Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it
But we hae meat and we can eat
And sae the Lord be thankit.
“The Selkirk Grace” is a 17th-century blessing that I first came across engraved into the rustic white pine walls of the country dining room of a cabin on a lake in New Hampshire, owned for generations by my former wife’s family. It was their grace of choice for any feast day, in particular, Thanksgiving.
Although Thanksgiving has conflicting sentimental and revisionist histories, feasting has become as codified as the competitive consumerist events (football, basketball, hockey and Black Friday). A roughly typical menu:
- Roast turkey — crisp and juicy (decidedly not the haggis of Burns’ Day on Jan. 25, when “The Selkirk Grace” is often recited)
- Cranberry sauce, homemade or that deep-red canned jelly
- A bread-based stuffing or mashed- or candy-like sweet potatoes, depending on heredity (and maybe both)
- Questionable vegetable virtue-signaling with green bean casserole or Brussels sprouts
- Pie (apple or pecan) with whipped cream
Although every family has its idiosyncratic variations, you can always count on the turkey (our national bird, pardoned or not) and cranberries. You can also count on an almost religious (and equally idiosyncratic) fervor to the preparation and presentation of all the food that usually means no one will leave the groaning board unsated.
And you can usually count on leftovers, the unspoken glory of the feast. Even Friendsgiving guests will go home with a doggy bag for the weekend.
The catalyst for this week’s column is just that, not so much a recipe as a strategy: Let’s call it The Gobbler. Think of it more as an overstuffed grilled cheese sandwich, taking advantage of whatever turkey you have, with just enough cranberry sauce to act as relish for the turkey and membrillo substitute for the cheese.
Left to my own devices, I’d chop up a bit of the roasted Brussels sprouts and shallots and add them to the stack, but you can always use Thanksgiving sides as day-after sides and be thankful once again for the bounty that you are privileged to.
The Gobbler
For one. Multiply as needed.
- 2 slices sourdough bread
- Dijon mustard
- Mayonnaise
- Thinly sliced or shredded turkey
- Cranberry sauce
- Cheese of choice* grated on the large holes of grater
- Room temperature unsalted butter
1. Place the two slices of bread side by side on a cutting board. Spread mayonnaise on one slice, Dijon mustard on the other.
2. Layer about ½- to ¾-inch of turkey on mayonnaise-slathered slice. Press lightly. Top with ¼- to ½-cup cranberry sauce. Top with ¼- to ½-inch shredded cheese and lay the mustard-slathered slice over the cheese, mustard side down. Press deliberately, but not too hard, to firm up the sandwich. Clean up the edges, because something is sure to ooze. Clean cutting board.
3. Heat a skillet that will fit your sandwich over medium to medium-low heat (you don’t want it too hot) while you butter the exposed top and bottom sides of the sandwich.
4. Place the sandwich in the heated pan with the turkey layer on the bottom. Press lightly with a spatula and cook for a few minutes until browned, checking regularly to ensure it’s not cooking too fast or burning. When browned on the bottom, carefully flip the sandwich and repeat browning process. (If you have a cover, that will help the cheese melt.)
5. When sufficiently browned, flip the sandwich carefully once more to briefly reheat the other side. Transfer to a cutting board and let cool for a minute or so. Cut in half and serve with a plain green salad or other warmed leftovers. Repeat as many times as necessary.
*Note: I like aged Gouda, or try an Alpine cheese like Jarlsberg, Emmental, Gruyère, Appenzeller or French Comté, Italian Asiago or Montasio, or even a good farmhouse cheddar.
