Midnight Gratitude

Plus! Leftover turkey recipes!

From Karyl’s Cook & Tell Column (November 25, 1976)

It’s three a.m. The old kitchen clock has just struck thirty-seven, a surrealistic intrusion on reality that makes me want to telephone a friend and say, “Did you hear that?” But I fear the enchantment would be lost in the dialing, and I can’t think of a soul who would share my delight at this wee, weird hour.

So instead, I tend to the chore that got me up from a sound sleep. It’s time to stoke the fires in the stoves, so the house will be warm at breakfast.

This is a good time for the counting of blessings, too, an exercise that shouldn’t be limited to a time of the year or the time of the night, but this favorite holiday season often does stoke the counting. I’m glad to be awake, grateful for home fires and quiet times, for music and friends, for every Sunday symphony, for letters that come in the mail and for the cup of tea that always sits beside my typewriter.

The window on the cove gives a view of a small field above the rock-edged shore. Even in the dark I can see it, faintly illumined by the cool moonlight. I draw in a breath, as if I have never seen that view before and wish for a moment there were someone to share it with. But solitude is a quiet companion to be glad of, too. By oneself, one can see with an intensity not known before. Thoughts more deeply thought fill tranquil moments, and home is found secure, anchored in the heart.

The coals glowing bright orange in the old iron cookstove invite another log or two. I think back to the bright daylight of yesterday, when music soared through the house and rested on the hearths, accompanying my chores and projects. Handel’s Water Music played on the FM radio in the barn-living room. And then, Smetana’s The Moldau. First, a gentle, bubbling melody describes a brook that becomes a meandering stream and then widens into the rushing, majestic river that is the Moldau. Is there anyone, anywhere, who is not moved by music?

Our old cookstove sketched by me (Amie), age nine

Now, padding about in nightgown and bare feet, I am satisfied the stoves are well fed for another three hours. I have spent fifteen minutes counting blessings: home, solitude, music. The last on my abbreviated, middle-of-the-night list is friendship. Memories of past times, other places and old friends far away brighten the darkness. I think back to a where we once lived and a dear friend who is still there. I miss Peggy, yet there is the feeling we are very close in spite of the distance. I can almost see all the way across the three thousand miles to her seacoast village on that other coast, the mountain backdrop, the cliffs rising from an endless beach.

We both consider galley duty a matter of love. The other night I thought of something to make with chicken. Faced with the prospect of an abundance of leftover Thanksgiving turkey that would substitute nicely for the chicken, I determined to call her right then for the recipe. It was midnight when the idea came to me, nine o’clock her time. Peggy thought I was crazy to call, and you might know she couldn’t find the recipe. But she made me hang on while she dashed next door to rummage in her neighbor’s recipe files. After a couple of minutes of dead air, back she came with it. The recipe probably cost me all of two or three dollars, payable to New England Tel & Tel. Here it is for you, free.

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Amie’s Headnotes

The original recipe was heavy on the creamed condensed soup—it called for a can each of cream of mushroom and cream of chicken soup—or, as the witty Midwesterners call it, "the Lutheran Binder." If you’re anything like me the day after your Thanksgiving feast, the last thing you feel like eating is creamed anything, so I’ve substituted a healthier, updated version of the recipe. If you’re a die-hard creamed soup fan—Minnesota, we’re talking to you here—and jonesing for a super easy casserole for turkey leftovers, check out my latest recipe microstory: 100 words on turkey divan.

Green Chile Enchilada Casserole

Makes 6-9 servings

• 2 c. shredded or diced turkey (vegetarianize it with brown rice)

• ½ to 1 bunch cilantro, chopped

• 2 cans copped green chiles (4 oz. cans)

• 1 bunch green onions, chopped with green tops

• 8 - 12 oz. shredded Monterey Jack or Pepper Jack cheese

• 1 28-oz can green enchilada sauce

• 1 dozen corn tortillas

Coat a 9” x 13” baking dish with nonstick spray. Preheat oven to 350 degrees (or 325 if using glass baking dish).

In large bowl combine turkey (or rice) with cilantro, green chiles, onions and all but a handful of the cheese. Save a little of the cilantro or onions, if you want to garnish the top.

Pour about ½ cup of enchilada sauce into a shallow dish. Pour a little bit of the sauce in the bottom of the baking dish.

Dip tortillas, one at a time, in the enchilada sauce, turning to coat them on both sides. Line the bottom of the dish with 4 of the tortillas. You may want to cut or tear some in halves or quarters to cover the corners and edges.

Turn half of the green chile mixture into the dish. Cover with another layer of 4 sauce-coated tortillas. Add the rest of the green chile mixture. Cover with last 4 sauce-coated tortillas. Sprinkle with remaining cheese. Pour the rest of the enchilada sauce evenly over the casserole. Garnish with any remaining green onion or cilantro you might have saved.

Bake until it bubbles at the edges, about 20-25 minutes. Keeps well in the fridge for an extra day or two.

Karyl’s Endnotes

On my way back to bed, I pause at the window to ponder the stillness. Lit by the streetlamp, the bend in the road that connects my place with my neighbor’s mimics the bend in the road my life took exactly a year ago. The road and life go on; the one unaffected, the other profoundly changed, by the traffic upon it. When I rise in the morning I will be as grateful for the new day as I am for every yesterday.

As a kid, Mom often had me list what I was grateful for; here’s one from age six (hold your comments on my spelling skills, I promise you I got better), deemed worthy enough to frame and hang in the living room.

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Since Cook & Tell’s first digital issue in January, readership has almost—can this be true?—tripled! You’ve shared and commented, recommended and restacked and retweeted this foodletter and I continue to be grateful to share my mom, our stories and our recipes with you all.

Readers Giving Thanks

“I have almost all of your mother's Cook & Tell newsletters dating from 1991 up to 2013 when she retired. I recently re-read her essays and was transported to a happy state of mind that's hard to achieve in this chaotic and bizarre world we find ourselves in now! 

As Thanksgiving approaches I'm thankful for Karyl's creative, wholesome, patriotic, at times hilarious, kitchen-friendly newsletter and I'm thankful to you for reviving her recipes, her artwork, her words and her memory.”

—Ginger K

“Thank you for carrying on your mother’s work and passion.  And for these delightful recipes!”

—Sandra L

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With love and gratitude to all,

Amie & Karyl

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PS: Here’s a bonus recipe section with four sweet treats to kick start your holiday baking.