Turkey Turkey

 It’s November. This is possibly my favorite month. The weather is in full change, leaves are in an explosion of color. Thanksgiving food shows are firing up.

To have the month actually begin on a Sunday - just whip cream on the pumpkin pie. 

My husband would argue that October is the best month, it being his birthday month and all. And it is great. The air begins to have that undertone of chill, but it stays a little too schizophrenic to put on that cozy sweatshirt in the morning when you know you’ll be changing to something less fleecy by noon. 

The leaves are still safely attached to the trees and flowers are still blooming. I even got a nice last harvest of cucumbers and green beans from the garden. 

 

the final hibiscus blossoms

But, November. The chill is consistently an undertone. I feel safe pulling on long sleeves and my brain heads directly for the heaviest cookbooks. 

Chili has already been added to the rotation. That’s a food which requires cool weather in my book. It is a requirement on Halloween. Yes, the traditional POT of chili makes entirely too much for two people. But, it’s just so versatile: 

Bowls of chili with pickles and cheese plate for day one.

Chili dogs day two.

Chili mac day three.

Slingers for breakfast day four. (for those Non-Coast of Illinoisers, A Slinger is a St Louis invention like toasted ravioli, cracker crust pizza and ice cream cones. It consists of a pile of hash browns, a burger patty, fried eggs, chili and cheese, onion, sour cream and any other topping of your choice. (Recommended to be served with hot stale coffee out of questionably clean mugs at a diner where the floor is so sticky you can’t move your chair easily and followed by a shot of Pepto-bismol.)

Last night I ventured into ragu over cheesy polenta, thank you Pioneer Woman and those autumnal food shows. While skeptical looks ruled the kitchen, ragu contains eggplant, zucchini, onion, peppers and tomato; one of which cough cough eggplant cough cough is only liked by one resident, I did notice that extra scoops of that delicious deep red goo were dished out.  

I also had a request for Pan de Muerto - Bread of the Dead for Nov 1, which in Hispanic cultures is known as Dia de los Muertos - or day of the dead - in which those who have passed away are remembered and honored. Neither one of us is Hispanic, although we have a deeply developing love of Spain. It just felt right given the month began on a Sunday. 

My heritage is German and French so bread making feels ingrained. My Grandma Schloz always had a random homemade coffee cake on the counter as back up. In fact, I have no less than three coffee cake recipes attributed to her (and one recipe for circus peanut jello salad, which I will save for another time…)

I love making bread, another of those autumnal activities. There is just something so satisfying about coating your hands  with dough so sticky you have to have your nails professionally cleaned and the counter top scraped with a steel brush. Punching down newly risen dough is on the level of popping bubble wrap.  

I haven’t made bread in a long time, it is time consuming and pre-tirement never allowed.  Bread making is in my top ten retirement activities. Consequently, I had to purchase new yeast and flour, I even splurged on some bread flour which set the grocery checker into a wistful convo on the wonders of bread. 

The dough worked up beautifully, although slightly faster than I anticipated. I don’t have a stand mixer so I generally knead by hand but I gave the flimsy bread hook on my hand held a try and it actually worked well. The dough felt a little firmer than expected but it raised okay. I wrapped it and popped it in the fridge with plans to finish it early Sunday morning so we would wake to the wonderful yeasty smell of fresh baked bread. 

Next morning the dough had not done much. It felt almost like cookie dough but even raw (No comments please) it had a really nice cinnamon orange taste. I shaped it as directed, let it proof and baked. The buns didn’t rise at all, but they browned slightly. 

I took them out and sprinkled half in the traditional sugar and drizzled the other half with powdered sugar frosting, as any good German would. 

I filled my ghost mug with fresh coffee and sliced into one of the breads, giving a little prayer up to Grandma Schloz and her never ending Schnitzbrot. But, rather than soft airy pillows worth a Hollywood Handshake, I was rewarded with slightly gooey interior pockets of rawness surrounded by something more reminiscent of a cookie than a breakfast bun. 

my pan de muerto or in my culture - rocks

These buns were more like something to create the dead, rather than something they would enjoy in the afterlife. 

So much for appropriating another culture. 

However, the parts that were baked had a delicate flavor and while I have no idea why these were an overall flop, I will be using the flavors in my traditional German sweet rolls. 

I think Grandma would approve. 

I’ll be sure to say a prayer as I slather this next batch with frosting.

it's turkey mug time!