctoring, replacing the suggested milk with half-and-half, and adding a handful of roasted garlic into the mix for good measure. The additions were sound ones, and the finished puree was rich, creamy, and full of flavor – similar to mashed potatoes but with a hint of sweetness. It was just the thing to top my picadillo pie (which, by the way, a series of forkfuls had already convinced me would soon be touted as one of the great inventions of 2012… I mean, they give awards for these things, right?!).

But given the challenges I’d encountered trying to locate malanga in the melting pot that is New York City, I couldn’t assume others around the country would be able to land their hands on any. So an alternate version of the dish was clearly in order — one that I decided to top with garlic mashed potatoes instead (based on a crowd-pleasing recipe from America’s Test Kitchen). Of course, standard potato doesn’t show up in Cuban cooking any more than sweet potato does, but I figured the addition of the garlic would at least take it in a Latin direction. And while the potato variety presented something a little less exotic than the malanga, it too proved an appealing counterpoint to the acidic tang of the beef mixture. (Directions for both options are included below.) Award or no, both versions had earned a permanent spot in my personal Cuban/American cookbook.

A few final thoughts about the recipe: to get the proportion of meat to starch correct I ended up doubling my picadillo recipe (which serves six), so if you’re interested in trying the dish in its traditional form and are only looking to feed that number, feel free to cut the recipe listed below in half. Also, don’t underestimate the importance of using very lean meat here, as too much fat can (and likely will) lead to a smoke filled kitchen once the casserole meets your oven. Lastly, while raisins (a key ingredient in any picadillo) may seem odd in the company of a mashed potato topping, bear in mind that once cooked alongside the meat and other ingredients, their concentrated sweetness dissipates, taking on the combined flavors in the pan. In other words, they’re a good addition. Still, if you just can’t get past the idea, they can always be omitted.

Ingredients for the picadillo filling:
—2 tbs vegetable oil
—2 medium onions, peeled and chopped
—2 large green bell peppers, cored, seeded, and chopped
—6 garlic cloves, peeled and minced
—2 lbs extra-lean (95%) ground beef
—1/2 cup tomato sauce
—1/2 cup sliced, stuffed green olives
—1/2 cup raisins
—2 tbs capers
—4 tbs white vinegar
—1/2 tsp sugar
—2 tsp salt
—1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
—Two 6 oz jars of pimientos, drained and sliced

Ingredients for the topping:
—10 cloves garlic (small to medium-large), skins left on
—2 lbs potatoes or malanga (see note below); unpeeled and scrubbed for the potatoes; scrubbed, sliced into 1” pieces, then peeled for the malanga
—8 tbs unsalted butter (1 stick), melted
—1 cup half-and-half, (warm)
—1/2 tsp table salt
—Ground black pepper

Note: Malanga is a root vegetable popular in the tropics and South America, and can be found in the US at many Latin American markets. It’s generally about the size and shape of a regular russet potato, while the interior can vary in color from cream, yellow, or pink. Although the texture is extremely crisp, once cooked it produces something lighter and flakier than a standard potato. Malanga can be baked, mashed, fried, or otherwise used as you would a potato.

Directions for the picadillo filling:
—Heat oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Saute the onion and green pepper until the onion is translucent, about 3 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 2 minutes more.
—Add the beef and break it up well; there should be no lumps. Stir in the tomato sauce, olives, raisins, capers, vinegar, sugar, salt, and pepper. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes, or until the consistency is like that of sloppy joes.

Directions for the topping:
—Toast garlic, covered, in a small skillet over low heat, shaking pan frequently, until cloves start to go dark and are slightly softened, about 20 to 25 minutes. Off hear, let stand, covered, until fully softened, 15 to 20 minutes. Peel cloves and, with paring knife, cut off root.
—While garlic is toasting, place potatoes or malanga in a large saucepan and cover with 1 inch water. Bring to boil over high heat; reduce heat to medium-low and simmer until tender (a paring knife can be slipped into and out of center with little resistance), 20 to 30 minutes. Drain. Let cool.
—Set food mill or ricer over now empty but still warm saucepan. If using potatoes, spear with fork, then peel back skin, cut into chunks, and drop into bowl of ricer or food mill; if using malanga, simply cut into chunks and drop into bowl of ricer or food mill. Add toasted garlic and puree along with the potatoes or malanga into saucepan.
—Stir in butter with wooden spoon until incorporated; gently whisk in half-and-half, salt, and pepper to taste.

Directions for final assembly:
—Position a rack in the center of the oven and heat to 425 degrees.
—Transfer the meat mixture to a 2 qt. sized baking dish. Spread the potato or malanga mixture over the top in an even layer making a pattern with the tines of a dinner fork, then place on baking sheet to catch any drips. Bake until bubbling around edges, about 30 minutes. Switch to broil setting and position rack about 6 inches from the broiler element. Broil until starch topping is lightly toasted, 2 to 4 minutes.
—Let cool at least 15 minutes.

Special equipment:
—A food mill or ricer.

The post 01/12 /12 • CUBANO COTTAGE PIE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

As featured in Vanity Fair • 11/23/2011 • www.vf.com

Everyone has at least one favorite Thanksgiving recipe. I can think of about ten that immediately spring to mind, and over time I hope to bring all of them to you (as Dorie Greenspan once said to me, food is ultimately about sharing, a concept that effectively kills the idea of the “secret recipe”). But this year, for my first Thanksgiving posting, rather than focusing on my favorite stuffing recipe, or my preferred way to roast the bird, I wanted to address what I thought might be a more interesting challenge — namely, what to do with all those holiday leftovers.

I should probably start by saying that I love Thanksgiving. I love the tradition of sharing a big meal with the people I care about; I love the buildup and the preparation to a giant feast; and I love the food. I mean I REALLY love the food. That typically means that despite any promises I may make to myself in advance, by the time the big day arrives, ambition has overtaken good sense and I have considerably more food on the table than our assembled numbers could possibly consume. To some extent that’s intentional — nothing would be more disappointing than spending days cooking only to have it gone in one gut-busting meal; I want the experience to last for at least several more. But as wonderful as a reheated plate of turkey, stuffing, gravy, etc., can be (and truthfully, it can sometimes be even better the second and third time around), there are only so many repeats even the biggest meat-head like me can handle. The same holds true for the much-loved turkey sandwich. So with a nod to Peggy Lee I wondered: is that all there is . . . to Thanksgiving leftovers?

The answer, I felt certain, was no. With that in mind I set about coming up with a recipe that would call into play those post-Thanksgiving elements that most of us have in excess — namely, the turkey, the gravy, and a motley assortment of roasted vegetables. What I envisioned was a way to transform these various stray items into one tidy meal that would taste as pulled together as it looked. In other words, I wanted something that would rid the ingredients of their “leftover” status and imbue them with a purpose all their own. The solution: a casserole.

Admittedly, I type the word “casserole” with a degree of trepidation, as for most of us the term calls up images of 1950s-era dishes that aren’t quite ready for a comeback (tuna casserole anyone? . . . No, I thought not). Still, if you think of a casserole as a variety of ingredients cooked together in the same dish in which it’s ultimately served, a much more enticing array of options come to mind — things like shepherd’s pie, lasagna, and any sort of pot pie. I happen to be a big fan of all of these dishes, both because they’re consistent crowd pleasers, but also because much of the work involved in making them can be done well in advance of chow time, which means that if you’re feeding a crowd you don’t need to be scrambling in the kitchen as your guests arrive.

For all of these reasons — and because I can never get enough of it — chicken pot pie shows up regularly at my house, so a turkey based version seemed a logical way to go here. By taking elements from my favorite chicken pot pie recipe and substituting the meat and sauce called for with the same amounts of my leftover turkey and gravy, I felt certain I could come up with a new day-after-Thanksgiving tradition. And then an idea took hold — instead of a standard pastry topping, why not crown the surface of the turkey mixture with one made of biscuits? Not only would the result be a kind of one dish Thanksgiving dinner, but it would also have some of the qualities of another of my cool weather favorites, chicken and dumplings. And by using leftover meat and gravy, much of the time involved in my admittedly labor-intensive chicken pot pie starting-point would be eliminated, making the cooking process a relatively speedy one. All I’d need to do is roast some vegetables (potatoes, certainly, as well as some carrots, a few handfuls of pearl onions, some sliced Cremini mushrooms, a nice mound of chopped garlic and herbs, all of it tossed with a little olive oil), mix them with the sauce, the diced turkey meat, and a cup of thawed frozen peas, cover with the biscuits (allow ten minutes to prepare these, tops), and presto: Thanksgiving rebooted. Simple.

And delicious, too — so delicious that even when I don’t have four cups of roast turkey meat and gravy sitting in the fridge, I’ll be tempted to make this. (For those who feel the same, or who find they don’t have quite enough leftovers to work with, I’ve included easy recipes for each of these elements below). It’s also spectacular looking, with the golden brown biscuits towering over the bubbling turkey and vegetable mixture. In fact, these biscuits are so impressive they resembled tiny individual souffles (the recipe is based on one from America’s Test Kitchen and is the answer to all the biscuit related hand-wringing expressed in my breakfast biscuit sandwich posting of Sept. 16th). Just be certain to bake the casserole mixture uncovered for about twenty minutes in a hot oven (450 degrees) before adding the dough, as the turkey and sauce must be sufficiently heated to cook the undersides of the biscuits.

Serve with a spoonful or two of leftover cranberry sauce and you may just end up giving the main event a run for its money. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Ingredients for filling:
—4 cups leftover turkey meat (diced in 1” or ½” chunks from about 10 slices; see ingredients and directions below if making fresh)
—4 cups leftover gravy (see ingredients and instructions below if making fresh)
—2 tbs olive oil
—Salt and freshly ground black pepper
—2 cups ½” potato chunks, preferably Yukon Gold
—36 purple pearl onions, peeled and left whole
—2 cups ½” peeled carrot chunks
—1 clove garlic, peeled and chopped
—20 button mushrooms, stems trimmed and caps halved or quartered (if large)
—2 tbs chopped assorted fresh herbs (rosemary, thyme, Italian parsley)
—1 cup defrosted frozen peas

Note: Feel free to add as much as a 1/2 cup leftover cooked vegetables, diced, as well.

Ingredients for biscuit topping:
—8 tbs (1 stick) unsalted butter
—4 tbs vegetable shortening
—3 cups all-purpose flour
—1 tbs sugar
—1 tbs baking powder
—1 tsp salt
—1/2 tsp baking soda
—1¼ cups buttermilk

Ingredients for roast turkey breast (if not using leftovers):
—1 2¼ boneless turkey breast, net removed
—2 tbs extra-virgin olive oil
—1½ tsp coarse salt
—1 tsp freshly ground pepper
—2 tbs chopped rosemary and thyme

Ingredients for gravy (if not using leftovers):
—4 cups homemade turkey stock or store bought low-salt chicken stock
—6 tbs butter
—6 tbs all-purpose flour
—2 tbs chopped assorted fresh herbs (rosemary, thyme, Italian parsley)
—6 dried porcini mushrooms
—2 tbs Madeira, preferably Sercial

Misc.:
—Leftover cranberry sauce, for serving

Directions for roasted vegetables and filling:
—Position a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 350 degrees. In a large roasting pan toss the potatoes, onions, carrots, garlic and mushrooms with 2 tablespoons olive oil and the chopped herbs. Roast until the vegetables are tender, about 1 hour and 15 minutes, stirring the vegetables every fifteen minutes or so. Proceed with gravy, if making (instructions below).
—Transfer the vegetables to a large bowl and add the peas, the chopped turkey, and the gravy. Gently stir and adjust seasoning, as needed.
—Preheat oven to 450 degrees.
—Transfer mixture to a 2-quart baking dish and place on top of a cookie sheet (to catch any drips). Place on middle rack in a 450 degree oven for about 20 minutes, until beginning to bubble but keeping an eye out to make sure the top doesn’t burn (if it does, cover with foil and continue to cook for the remaining time). Proceed with biscuit topping (instructions below).

Directions for biscuit topping:
—Cut butter and shortening into ½” pieces and refrigerate until chilled, about 30 minutes.
—Pulse flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and baking soda in food processor until combined. Add chilled butter and shortening and pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal.
—Transfer flour mixture to a large bowl and stir in buttermilk until combined. Turn dough unto lightly floured surface and knead briefly, 8 to 10 times, to form smooth, cohesive ball. Roll dough into a 9” circle, about ¾” thick.
—Using a 3” biscuit cutter dipped in flour, cut out rounds. Gather remaining dough and pat gently into a ¾” circle to cut additional rounds. Place rounds on cooked turkey mixture, or on a parchment-lined cookie sheet and refrigerate, covered with plastic warp, for up to 1 day.

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