3. Waste Not
I love Thanksgiving. But as I’ve gotten older I’ve started to unlearn the myths about this day I was fed as a child. There are so many lies we’ve been told about our country, about how we got here, and how we continue to perpetuate violence. 2020 has turned an especially bright mirror back on these dark, dank parts of our history that many people, myself included, willed ourselves not to see. (There are people far better than I at explaining stories and offering actionable ways to move us towards a more decolonized future. Here’s a great place to get started.)
Still, I love Thanksgiving. I love my family’s Wednesday eve celebration with dozens of old friends, the night dissolving into one too many old fashioned’s and a raucous rendition of “Alices’s Restaurant,” a lanky, quiet boy suddenly pulling out a clarinet and soloing for at least three minutes, the waitstaff joining in for the chorus. I love waking up and shuffling to my parent’s kitchen, sitting at the creaky wooden table with a hard copy of the New York Times and a cup of tea. I love spending the day cooking, with a break to visit one of my oldest friends who lives a few blocks away, where I’m swept up into hugs and fed copious amounts of cheese.
Of course, none of that was possible this year. And as I found myself staring down a very different kind of holiday, I felt keenly, more so than usual, the privilege of even being able to cook and eat, and to donate resources to others. So I made a commitment that anything I would cook for my Thanksgiving meal this year would be used to its fullest: no waste. It was the least I could do, when considering how many people and creatures must sacrifice something, how much the land must give up, to bring us our ingredients.
I had roasted sweet potatoes for my version of the classic (mashed, with sugar, cinnamon, and milk, topped with oat streusel, perfumed with sichuan peppercorns), but had the skins left over still with plenty of meat on them. I put them off to the side and forgot about them until I started tinkering with a pumpkin ice cream recipe. I realized those potato skins had a lot more to give, so they got the puree treatment instead, becoming a beautiful base for one of the best ice creams I’ve ever had.
What I’m saying is, it’s okay for things to change, for us to learn new ways of being, to slow down and consider what we’re using and how to use it up, to waste not, and reap the rewards.
Sweet Potato Skin Puree
Roast four or five foil-wrapped sweet potatoes for 2 hours in a 350 degree oven. Remove when they are easily pierced by a fork and are giving off a delicious caramelized smell. Allow the potatoes to cool, then peel and set the flesh aside. Puree the skins with 1/4 cup heavy cream or whole milk, adding in a bit of extra sweet potato flesh if the mixture isn’t coming together. Blend until smooth.
Sweet Potato and Bourbon Ice Cream
I used sweet potato skin puree, but any sweet potato, squash, or pumpkin puree will work well here.
Place a quart-sized container in the freezer.
Gather your ingredients: 1 1/2 cups sweet potato skin puree, one14 oz can of sweetened condensed milk, and 1 cup of cold heavy cream. Combine the squash, condensed milk, a pinch of salt and 3 tablespoons of bourbon in a medium bowl. Feel free to add a dash of cinnamon, nutmeg, or vanilla. Mix until well combined.
In a separate bowl, whip the heavy cream until it forms stiff peaks. Gently fold the whipped cream into the condensed milk mixture, taking care not to deflate the cream too much.
Pour the mixture into your chilled container and cover. Chill for at least 6 hours until solid. The ice cream will scoop easily, and should be served in chilled bowls.