For my husband’s family, conversation–even the exchange of trivia–is highly prized, so dinner with the in-laws is always a lively, animated affair. The actual meal, though, might be less inspired. My own family’s inclinations are markedly different, with the food on the table at center stage, prompting boisterous sharings over second and third helpings. The meals are equally convivial, but in a different fashion.
When my brother, the youngest, graduated high school, my parents fled 2,000 miles northwest, so, after I met my husband, most of our holidays were spent with his family at his parents’ home in Dearborn. Their traditional Christmas dinner tended to duplicate Thanksgiving–roast turkey, unseasoned, with Pepperidge Farm stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, plain winter squash puree, Bird’s Eye frozen peas with pearl onions, and soft rolls. Thankfully, the cranberry sauce was usually homemade, and the salad, served with a choice of bottled dressings, came dotted with good blue cheese. While I love my in-laws and appreciate the importance of tradition and continuity–and even conversation–I can’t pretend those meals were the highlight of the holidays.
So when my in-laws moved out of their big house, and my husband and I began hosting Christmas dinner (and usually traveling at Thanksgiving), I vowed to bring some excitement to the food. There might be cranberries, for instance, but they’d be ground raw with fresh horseradish and made into a relish for a rib roast. Winter squash would be highly spiced, roasted, and tossed with a date dressing or mixed into a gratin. The centerpiece could be that rib roast, a whole fish, or braised goat legs. Neither peas (not fresh or seasonal) nor turkey (dry and dull) would grace our table.
We’ve served all those new dishes–and many more–since we started hosting, blending our families together as my parents moved back to Michigan and nieces and nephews began raising their own kids. We try to make each year different, even if some basic ingredients repeat. Often our garden dictates some side dishes, and this year I know winter squash, Concord grapes, and maybe even roasted poblano peppers will make it onto the menu.
The hardest decision is the entree. With twenty-some people, it’s easiest if the main dish is a big “something”–like a turkey, but tastier. Cooking six to eight ducks, for example, is a bit too ambitious if I want to enjoy the day too, although once I did roast duck legs, which were fairly simple and a big hit. Other factors narrow our options. One sister-in-law’s family is Jewish, though not strictly observant; still, a crown roast of pork seems a tad inhospitable. Another sister-in-law doesn’t favor lamb, though I don’t always avoid it, particularly at Easter, which we’ve also inherited. As this Christmas approached, I realized that, after ten years of hosting, I needed to go shopping for new holiday ideas.
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I stop first at the newly expanded Arbor Farms. While its prepared food and deli offerings have grown substantially–enhanced by a sunny, open cafe area facing W. Stadium–its best options for those of us making our own Christmas dinner remain the grass-fed beef and lamb from Manchester’s Lamb Farm. I muse over the selection for a bit but decide that if my sister-in-law doesn’t enjoy lamb and I’m not inclined towards beef, I better move on.
I contemplate vegetarian options–my Jewish sister-in-law leans heavily in that direction–but decide others (my mother, certainly) would miss the epic presentation of a protein-laden Christmas platter. I drive to Kerrytown, where, between Durham’s Tracklements and Smokery, Mona-han’s Seafood Market, and Sparrow Meats, I’m sure to find something, if not for the entree, then for hors d’oeuvres beforehand.
In the past, Mike Monahan has told me it’s hard to promise he’ll have certain things for the holidays. The airlines, which fly in the daily catches from the coasts, make passengers a priority during the holidays, and cargo often gets bumped. Weather, too, can obviously play a role; fishermen don’t go out to sea when the weather suggests they might not return. So, I look to his counter for appetizers–maybe raw oysters with salmon caviar, or smoked mussels and pickled herring, or salt cod to make brandade, the warm French fish and potato spread served on toasts. I could also pick up something equally delicious at Durham’s–perhaps thin slices of smoked duck breast or Highland salmon, augmented by our Concord grapes in a spicy relish.
At Sparrow Meats, Bob has an amazing slew of suggestions. He stockpiles the traditional cuts, of course–prime rib and tenderloin, crown roast of pork, turkeys, capons, and ham. He features plenty of geese, too, but I’ve never had much luck cooking geese, and I’d need three or four. My eyes widen when he mentions haggis, the savory pudding of lamb offal-and-oat-stuffed stomach; I had no idea Sparrow made this Scottish specialty, but in our family, neither side can claim such ancestry. I’d love to do a suckling pig–golden brown, with crackling skin, it would make a stunning presentation but perhaps be too intimidating for some. Finally Bob gets to the farm-raised game. I dismiss pheasant and guinea hen as too small for a crowd, but then he describes a method for cooking grouse and chukar partridge which sounds easy and delicious. My mother always fried or sauteed the birds my father shot, but Bob suggests a very long braise in a very low oven until the birds fall apart. I could even get a couple of venison racks and have a “game” dinner–domesticated, not wild.
We’re just back from Morocco. Could I spice the braised birds with saffron and ginger and cumin and rub the venison with a spicy chili paste? I could stew a pumpkin-and-chickpea tagine or stuff some small squash with a fruit–cranberries!–and nut-spiked couscous. A roasted pepper salad is typical in Moroccan cuisine, and I can add a few poblanos for heat to the colorful mix of red and yellow sweet peppers. I’m beginning to like this idea and mentally add oranges, pomegranates, and mint to a green salad, along with a bit of orange flower water to the dressing.
Dessert will be traditional–my mother-in-law’s English toffee shortbread, now made by her youngest son, and my great-aunt’s Dutch apple pie, contributed by my sister. And we’ll all be together–his family and mine–talking over a dinner that makes us notice, occasionally, what we’re eating.
