By Tom Harte
This Thursday, families across America will bring out of their cupboards a utensil that for most of them makes only an occasional appearance at the dinner table: a gravy boat. Such vessels go back to ancient times. These days, however, the gravy boat has fallen out of favor, as has, to some extent, gravy itself.
Except during the holidays. Consequently, clever manufacturers have created new versions of the device designed for the modern Thanksgiving table, like the gravy boat modeled after the Mayflower, or designed to look like a pumpkin, or shaped like a turkey.
The Archie McPhee store in Seattle makes one that looks like the Titanic, which may seem a strange, if not tactless, choice, except that for many of us it is, regrettably, entirely appropriate: The gravy we make on Thanksgiving Day often results in disaster.
No wonder for many of us a principal ingredient of gravy is apprehension. That's a shame, because Thanksgiving is all about the gravy. It can enhance the enjoyment of most everything on the holiday table, with the possible exception of pumpkin pie, and even compensate for imperfections in other dishes. If the turkey is dry, or the mashed potatoes on the lumpy side, or the dressing stodgy, it doesn't matter so much if there is velvety and delicious gravy to go on top.
Gravy trepidation is regrettable for another reason. James Peterson, author of the standard reference book on the subject, says sauces offer the cook "more freedom to work with flavors, textures and color than any other area of cooking."
Now gravy, of course, is merely an unassuming cousin of fancy French sauces (the word "gravy" even comes from a French term meaning sauce), so if you avoid making it, you're missing some wonderful opportunities for culinary experimentation.
The truth is, there's not much to gravy -- normally just fat, flour and liquid.
Like pie crust, however, another simple recipe with few ingredients, it's all in the technique.
So, not surprisingly, many cooks are uneasy about the prospect of making gravy -- especially so at Thanksgiving, when there's usually so much going on -- the potatoes need to be mashed, the turkey has to be carved, ravenous guests are hovering nearby, some even having the temerity to barge into the kitchen to surreptitiously snatch a piece of the bird -- all of this just when it's time to prepare the gravy.
There are lots of ways to cope with these demands, the most fail-safe being, if it's possible, asking mom or grandma to do the honors.
At our house, we skirt the issue by abandoning classic gravy altogether for what might be the oldest and most authentic turkey gravy in the world: mole sauce, the archetypal chocolate-laced Mexican concoction that, according to legend, was invented out of desperation centuries ago at the Convent of Santa Rosa in Puebla when the archbishop made an impromptu visit.
Yes, it has chocolate in it, but just enough to deepen and darken it, making it the perfect foil for roast turkey or, for that matter, mashed potatoes.
Moreover, because it's not thickened artificially, you need never worry about the bane of Thanksgiving dinners: lumpy gravy. The spices and peppers it contains add a nice kick to what otherwise might be a bland and predictable meal. It's the best way I know to make sure your holiday gravy train is headed down the right track.
An authentic mole sauce might contain 25 to 35 ingredients and take a day to prepare, so it's more trouble than any gravy. But this recipe, adapted from Eating Well magazine, streamlines the process with shortcuts that are still long on taste.
Combine oil, garlic, chili powder, cumin and cinnamon and cook, stirring, over medium heat for about 30 seconds or until fragrant. Add tomato sauce, broth, chocolate chips and almond or peanut butter. Stir to combine and bring to a simmer. Serve over turkey, sprinkling with sesame seeds if desired.
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