Shepherd’s Pie, or the Home for Leftover Potatoes

Operation use up thanksgiving leftovers, part two: Shepherd’s Pie.

I don’t love mashed potatoes.  They’re alright, I suppose.  When heavily laden with cream and butter and garlic and god knows what else, sure, they can be pretty damn good.  But the usual, more restrained, version just doesn’t do it for me.  I like potatoes plenty, but there are just so many better ways to enjoy them than all smashed up.

Thus, leftover mashed potatoes usually languish unloved in my fridge.  I’ve tried making potato cakes from them, or mixing in the loaded baked potato fixins and heating them up.  You can stir mashed potatoes into soups to thicken up the broth.  There are probably 500 ideas you all have on how to use them up.

Me, I could only think of one – shepherd’s pie.  I had never made one before, so that was a plus, as I’m trying to step outside of the same-6-recipes-I-make-over-and-over comfort zone. I had the basic ingredients on hand – ground beef, carrots, frozen peas, onions, and beef stock.  And I had a ton of mashed potatoes that would invariably be thrown away unless I could make them palatable again.  

A traditionally English dish, shepherd’s pie isn’t something I make, but it speaks to my simple, comforting sensibilities.  A pot-pie like filling on the bottom, browned and creamy potatoes on the top, it is a meal in one dish, and a cheap one at that.  Now that the temperatures are closer to zero than 100, it’s the sort of warm, homey winter-friendly food that I can’t get enough of. 

When "researching" different recipes, I came across this charming story about how shepard's pie got its name because the shepherd's wife would make the pie in the afternoon, but it would stay warm until whenever the shepherd returned home because the rich filling was insulated by the top crust. A good shepherd's pie would stay warm for hours, until the top crust was broken and the steam could escape.  Alton Brown advised cooks to start spreading the potatoes at the edges to be sure you get a good seal going. 

A word of caution, though.  Put a cookie sheet under your dish, especially if you aren't sure if you achieved the proper seal.  We didn't, and I soon heard telltale sizzling letting me know that boiled-over gravy was hitting the oven floor.  At least the smoke alarm didn't go off!  After resting for 10 minutes, we dug into this bad boy with gusto.  It's good.  Just, good.  Not breaking any boundaries, not challenging any traditions.  Just good.  

Cranberry-Orange Compote & Ultimate Thanksgiving Sandwiches

The Ultimate Thanksgiving Leftover Sandwich, version one.

Honestly, I cannot take credit for this genius sandwich.  It was sourced on a Silver Cloud sammich sissy and I shared a few weeks back, when our eager tummies sought a taste of the rapidly approaching thanksgiving holiday.  Served on white bread with canned, jellied cranberries and Stove Top stuffing, it hit a nostalgic spot on the taste buds and got us both salivating for the feast to come. 

When Sunday night following Thanksgiving rolled around and heating up yet another round of leftovers seemed, somehow, boring, I reached into the not-too-deep recesses of my food memory bank and found this sandwich waiting there.  I wanted to copy that interesting, dumbed-down version with the fancy-ass delicious leftovers now crowding my fridge.  So I checked our leftover stock to see if it could be possible: seedy whole-wheat bread, check; sage & mushroom ciabatta dressing, check; lots and lots of leftover cranberry-shallot glazed turkey, check.  Yet, alas!  We had no more cranberry sauce left! 

Boiling away...

A Thanksgiving dinner is nothing without that tiny dollop of tart cranberry sauce.  We always had two in our family – my grandpa’s traditional cooked cranberry sauce, and the tarter orange-cranberry relish that is uncooked.  To properly enjoy your turkey, you needed both.  And to properly enjoy my leftover turkey sandwich, I needed at least one. 

Lacking cranberries, I remembered K’s basic instructions on how to make a chutney – “you need fruit, spices, sugar, and vinegar.”  Would dried cranberries suffice?  I thought I could plump them up by cooking them with some acid and juice.  I threw in a handful of raisins, too, to beef up the berreis’ relatively low number.  A hearty squeeze of lemon juice stood in for the vinegar, and a tangelo (skinned, sectioned, and squeezed) complimented the tart berries with some sweet citrus, instead of sugar.  Oh, and a Tablespoon or so of cranberry juice concentrate and apple jelly added intensity of flavor and a bit more substance, respectively. 

The assembly line

Boiled down until syrupy, this improvised cranberry orange compote really popped.  It just fell in love with the turkey, but I can see this tarty mixture giving herself equally well to a pork tenderloin or perhaps even atop a nice creamy brie....

So on to the sandwich!  First, I set four slices of grainy wheat breat to toast, so that they’d be sturdy enough to hold their husky fillings.  I added a bit of stock to the stuffing to remoisten it, then after heating it up (microwave) I mashed it lightly with a fork – going for a more cohesive, spreadable texture here.  I thinly sliced some white-meat turkey, and then set to assembly: bread, thin layer of mayo, stuffing, turkey, cranberry, bread.  Some reheated green beans went alongside.

This is just a flipping awesome sandwich.  Bright, tart fruit flavors on the sandwich are needed to cut through the relatively heavy layers of turkey and stuffing.  This, dare I say, may have topped the “leftover turkey and plochmann’s mustard on grandma’s dinner roll 4 hours after dinner” as my all-time favorite leftover thanksgiving sandwich.  But, you know, I’m not done with all those leftovers yet either…

Grandma's Thanksgiving Rolls

My mom's family has a theory about Thanksgiving: you must spend at least a week prior to the holiday "training" your stomach.  By eating too much in the days leading up to Thanksgiving, your stomach will be adequately stretched out and able to take in much more holiday food than it otherwise could.  


If my maternal family instilled in me a lifelong obsession and hunger for food, my paternal side gave me the respect and craving for simple, hearty fare. They are farm people; in their kitchens, nothing is ever wasted, nothing is thrown away. You won't find fois gras in the farm kitchen, but you will learn how to de-bone a chicken, cook the meat, make stock from the skin and bones, and throw whatever's left into the ensuing soup. Bonus points if there is a dog around to slurp up the scraps.

I spent hours as a kid helping my grandmother, and then my father, learning to cook in their farmhouse tradition, where nothing was wasted and everything came from scratch. Thanksgiving and Christmas turkey carcasses always became pots of stock and chicken soup (with homemade noodles, carrots, celery, onions, and parsley, plus lots of black pepper - simple perfection) the next day. In fact, most leftovers that didn't get subsumed into a following meal got thrown into a soup pot for the best sort of recycling I've ever tasted. 

My grandma (both of them, actually) passed on when I was just a child, so my memories of her I savor and relish. I make her rolls every holiday, not only because they are the best vehicles for turkey sandwiches (with only yellow mustard - I'm a purist), but because thoughts of grandma showing me how to make them permeate their flavor still.


These are a simple variation on a classic parker house roll.  You heat water, sugar and butter to boiling.  Cool, sprinkle with yeast, then mix in eggs, flour, and salt.  An overnight rise, then they're rolled out, stamped, and patted with more butter before being left to rise a second time before being baked up into buttery, slightly sweet golden perfection.  

Our tradition was to pat one roll with jam instead of butter. The person who unwittingly took the jam roll from the basket was blessed with good luck in the coming year.  These so remind me of my family and my grandma that regardless if whether I get the jam roll, I'm still lucky.

Thanksgiving!!!

Contrary to the carols that now stream endlessly from every easy-listening radio station and elevator, Thanksgiving is the most wonderful time of the year.  A holiday centered on FOOD, family, and appreciating what we have.  Adding to the food-centric splendor, Thanksgiving also kicks off a month-long holiday season leading up to Christmas, the reason why I never mind winter's return every year.  

Thanksgiving is over, alas, and my favorite food-centric holiday is but a memory (unless you count the extra gooshiness around my waistline, which will take a bit longer to fade away).  Surprisingly, I did very little cooking this year, as we had two sets of parents and siblings all pitching in to create one spectacular feast.  We started off they day with some cranberry Prosecco fizzes, samples of two batches of home-brew beer, and a spread consisting of a sweet-n-spicy brown sugar snack mix with wasabi peas and cranberries, smoked gruyere, water crackers, prosciutto, Reem's chipped beef dip, and a brie in puff pastry with almonds and apricots.  I can take credit for a batch of beer and the brie - recipe for the latter coming soon.

Several hours after letting this initial feast settle, we dove into the main event - fresh turkey with cranberry shallot glaze, roasted sweet potatoes with sugared pecans, three kinds of dressing (cranberry cornbread; traditional oyster; sage and mushroom), fancy green bean casserole, apple cider gravy, and grandma's rolls (another recipe on its way).  So much food...so much family...so much fun...so much love.

Until I get the few recipes posted - including my most favorite to-date leftovers sandwich - I leave you with simply the eye candy that was our spread of food.  I hope all of your holidays were as memorable and filling as ours.

Early Thanksgiving Bonus Recipe - Banana-Cranberry Muffins with Streusel

Thanksgiving is just around the corner, my dear friends. I am only cooking small contributions to the big meal this year, having shuffled off hosting duty to my wonderful parents-in-law AND gotten my own parents to come down, too.  Two families' worth of food traditions?  This Thanksgiving will be, as Swarles Barkley says, LEGENDARY.

So I am whipping up a few family specialties - my grandma's exquisite buttery dinner rolls, a brie in puff pastry with almonds and apricots (for the before time...to keep the cooks' energies up!).  Maybe my grandpa's orange-cranberry relish.  These little post-a-roos will come after the holiday bloat, after the meal is digested, when you're looking at a fridge full of leftovers and wondering, "what now?"

This little recipe concoction calls for dried cranberries to be mixed right into the batter - a fine way to enjoy them.  But, in the spirit of Thanksgiving leftovers, why don't you try it with leftover fresh cranberries (made the same way, just increase the amount to a cup) or with leftover cranberry sauce.  The latter would probably be good either mixed in (thought it will muddy the color) or, better yet, left out of the batter -- then spooned in to the center of each full muffin cup, like a surprise filling!  Or 'marbled' onto the top, before the streusel goes on. Oh, there are just so may options...just like a Thanksgiving table!

What sets these muffins apart from regular banana breads is the citrus zest.  In fact, the first time I made them, I replaced the cinnamon/clove/nutmeg with a pumpkin pie spice mix that had lemon essence/extract in it.  If you're looking to amp up the citrus notes, feel free to add lemon zest too. Hey, you could even try replacing the water with orange juice, although I wonder if that would muddle flavors too much.  The banana is present but not overwhelming; the cranberries are tart but still sweet; and the citrus is almost an aroma in the palate – a hint, but a strong one. Like my hint for you to make me some of these. 

Marinated Cauliflower...

Wherever it is from, behold:  This is a strange beast.

I initially pulled it out (from….um….Cooking Light?  I have no idea)  because I needed something to do with a leftover ½ head of cauliflower.  And I'm always on the lookout for different, interesting things to do with vegetables besides steaming them or roasting them, two options it seems that I just default to time and time again.  (Both are good ways to prepare them, but you get bored doing the same thing over, and over...)  After I made it…well, there are better things to do with leftover cauliflower. 

It’s not that it’s a bad recipe – the flavors are good, and the vinaigrette dressing uses common ingredients and good flavors that I’ve used in many, many a vinaigrette before (Dijon mustard; red onion; olive oil).  I like the saltiness of the olives (I didn’t have capers) and the bite of the vinegar, but it just didn’t come together for me. 

The vinegar was too strong – instead of the called-for white, I’d use cider.  The salad tasted more pickled than marinated – not bad, but not what I was after.  And with nothing else in the salad, it just seemed a little…empty.  It’s OK, and it would probably be a big hit on, say, an Italian antipasti platter, because the acidity would cut right through the rich, saltiness of salumi and cheese.  But as a side dish it left me wanting…something else. 

If you have a leftover head of cauliflower, and you don’t know what to do with it….ROAST IT!  Tossed with olive oil, salt & pepper, give it 20-25 minutes in a 425 oven.  It gets brown, nutty, and delicious – truly different than most of its usually uncooked applications. 

If you don’t want to roast it, or if you have an antipasti platter laying around, you could try this.   It’s not that bad…but it’s not that good either.  But, hey, at least we used up that cauliflower. Modified recipe after the jump. 

  

Chicken Pesto Pizza

This is another one from the archives, another testament to the inner chubster who guides my every waking moment with thoughts of food, more food, and "hey, how 'bout s'more food."  

So I think people who look at the recipes on this blog know that I favor simple foods.  Not that I don't enjoy different, exotic, dare-I-say gourmet creations.  It's just that my budget, ability, and time preclude me from fixing them in my own home. I let restaurant chefs have control over the gourmet, and I follow my own personal ethos of simple, satisfying and comforting at home, for the most part.  

Which somehow brings me once again to the topic of pizza, and how much of it I make.  Perhaps its my mild obsession with finding the perfect dough recipe, or a chronic addiction to my pizza stone, an ongoing hunt for fresh and full-fat mozzerella varieties in every store, or just the simple reason that I really, really, really like it that explains why I make pizza so darn much.  

Really, despite its reputation as a "bad for you" food, pizza is only what you put on it.  You could make it entirely without cheese and remove a large portion of the fat & calories. Use whole-grain or whole-wheat flour (unbleached white at the very least, my usual go-to) in the crust and feel better about the carbs. At the very least, you control how much of anything you put on it, so you have a good idea how healthy or indulgent any given pie will be. 

This one came about because of a marriage of circumstances: an abundant CSA share led me to make a huge batch of Basil-Arugula Pesto (recipe below), an aging dough from Artisan Bread in 5 Minutes a Day needed to be used up, and some cooked chicken breast (a great thing to make in advance and keep  for quick dinners and add-ins) was on hand.  Huzzah, and behold the Chicken Pesto Pizza!

Unlike many proper pestos, I tend to make mine pretty scant on the olive oil.  As a result, this pizza didn't have the overly oily top that I've seen on restaurant versions.  I "dried" the tomatoes on paper towel before topping the pizza to keep the moisture level down as well (soggy crust is a big no-no in Cheeks' kitchen) and sauteed the mushrooms to deepen their flavor before adding them as well.  A few chunks of fresh mozzerella substituted well for a richer blanketing layer.  Accompanied by a green salad, the humble pesto pizza becomes a rounded and, certainly, healthier take on a much-maligned, but much loved, dish.