Tomorrow is the Feast of Thanksgiving, a day when retro cookery is too new-fangled.
I don’t mean to write about it since it is a subject well covered elsewhere, but it is because tomorrow is Thanksgiving that tonight found me in the kitchen making mashed potatoes and listening to a recording of Jean Shepherd’s radio broadcast from Thanksgiving Day 1968. You may be familiar with Jean Shepherd from the movie A Christmas Story in which the hapless Ralphie yearns for a BB gun. The movie was based on the short stories of Mr. Shepherd and he narrated the film. I have enjoyed reading and re-reading collections of his work, and whenever I flash back to my first job at the Johnstown Public Library I picture the lurid seventies typography that graced the spine of his book Wanda Hickey’s Night of Golden Memories and Other Stories because it caught my eye whenever I was shelving in the last row of fiction. I must have passed that book a thousand times before I ever thought of reading it.
In any case, though this wasn't the first time I've listened to him tell the story of being caught between two herds of turkeys, I laughed plenty while I was making the potatoes. I used a recipe for mashed potatoes that is designed to be made ahead of time and then reheated in a crock-pot, which should suit nicely for our dinner at our friends’ house where we will be dining in the garage since it will be a crowd of 15 or so. The oddest ingredient on the list was two egg whites. I assumed they were to stabilize the potatoes or something and dutifully separated the yolks out. (The dog got the yolks: they’ll give him a shiny coat!)
But then I was done with the potatoes and there was the bowl of whites still on the counter. Ooops! Maybe I should have been paying more attention to the recipe and less to Shep’s witticisms. Well, I can’t imagine it will make that much difference. I mean if I’ve never heard of adding egg whites to mashed potatoes, how much harm can it be to leave them out?
I was about to slip the whites to the dog, when Matt looked significantly at the bottle of Scotch on the counter.
Whenever we dip into my collection of vintage cooking and entertaining guides, one thing that never fails to amuse is the inclusion of a raw egg in a cocktail recipe. We have read about ever so many! Apparently cocktail people of yore found nothing much unusual about imbibing raw eggs. Even my latest issue of ReadyMade (Arts and crafts for the tragically hip. I’m a subscriber, I should know.) includes a scotch and egg white cocktail.
In the interests of reanimating classic recipes/jumping on the retro bandwagon, how could I not put those egg whites in a cocktail shaker? I’m pretty sure Matt’s thing was to stick it to The Man; ever since he’d read about New York City banning raw eggs in drinks, he's harbored a secret desire to drink a raw egg cocktail. Whatever the motive, fifteen minutes later I was pouring a frothy mix of egg white, lemon juice, sugar and scotch into some cocktail glasses. The Boston Sour! To Thanksgiving!
The egg whites do add a bit of silkiness to the drink, and the froth is a nice touch, but unless I need to bulk up for a title bout, I think I’ll leave the eggs in the ’fridge next time.
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