10 things to make with Thanksgiving leftovers
Leftover mashed potato soup
Prep School
OK, so you’re asleep at the wheel of a late-model Buick Regal going way too fast on a one-lane bridge high above a yawning, rocky gorge through which flows an alligator-infested river of fire. As you hurtle toward the far side of the bridge, you startle awake and remember that you’re on your way home, where you’ll spend the next several days preparing Thanksgiving dinner for a mixed and mottled assortment of relatives and acquaintances.
At this realization, do you: A) Seize control of the wheel and continue on your journey, or, B) Go back to sleep in the hopes your car smashes through the guardrail and plummets into the sharp and gnashing jaws of the conflagrating beasts waiting far, far below? For me, it’s a toss-up.
It’s not just the exhausting, multiday preparation of the traditional Thanksgiving spread, a meal I’ve never really liked in the first place. Turkey, stuffing, yams. Yams, for the love of God!
It’s also the fact that, when it’s (finally!) over and the brown, poultry-flavored dust has settled, all I want is to eat something — anything — that doesn’t taste like Norman Rockwell’s funeral repast. And that’s a problem in itself because, as we all know, half the fun of Thanksgiving is all those delicious leftovers! Spare me.
Ah, if only there were some way to exploit all those leftovers without having to re-create a warmed-over, desultory replica of Thursday’s feast.
If only …
Why you need to learn this
Waste not, want not, I always say. A penny saved is a penny earned. Look both ways before crossing the street. What’s the frequency, Kenneth? Mommy, I’m so very, very cold.
The steps you take
If you’re like me, you’re married to my wife. And that means you know that there’s nothing she loves more than a great big plate of Thanksgiving leftovers.
Me, on the other hand, as I said, I’m usually done before it even begins. I blame it on childhood holidays resplendent with turkey drama and overcooked family, in no particular order. Regardless, my strategy, polished o’er the years to a sparkly sheen, is to confine each recently passed holiday to the locked and darkened attic of my psyche and treat the leftovers groaning in the fridge as just another ingredient in something that I’d actually like to eat, irrespective of the time of year.
Tons of turkey? No prob. It’s close enough to chicken that I can pretend: pesto turkey salad, turkey quesadillas, turkey fried rice — it’s all good. And don’t ask me to wax longingly and at length about the Cobb salad, because I will.
Mashed potatoes? Ermagerd, so easy. Potato pancakes. Potato soup. Shepherd’s pie. Croquettes, gnocchi, pierogis — somebody stop me.
Green beans? Asian stir-fries, salade Nicoise, late-night nibbles picked surreptitiously with darting fingers directly from the fridge.
Truly I tell thee, most of the stuff of the Thanksgiving dance can be that easily doled out after the ball is over.
Here’s the thing about cooking with leftovers, though: When you’re following a recipe — any recipe — you should not believe it in the way you believe the Holy Writ of the faith of your choice. Recipes, unlike Writs writ Holy, are of human provenance and include ingredients and implements whose properties can vary from season to season and kitchen to kitchen.
In other words, all recipes are approximations — or, as I like to tell my students, “Recipe, schmecipe” — because different ingredients behave differently and different tools achieve different results.
Think of ovens, and how different brands will heat differently or how maybe they aren’t calibrated exactly. Or consider the many types of tomatoes, with different water contents, different acidities, different degrees of ripeness. And that’s not even considering the differences between canned and fresh!
When you’re introducing leftovers into the mix, then, recipes become even less reliable because, for example, your turkey gravy is probably totally different from mine: different flavor profile, different thickness, different texture, etc.
I say all this to remind you that, as with all things culinary, you yourself are the most important ingredient in the mix. Keep your end result in mind and taste as you go and you will increase the likelihood that you steer your chilly leftovers into something new and delicious rather than over the edge and into the charred abyss.
Take a gander at these ideas on what to do with each of the major T-day leftovers:
Turkey: Not-gross tetrazzini
Make a veloute: Whisk an ounce of flour into an ounce of melted butter, cook until it starts to color, then whisk in a pint of chicken broth. Add something for flavor: oregano, thyme, black pepper, chipotle if you’re feeling crazy. Let it simmer for 20-ish minutes. Meanwhile, saute 2 cups sliced mushrooms in very hot fat, then add garlic and a cup or two of turkey that you’ve cut or shredded into bite-size pieces. Cook another minute. A green vegetable wouldn’t kill you, either, so add peas or green beans. Now add the sauce. Add some hot cream, then taste for seasoning. Toss it with cooked noodles (about 12 ounces), and it should taste light and good, not gloppy and bad. And, yes, I know that many people bake their tetrazzini after combining the pasta and sauce, but, remember, this is the “notgross” kind. Just sayin’.
Stuffing: Meatloaf and meatballs
Ground meat products fare well when dosed with bready things. When the meat proteins coagulate, they squeeze out water. Bread soaks it up, keeping everything juicy as a ripe grape. Follow your favorite recipe and, however much meat it calls for, add about a third to a half that amount in stuffing, forsaking like former lovers all other bread products.
Mashed potatoes/sweet potatoes: Gnocchi or potato soup
Combine your smashed russets or yams with flour — about a 3-to-1 ratio. Add some Parmesan or ricotta if you like. Taste for seasoning. Roll into a potato rope like the Idaho cowboys use, roughly 3⁄4 inch in diameter. Cut into 1 1⁄2-inch pieces and roll each over the tines of a fork to make little indentations. Boil in salted water for 5 or 6 minutes, then serve with a scrape of parm and some brown butter and fresh sage sauce. For the soup, see the recipe.
Gravy: Pot pies, stews, etc.
Thin leftover gravy with broth or water until it just coats the back of a spoon. Cook separately bite-size pieces of vegetables: potatoes, carrots, peas, green beans, etc., and toss it all together along with cut-up turkey. Add some herbs, like thyme or herbs de Provence. Call it turkey stew, or turn it into turkey pot pie: Top it with biscuits and bake it in a 350-degree F oven until the biscuits brown. Or, thin it even more and add a splash of cream and, behold, cream of turkey soup.
Cranberry sauce: Salsa or chutney
For salsa, cut equal amounts of onion and green or yellow bell pepper into medium dice. Stir into leftover cranberry sauce along with minced garlic and cilantro and something for heat: jalapeno, chipotle, serrano, etc. Squeeze in some lime, then taste
Prep: 10 minutes
Cook: 15-20 minutes
Makes: about 6 servings shallot, minced
you’re using bacon, crisp it in a stock pot and remove it to hold as a garnish. Keep the fat in the pot.
Nutrition information per serving: 442 calories, 33 g fat, 15 g saturated fat, 71 mg cholesterol, 25 g carbohydrates, 2 g sugar, 13 g protein, 935 mg sodium, 2 g fiber for salt and serve with chips or quesadillas (turkey quesadillas!) or scrambled eggs or fresh fish or grilled chicken or anything else you like salsa on. Or reheat your sauce with bits of fresh or dried fruits, a pinch of cardamom or garam masala and, blammo, cranberry chutney!
Green beans: Several bean salad
Toss whatever cold, leftover beans you have with sliced onion, a bit of garlic, maybe some halved cherry tomatoes and any canned legumes of your choosing: chickpeas, kidneys, cannelloni, etc., Dress it all with a flavorful vinaigrette. Serve it with crusty bread for a light lunch.