The Catskill Chronicle

By Jude Waterston

During my dad’s entire adult life, his weight held steady at 134 pounds, give or take a few ounces. He was trim and moved with the brisk ease of someone carrying no extra fat. At the age of 89, he was still doing step exercises in the stairwell of his apartment building and took short walks around the neighborhood. Now, at 92, after a stroke three years ago, he is ensconced in a wheelchair, his left leg immovable and the arm of the corresponding side lying limply in his lap.

The food at the nursing home into which he was forced to move is some of the worst I have ever encountered. Being a food writer and a life-long avid cook, I find it pretty much unbearable to witness the parade of overcooked, limp, dry, grizzly, mushy foods that appear on my pop’s tray at mealtimes. My sister, Janet, carefully goes through his weekly menu and circles the lesser of evils of the choices or writes in alternatives such as sandwiches or salad platters. Mostly, we arrive to visit as his dinner has come to an end and, as he puts his fork down, I ask what he’s eaten. After multiple mini-strokes over the past three years, his short-term memory is shot. “I can’t recall,” he says. “But, Pop, you just finished a second ago,” I push. “Who wants to remember?” he says, smiling and indicating with his jutting chin the leftover bits of mostly unidentifiable matter on his plate.

So Janet and I were flabbergasted when some time ago my dad’s aide  announced that my father had gained eighteen pounds since he entered the home. Now, another year later, he’s sporting over twenty pounds, all centered on his gut. It’s true Janet and I bring him a scoop of Haagen-Dazs coffee ice cream the two or three times a week we visit, and his life is devoid of movement or exercise, slowing his metabolism even further, but really, how could this happen when the food he’s consuming is so deplorable? And why does it bother me so much?

A rule of the nursing home is that the resident’s family members may not bring food in unless they are going to be present while their relative consumes it. There are no refrigerators in the bedrooms and the tiny one that is located in the dining room is filled with juice and milk and barely maintains a cool temperature. Janet and I are rarely able to arrive at the nursing home at a time that would coincide with a meal, so I’m virtually unable to bring my dad something homemade.

Thanksgiving is the one time of the year that I can see to it that my dad doesn’t have to tackle dry, leathery turkey meat; jelled cranberry “sauce;” cloyingly sweet candied yams; gummy bread stuffing; wilted green beans; and inferior pumpkin pie, which he can’t stand anyway.

Last year after a crazy busy work week at the 104-year-old pasta shop at which I work and where we sold hundreds of pounds of pumpkin ravioli, tortelloni, and gnocchi, I shopped the Union Square farmer’s market for slim French green beans, sweet potatoes, butternut squash, onions, celery, wild mushrooms, hormone-free turkey thighs, shallots, and fresh herbs. I took the train out to Queens Wednesday night to sleep at Janet’s apartment where the following morning I awoke at 6:00 a.m. to prepare Thanksgiving dinner, in four hours, for my dad and his tablemate, Vincenza.

It felt more than a little surreal as I worked my way through the menu. First, I oven-dried whole wheat and sourdough bread cubes while sautéing chopped onions and celery with both fresh and dried herbs. Luckily, the week before, I’d thought to make a quart of rich chicken stock, now a gelee, in preparation of a lack of pan drippings from turkey thighs. In a separate skillet I sautéed shitake, cremini, oyster mushrooms, and reconstituted dried porcini mushrooms, then combined them all, spooned the stuffing into a baking dish and moistened it all with chicken broth.

Next I peeled a butternut squash and cut that, along with a few sweet potatoes, into chunks. I tossed them with good olive oil and sprinkled them with ground mace, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and allspice, then oven-roasted them on a baking sheet. I threw on a handful of chopped fresh rosemary during the last 10 minutes of cooking time and drizzled the root vegetables with the tiniest amount of maple syrup as a mysterious, slightly sweet finish.

The turkey thighs were seasoned with dried thyme, sage, rosemary, paprika, salt and pepper. I roasted them with a touch of chicken broth and sherry and later combined the little bit of liquid in the bottom of the roasting pan with the fortified, deeply flavored broth I’d made the week before. Then I made a roux and produced a rich gravy to which I added sautéed shallots and mushrooms. Finally, I snipped the ends off a pile of green beans and cut each in half so they’d be easy for Pop and Vincenza to eat. After parboiling them a minute or two, I threw them in a skillet with butter. When they were crisp-tender and the butter nutty and browned, I added lemon zest, fresh chopped mint and chives.

Finally, I made a tangy raw cranberry relish that my dad used to make as his contribution to the holiday meal and which he still adores. We brought the meal to the nursing home along with two huge tins of cookies that Janet thoughtfully baked for the staff and residents. I’d forgotten that Vincenza is disdainful of more food than not, and we had to remove the beans, squash and sweet potatoes from her plate and give her only a spoonful of the cranberry relish. My dad, on the other hand, ate heartily, padding his ample stomach further. He did comment that green beans are his least favorite vegetable and pretty much by-passed them, but ate everything else (and seconds) with gusto. He was so thankful to have us, he said over and over.

This year I am doing a repeat performance with some alterations. Chicken thighs, which are less tough and sinewy than turkey thighs are on the menu, and the vegetables will be cheesy creamed spinach and green peas. I’ll oven-roast cubed butternut squash with rosemary and maple syrup, skipping the sweet potatoes, and I’m skipping the stuffing altogether, though there will be mushroom gravy to moisten the grilled chicken thighs. And wine will flow, as it did last year, into tiny plastic cups. Later in the day, in the quiet of Janet’s apartment, she and I will dine on pan-seared duck breasts with a mango chutney glaze and the rest of the fixings, and we’ll be thankful that we have each other.

Mango and Cranberry Relish

Makes about 2 ¾ cups

1 pound mangoes, peeled, pitted, and cut into large pieces

2 cups cranberries (about 8 ounces)

1 medium orange, unpeeled, seeded and cut into large pieces

½ cup sugar

Place the mango, cranberries, and orange in the bowl of a food processor. Using on/off turns or the pulse button, coarsely chop the fruit. Transfer to a medium bowl. Stir in sugar. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before serving. Can be prepared up to three days ahead.

Roasted Butternut Squash with Rosemary

Serves 4

If you prefer, you can use a mixture of 1 ½ pounds butternut squash and 1½ pounds sweet potatoes for this dish.

1 large (about 3 lbs.) butternut squash, halved, peeled and seeded, and cut into 1-inch squares

¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil

¼ teaspoon each: ground ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg, allspice, and cumin

1 ½ tablespoons chopped fresh rosemary

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 1/2 tablespoons maple syrup (optional)

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Mix the spices together in a small bowl. Place the squash in a bowl and add olive oil. Toss to coat well. Lightly coat a large rimmed baking sheet with a little more olive oil and turn squash out onto sheet. Spread out in one layer. Season evenly with the spice mixture, salt, and pepper. Bake the squash in the oven for 20 minutes. Turn the pieces and add the rosemary. Return the squash to the oven for an additional 5 – 8 minutes, until golden and tender. If desired, drizzle with maple syrup. Serve immediately or reheat in a baking dish, covered, in the oven.