Here are some ideas and options for those who’ll be on their own for Thanksgiving.
Note: for an à deux variation, double quantities and add candles. And possibly cutlery, depending on your solo dining customs.
The first thing to know is how to cut down a recipe, which is pretty easy but does take some basic math. First, look at the number of servings the recipe makes (or figure out how much you want to cut it by estimating its yield). I usually want at least two of their “servings” for one of my meals, but sometimes I end up with a little left. Figure out what you need to divide the number of servings (or the amount of the main ingredient) by: if the recipe makes four servings and you only want two, you’ll be halving the recipe (dividing everything by two); if it calls for three pounds of beans and you think one pound is plenty, you’ll be dividing everything by three. Once you have this number, divide all the ingredient amounts by that number. Here’s a conversion chart and cheat-sheet for halving and thirding (is that a word?) a recipe, to get you started.
You can go with the traditional thing, get a turkey breast roast and still eat it for a week, but what if you prefer dark meat? I’ve never seen a turkey leg roast. Someone really should talk to Butterball…
Meanwhile, here are some other ideas for your main course:
— a game hen (actually a small breed of chicken)
— a chicken, which will leave some leftovers for those all-important Black Friday turkey-and-cranberry sandwiches (for that “extra-small turkey” effect, try a pastured one)
— break with tradition completely and go for a nice piece of salmon or a bunch of shrimp (my favorite Fish and bananas is excellent “fancied up” by making it with halibut).
I confess, I’m not picky about stuffing and make do with a box of the “soak in hot water until it turns into fluffy goo” kind.
Green beans seem to be traditional. Easy enough to cook fewer and top with chopped bacon or sliced almonds browned in butter.
For a European flare, have some Brussels sprouts instead. Only, go to the farmers’ market and get the nice fresh post-frost ones. They’re sweeter after a frost, and fresher is always better. The secret to good sprouts, by the way, is to peel off all the dark leaves so you’re left with little cabbage-green marbles.
Or if you don’t care about keeping it seasonal, treat yourself to a bundle of the $6/lb. imported “fresh” asparagus, if you can find any worth eating, or some frozen if you can’t. DO NOT EAT CANNED asparagus, it’s not actually food.
When someone else isn’t making them, I don’t usually bother with mashed potatoes. True, they’re not hard to make, but when it comes right down to it, I’d just as soon have another helping of bird or some more sprouts. But if your Thanksgiving would be spoiled without the potatoes, let me just point out a couple of alternatives to mashing that are easier for a small serving: baked and ” target=”_blank”>fried (or how about just a bag of chips? Certainly simple…).
Another alternative root-vegetable option is celeriac baked in cream made with one celery root, but finding a small enough baking dish may be a challenge; maybe a small ramekin?
There is absolutely no reason to buy a big can of cranberry sauce when it’s just for you (as far as I can tell, the only reason to buy canned is the presence of children who demand the jellied stuff). It’s so easy to make, and we have such nice cranberry farms in our area. Granted, it’s difficult to make a couple of spoonsful at a time, but it cans and freezes well (I like to can it in those little 4-oz jars) and will taste awesome on a chicken sandwich next summer.
Cranberry sauce on the fly
Wash and pick over the cranberries; discard any that are soft or ugly, but a few pale spots are OK. Start with at least of cup of berries, more if you don’t have a little 1-qt saucepan (once you know what you’re doing, you can try making less if you really want to). Add enough orange juice or water to keep them from burning, at least 1/4 inch and up to maybe 1/3 the depth of the berries in the pan. Cover if you can and cook on about medium-low (start low and nudge it up if they don’t reach a simmer in a reasonable time), stirring occasionally, until the berries pop. Be patient, but after 10 minutes or so of simmering you’re allowed to press the remaining berries gently with the spoon to “encourage” them to pop sometime this year. Sweeten to taste with whatever sweetener you prefer.
I vote for cookies or brownies for dessert, but I’ve never been a fan of pies. OK, so most recipes make more than 1-2 servings and you’ll have leftovers. If this is a problem, you’re welcome to send them to me. Or for a truly low-effort dessert, there’s always the “box of graham crackers and can of ready-to-eat frosting” option.
Possibly the most important dish. There are all sorts of things for the Thanksgiving soloist to be thankful for; here are a few ideas:
— No huge turkey taking up fridge space… or the couch.
— No over-perfumed (or under-washed) relatives, whom you’ll be expected to hug anyway.
— No one at your table will throw:
–up (or if “someone” does, you’ll be too preoccupied to care)
— You can mount all your olives on your fingertips before eating then without anyone suggesting that you’re too old to play with your food (this method goes particularly well with the graham-cracker-and-frosting dessert option, by the way).
— No futile arguments over whether the TV should be on or off, or on which station, during dinner (since everyone knows The Game has to be on or you’ll end up on an NSA watch list…).
— No moral pressure to take and eat that half-spoonful of candied yam to be polite; or conversely, you can indulge that fantasy of eating the whole panful yourself.
— If you decide to forego the traditional turkey-and-trimmings in favor of an enormous bowl of mashed potatoes or a dozen doughnuts with whipped-cream dip, it’s no one’s business but your own. Ditto if you end up spending the day binge-watching the 20 best Halloween movies or playing Pong.
— That “discussion” of whether it’s more virtuous to kill vegetables than animals doesn’t have to happen.
— Neither do the “discussions” about bringing toys to the table, poking one’s brother/sister/cousin with one’s fork/knife/finger/turkey bone, gas emissions of either sort, or staying seated during the entire meal even if you’re finished.
Some extra recipe links: