Yesterday was the second year in my entire life celebrating Thanksgiving without my family. We’re not the huge, gather-everyone-together, cram-the-tables-in-one-room type of Thanksgiving revelers. I can remember two or three times when we joined with aunts and uncles and grandparents, but most years, it was just the six of us: my parents and my three sisters. As we got older and started branching out to college—and serious significant others—we still kept it to just us. Boyfriend of seven years? No, sorry, not invited to Thanksgiving. Fiance? Nope, not official yet, not invited.
If that seems uncharitable, look at it from the other side. We like to wear pajamas and eat stuffing out of the pan in the kitchen and indulge in a lot of ridiculous joking that would make little to no sense to anyone outside of the six of us. We don’t even eat pie! (More on that below.) So, really, we’re doing everyone else a favor.
We don’t eat at 2 PM, but around a respectable dinnertime hour of 6 PM or so. No one crowds around the TV to watch football (although in recent years, now that my dad has been graced with sons-in-law, a few of them will occasionally sneak down to the basement to check the score). The day is usually pretty ordinary in the best way—lots of time outside, lots of rosy cheeks and fresh air and the savory smell of turkey roasting when you push open the door to the kitchen.
One year I skipped Thanksgiving, and it was only as a result of exceptional circumstances—a friend of mine invited me along on her family’s vacation to the Virgin Islands, where we sailed a catamaran around St. John and Jost van Dyke and Peter Island for a week, drinking virgin rum punches, our lips perpetually stained pink from grenadine, and playing endless hands of gin rummy on the deck.
I came back deeply tanned with freckles scattered across my cheeks, happy and bursting with adventure, but rather than my sisters envying me, I felt left out for having been the only one to miss turkey and stuffing and warm rolls and togetherness.
Besides the obvious (all of us together), the two best parts of Thanksgiving dinner are as follows: the buttery, golden bits of bread in the stuffing pan and the swans.
To be clear, this isn’t me offering an opinion. It’s a statement of fact and if you’re shaking your head or completely confused then you guys need to reexamine your menus and GET ON BOARD.
The stuffing part shouldn’t come as a surprise. When you bake it in a 9” x 13” Pyrex pan and use the appropriate amount of butter, the celery softens and the chunks of bread absorb the (ridiculous amount of) butter. The bread should be crisp and toasted on the top and soaked through with butter underneath.
The pro move is to offer to clear the table after dinner, then stand at the kitchen counter mining for the bits of bread with a fork while your sister picks at the crispy skin from the turkey that’s sitting on the stove.
Onto the second best part of the meal: swans. Instead of pie, we’ve always had pastry swans, inspired by an old Jacques Pepin recipe. You pipe choux paste into swan forms (neck, body, wings) and bake it. Then you fill the body with pastry cream and whipped cream; the neck and the wings go on top, and the swans float in a sea of chocolate ganache on each plate.
Complicated, thrilling, extremely delicious. Better than pie. Worth waiting 12 months for.
This year, since there were only three of us and one of us has never tasted sugar before, I decided best not to attempt an entire batch of pastry swans.
In the interest of carrying on the spirit of the tradition, I made the following Willy Wonka-esque dessert: mascarpone brioche with a gingerbread pastry cream filling.
Though we ate it as dessert, it’s similar to a cinnamon roll: you could certainly have it for breakfast!
Gingerbread Mascarpone Brioche
For the brioche
5g instant or active dry yeast
1/2 cup (100g) sugar
5 cups (600g) all-purpose flour
1/2 cup (113g) mascarpone cheese, at room temperature
30g unsalted butter, softened
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups (280g) milk
For the filling
2 cups milk
6 tablespoons sugar
2 egg yolks
1 egg
3 tablespoons (30g) cornstarch
2 teaspoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cardamom
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons butter
To make the brioche: Stir together all of the ingredients in the bowl of a stand mixer. Using the dough hook attachment, knead the dough until smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes on medium-high speed.
Transfer the dough to a lightly greased bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and allow to rise for 1/2 to 2 hours.
While the dough rises, make the filling. Whisk together the milk and sugar in a heavy saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium heat.
Whisk the egg yolks, egg, constarch, spices, and salt together in a small bowl. Slowly pour one cup of the hot milk mixture over the egg mixture, whisking constantly to temper them. Once whisked, pour the egg mixture into the remaining milk mixture in the saucepan, whisking constantly.
Switch from a whisk to a silicone spatula and continue cooking over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens enough to coat the back of the spatula.
Remove from the heat and add the butter, stirring until it melts.
Let the pastry cream cool (I popped mine in the freezer briefly to chill) while the dough finishes rising.
Once the dough has risen, divide it in half. Working with one half a time, roll the dough into a large circle, about 1/4” thick.
Spread a layer of the chilled pastry cream onto the dough. You don’t want to make the layer too thick or it’ll ooze too much as you roll it out, but you also want to get as much of it on there as you can because the filling is THE GOOD STUFF.
Using a sharp knife or pizza wheel, cut the circle into triangles—they can be different sizes. Roll each triangle up so it looks like a little croissant, then place it in a parchment-lined or greased 9” x 13” pan.
Continue with the rest of the dough, squeezing all the little rolled-up triangles together into the pan in a random pattern. Don’t worry if it looks messy! Mine did, as you can see, and it’ll look cool regardless when it bakes.
Cover with plastic wrap and let rise for about 20 minutes while you preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.
Remove the plastic wrap and bake the brioche for about 30 to 40 minutes, or until a light golden brown on top.
Remove from the oven and let cool. If you want, you can brush the top with melted butter while still warm, or you can let it cool and dust the top with confectioners’ sugar.