It's Never Too Early To Prepare -- Gingered Orange Cranberry Sauce

Twenty-four years ago, in the weeks before I was married, I had nightmares.

It's typical, I know, for brides-to-be to envision being abandoned at the alter, or being betrayed by a bridemaid, or being propped up at the altar in something other than -- or rather, less than -- their wedding gown.  (Funny how none of us foresee our eventual divorce.  Hmm.)

My scary dream, on the other hand, was that my mom arrived to the church late.  Silly, right?  But I justify the worry as significant because there was even a song about it.  Remember?  "Get Me To The Church On Time"?

Anyone who knows me knows I like to be prepared.  I plan ahead.  I make lists.  I arrive on time  And in fairness, so does my mom.  Well, everything except that "on time" bit.  (I love you, Mommy!)  Nearly 30 years after their divorce, Dad still torments Mom about her, um, "flexibility" when it comes to schedules.  But really, we don't want to go down that path now ...

You should see the black-speckled composition book Mom gave me a few years after the wedding, crammed with Scotch-taped scraps of paper and Post-It notes itemizing all my wedding details -- catering, flowers, and clothing selections.  Budgets.  Guest lists.  Looking back, I'm surprised it didn't contain a honeymoon packing list.  Perhaps both of us had the good sense to ix-nay that one.

Hmmph.  Not hard to see where I acquired the "need to be ready" gene, right?  Which is why this time of year makes my skin want to crawl right off my body and into a solitary confinement cell.  I know full well what the coming weeks hold.  Lists wouldn't begin to meet my current cravings.  I'm beyond lists now.  I want to check things off those lists.  I don't want to plan.  I want to do.

I want to shop.  I want to procure.  I want to stash.

I want to wrap.  I want to write.  I want to address.

I want to slice.  I want to dice.  I want to cook.

Problem with cooking, though, is that there are still days to go before Thanksgiving.  And even more in the way of me and Christmas.  I've already stashed some Sausage Bread in the freezer, with six loaves of Pumpkin Bread companions.  The Cheese Wafer dough is in the fridge.  Gingered Cranberry Orange Sauce is next.

I love homemade cranberry sauce.  It's super simple to make and keeps for at least a week (maybe two).  This version is particularly flavorful.  Where the canned stuff may seem a little, ahem, peculiar to picky eaters, this version is fresh and tart and flavorful -- and nightmare-free.

Gingered Orange Cranberry Sauce
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1 seedless navel orange, cut in fine dice
2 teaspoons fresh grated ginger
2 whole cloves
2 whole allspice
2 peppercorns
1 12-ounce bag fresh cranberries

In medium saucepan, bring water, sugar, ginger and orange to a boil.  Reduce to simmer.  Put spices in a teaball or small cheesecloth bag and immerse in mixture. Stir in cranberries.  Simmer 15-20 minutes until thickened.  Remove spices, allow to cool to room temperature, and then, refrigerate.

'Tis The Season For Panic -- And For Baking

Right now, our front sidewalk appears to have been booby-trapped by Wile E. Coyote (Supergenius), except that instead of being lined with marbles fresh from The Acme Company, our sidewalk -- weed-whacked-edge-to-weed-whacked-edge – is encrusted with acorns.  Thousands and thousands of acorns.  Which, actually, with their needle-tipped ends, are more hazardous than marbles.  Even steelies.

This sidewalk is hardly a paved path.  It’s an ankle sprain waiting for crutches and the EMS to arrive.  Followed immediately thereafter by a personal injury lawyer.

Our neighborhood squirrels are frenzied – near panic – trying to harvest and store the bountiful harvest before it’s crushed beneath villainous car tires and Mike the Mailman’s heels.  Or worse, collected as evidence in the aforementioned lawsuit.

I’m with the squirrels.  The holiday season is upon us, and I’ve got my own frenzy -- making lists and stashing them in my purse, my room, the desk drawer, on the computer, the iPhone, and the backs of Harris Teeter receipts.  I’ve also begun stashing gifts, and in the process, have even found a few “lost” gifts from Christmases past.  (As if someone in the household could still fit in size “00” jeans.  Sigh.)

I’ve also, joyfully, begun holiday cooking.  Next week will be filled with pies – pecan, pumpkin, the dreaded mincemeat, the Best Cheesecake Ever – and the surprisingly irresistible Gingered Orange Cranberry Sauce.  This week, though, is devoted to things that can be prepared in advance, the impossible-to-eat-just-one Cheddar-Blue Cheese Wafers, cranberry-spiked Pumpkin Bread, Super Savory Crispix Mix, and the inadequately named and homely-sounding Sausage Bread.

Sausage Bread requires only three ingredients and is a holiday necessity Chez Wiles.  Not only is it the mandatory breakfast for both Thanksgiving and Christmas mornings, it makes a terrific tailgating treat, a welcomed hostess gift and is easily prepared in advance and frozen for travel.

Not quite, perhaps, as “genius” as Wile E. Coyote, but pretty darn close.  And to this point, no lawsuits either.

Sausage Bread

1 pkg (three loaves) frozen white bread dough (I use Bridgford)

2 lbs. good quality bulk sausage (I use either Fresh Market’s or Neese’s)

1 lb. grated Cheddar-Montery Jack blend

1 onion, diced, sautéed (optional)

1 bell pepper (any color) diced, sautéed (optional)

flour

mustard

Thaw dough and allow to come to room temperature.

Brown sausage in large skillet, breaking into small bits.  Stir in onion and bell pepper, if using.  Drain well in a colander.

Working with one loaf at a time, on a well-floured pastry board, roll and stretch dough out into a rectangle, measuring (very roughly) 9” x 14”.  (Note:  If dough is too chilled, it will not stretch sufficiently.)  Scatter 1/3 of sausage over dough.  Sprinkle with 1/3 (1 1/3 cups) cheese. 

Starting along long edge, gently roll up dough, tucking in sausage and cheese as you go.  This is a sloppy and imperfect process.  The dough will is very forgiving and will stretch, which is a good thing.  Just try not to tear it.

Once you’ve rolled up the entire loaf, jelly-roll style, use your finger to dampen the entire long edge with water, which will help “glue” the dough to itself.

At this point, I either cut the loaf in half, lengthwise, to form two smaller loaves, tugging the dough at either end and using water to “glue” it closed, OR, I form the entire long loaf into a circle, tucking one end into the other.  (The round loaf makes a lovely presentation as a gift.)

Repeat with remaining loaves, moving each to a well greased baking sheet.  Then, allow loaves to rise, until overall size increases by about 50%.  Depending on the temperature in your home, this may take 2-3 hours.

Once risen, bake in a 350 oven for 30-45 minutes, until well browned and crusty.  Remove from oven and cool on racks.  Serve warm with mustard, or allow to cool completely and freeze until needed.

The Key To A Well-Stocked Kitchen and Perfect Mashed Potatoes.

I am not a pack rat.

My local Salvation Army could very well attest to that fact.   Indeed, I wouldn’t be surprised if they developed a frequent donor program in my honor, complete with key tags, bumper stickers and punch cards  (“After your sixth donation, your seventh one is, um, welcome?”)

I’m not unsentimental, but where some people live by The Golden Rule and others are guided by The Serenity Prayer, the inspirational, uplifting words I live by are, If you haven’t worn it or used it in the past two years, lose it.  I have no problem disposing of unworn clothes, unneeded dishes, unopened boxes of glasses (adorned with hand-painted holly berries), unused gifts (Oh, you shouldn't have -- really!), or even an ex-husband’s bundle of high school newspapers and the snowsuit he wore when he was two.  (OK.  I actually asked whether he wanted those.)

I couldn’t possibly recall all the times Darling Daughter or Snarky Son (before he was "snarky") asked, “Have you seen my Beanie Baby/Lego Star Wars C3PO/15¢ McDonald’s Happy Meal Toy?” and to which, because I’m not a gifted liar, I'd have to look away and mutter in response, “Oh.  Can’t you find it?” knowing all the while that the suddenly-desired toy had taken a one-way, no-return trip to Goodwill.  And also knowing, that I may eventually discard something of such future monetary value that my then-adult child will have no recourse but to take me to court.  Just so you know, I’ll be good for the cost of therapy, but no other damages.

Last week, I loaded the Pilot up to the sunroof with a motley assortment of donation items which had been cluttering the attic for years, including teeny, tiny children’s backpacks, ridiculously-large pieces of luggage, slightly worn double-size bed sheets and twin-size comforters, a kitchen-sized Glad bag of dresses for third grade girls, two unused miniature Bose speakers and a brand new laser printer.  Or, at least it was "brand new" three years ago.

Despite these frequent purges, my closets, cabinets and pantry remain ridiculously well-stocked. I may not be a pack rat, but I stock up like a squirrel in acorn season.

Need some parchment paper?  Here’s a fresh roll.  Lemongrass?  Check the spice cabinet.  A biscuit cutter?  What size? 

And since Thanksgiving’s just around the corner, I’m also reminded that I have a ricer.

I only make mashed potatoes six or seven times a year, but this is one kitchen tool that will never see the inside of the Goodwill bin.  When I was a kid, my mom had a ricer too, but to my recollection, she only used it for ricing hard-boiled eggs to serve the day after Easter over shredded lettuce with Thousand Island dressing.  Since I was a kid, my natural reaction was, “Ick.”

I was an adult before I realized that the ricer -- not a masher, or heaven forbid, a handmixer --  is also the secret to making perfect-every-time, never-gluey-or-gloppy, velvety mashed potatoes – the only kind that should grace a table -- at Thanksgiving or any other meal.

Always Perfect Buttermilk Mashed Potatoes

Buttermilk adds the perfect tang – just like sour cream on a baked potato – without adding any real fat.  Despite the rich-sounding name, buttermilk has about as much fat as 1% milk.  Adding goat cheese makes the potatoes a bit richer and fancier.

2 lbs. Yukon Gold potatoes

3 cloves garlic, peeled
3 tablespoons butter

¾ cup buttermilk

4 ounces goat cheese (optional)

1 tablespoon minced fresh chives (optional)

1 tablespoon minced fresh parsley

fresh ground pepper

gracious plenty kosher salt

Put unpeeled potatoes and peeled garlic in a large stockpot.  Add enough water to cover and one tablespoon of kosher salt. Bring to a boil, then, reduce heat to simmer and cook gently until potato is easily pierced with a fork.  (Potatoes will cook more quickly if the pot is lidded.)

Remove and drain potatoes.  When cool enough to touch, use your fingers to peel off skin.  Cut potatoes in chunks.

Push through the ricer in batches, into a large bowl with remaining ingredients.  Heat from the potatoes will melt the butter and warm the milk.  (You could, of course, zap the ingredients in the microwave before adding the potatoes, too.)  Stir everything together, adjust seasoning, and serve.