For Turkey Day!

This Time, Start with the Leftovers

By Rick Horowitz

Let's see now: We had the Jell-O mold with the fruit all through it. We had the carrots with the almond slivers. We had the tiny peas with the mint and the scallions. We had the noodle pudding. We had three kinds of stuffing: one from inside the bird, one from outside the bird, and one that never even heard of the bird. We had the bird. We had the gravy for the bird. Then for dessert, we had the pumpkin pie (with whipped cream), the cranberry mousse (with whipped cream), and the flourless chocolate cake (whipped cream optional).

No question about it, it was one of the best Sunday dinners we ever had.

Sunday? Wasn't that supposed to be Thursday dinner -- Thanksgiving Thursday, specifically? What are we, some kind of radicals?

Don't get your giblets in an uproar. We had the very same dinner on Thursday, too, just the way you're supposed to. Plus mashed potatoes, the only thing on the entire menu that didn't outlast the holiday and live on into the weekend -- and beyond.

The thing is -- you were wondering what the thing is, weren't you? -- the thing is, Sunday dinner tasted every bit as good as Thursday dinner. No: even better. All the juices had soaked in; all the flavors had matured. Everything was easier to slice and scoop and carve and serve.

I've heard this from other people, too -- the best Thanksgiving meal is Thanksgiving leftovers. Which raises the question: Why are we doing it the way we're doing it? And for that matter: Why not resolve right this minute, while the thought and the food are still fresh, to do it differently this year?

For instance, who cares if Thanksgiving officially falls on a Thursday? If everything tastes so much better three days later, why not have Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday? You can still spend all day Thursday cooking, the same as you do now. But instead of serving it on Thursday, when you're exhausted and half your guests would rather watch the football game, you can simply reheat it and serve it on Sunday, when you're well rested (and half your guests would rather watch the football game).

You say you're a creature of habit -- you've always eaten Thanksgiving dinner on Thanksgiving. Fine -- keep it there. Just do all your cooking ahead of time, on Sunday or Monday. That way, your guests and your leftovers will still hit the table together.

The point is, you've got to split Thanksgiving into two holidays: Cooking Thanksgiving and Eating Thanksgiving. It only makes sense -- why stuff it all into one day when you can do so much better stretching things out a bit?

Speaking of which -- stuffing and stretching -- is there any family ritual more stretched out, with more stuff and less payoff, than the Cooking of the Turkey? I mean, no offense to the millions of birds who give their lives so that others might burp, but as a food treat, this is one animal that's coasting on its reputation.

You sit there, kindly host or hostess, for two hours, three hours, four hours, while your turkey does whatever it is turkeys do under steady heat, and it starts to smell mighty good and your guests check in every 10 minutes with "Is it done yet?" And then finally it is done, every poultry pound of it, so you hoist it out of the oven, let the juices settle, carve it up perfectly and move the platter around. And your guests take a slice or two, bite in and say, "Yup -- that's turkey all right. Can you pass the Jell-O?"

Turkey (even good turkey) is the emcee at the culinary variety show -- Ed Sullivan with drumsticks -- pleasant, inoffensive and surrounded by all sorts of tastier talent. What's it doing getting top billing every year?

That's it! Maybe that's the key to the ultimate Thanksgiving experience: Make that three-day-old dinner we've been talking about -- on Thursday, on Sunday, whenever -- with nothing but side-dish leftovers.

Think of it as turkey dinner with all the trimmings. And no turkey.

I think we're onto something.