How do you conceptualize your Thanksgiving practice? Do you loll in the warm gravy-filled bathtub of tradition, splashing between the green bean casserole and the marshmallow-topped yams? Do you light out for the territories with Thai-spiced vegan pumpkin soup? Do you skip the whole thing, go out for dim sum, then roast a turkey on Friday just for the joy of standing in front of the fridge, making sandwiches, picking at leftovers or frying up hash? Why Brussels sprouts? And how?

At times like these, a cookbook, an app, the Food Network, even Mark Bittman is not enough. For inspiration, for solace, for getting you through your kitchen's long dark night of the soul, only poetry will do. (Philosophy, the big gun typically aimed at life's meatier questions, is distressingly silent on crucial issues like do I brine or do I fry?) For all the koan-like beauty of his work, poet Wallace Stevens never made the most obvious suggestion to readers of Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird, one known to every kid since their days of playground double-Dutch: get yourself eleven more birds, mister, and you got yourself a pie.

Not that all poets should bake pies, but, as Grace Paley has pointed out, it's a valid occasional alternative, even for a poet. As Paley writes,

I was going to write a poem
I made a pie instead
...
everybody will like this pie
it will have apples and cranberries
dried apricots in it many friends
will say why in the world did you
make only one

this doesn't happen with poems

So, pace Mr. Stevens, we offer 13 Ways of Looking at a Brussels Sprout, our poem of recipes for you and your pre-holiday kitchen.

I
Among twenty winter squashes
The only moving thing
Was the cleaver heading towards your fingers.

Aida Mollencamp, CHOW, How to Cut Hard Squash

II
I was of three minds
Like a refrigerator
In which there are three slaws.

Mark Bittman, New York Times, Slaws Eight Ways

III
The pureed pumpkin whirled in the coconut milk.
It was a small part of the dairy-free, gluten-free pantomime.

Pim Techamuanvivit, Chez Pim, Pumpkin Panna Cotta

IV
A man and a woman
Are hungry.
A man and a woman and a Brussels sprout salad
Are happy.

Heidi Swanson, 101 Cookbooks, Shredded Brussels Sprouts & Apples

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of chestnuts
Or the beauty of butter.
The pie coming out of the oven,
Or pie the morning after.

Bay Area Bites, KQED, Chestnut Soup for the Holidays
Bay Area Bites, KQED, Sweet Potato Pie

VI
Pies filled the long window
With buttery shards.
The shadow of you on your bicycle
Crossed it, to and fro, wishing you had pre-ordered your Thanksgiving dessert.
The mood
Traced on the glass
Sugared with longing.

Bay Area Bites, KQED, Food Secrets of Mission Pie’s Karen Heisler and Krystin Rubin
Bay Area Bites, KQED, A Day with 3 Babes’ Bakeshop

VII
O vegan teens of Haight Street,
Why do you imagine golden tofurkys?
Do you not see how the bacon
Whispers to the Brussels sprouts
Of the Whole Foods around you?

Chef Zac Palaccio, New York Times, Fatty ‘Cue Brussels Sprouts
Chef Erik Cosselmon, 7x7, Kokkari's Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Bacon and Lemon

VIII
I know Burning Man
And its lurid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That fried onions in a can are involved
In what I know.

Isa Chandra Moskowitz, Post Punk Kitchen, Vegan Green Bean-Mushroom Casserole
Tori Richie, Tuesday Recipe, Green Beans with Brown Butter and Lemon

IX
When the Brussels sprout rolled under the table,
It came out fuzzied in cat hair
The five-second rule, debatable.

Bay Area Bites, KQED, Food Safety on Thanksgiving

X
At the sight of Brussels sprout leaves
Wilting in a skillet with red grapes and bacon
Even the ennui’d of brassicas
Would cry out sharply.

Chef Rene Ortiz, SF Chronicle, La Condesa's Coles de Brussels

XI
He rode over to the coast
In a Zipcar Mini.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The false chanterelles
For chanterelles.

Iso Rabins, Forage SF, Wild Mushroom Box

XII
The lard is melting
the pigs must be flying.

Jessica Prentice, Edible East Bay, Cream of Celery Root Soup with Leeks and Lard
Sara Seinberg, Seinberg Holistic Health Coaching, Spicy Cauliflower and Japanese Sweet Potato Soup

XIII
It was dinnertime all afternoon.
The dishwasher was running.
And it was going to run.

(with thanks to Amy Rosenbaum Clark)

Ingredients for Orange and Ginger Spiced Cranberry Sauce

Thanksgiving countdown has officially begun, and for the first time ever, I'm making the entire dinner on my own. Eeek. There are so many things I want to make. And there are expectations, you know. A juicy, golden, magnificent bird…stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits, green beans, some more obligatory vegetables, pie, pie, pie…oh yeah, and prime rib (because that is how my family rolls).

If I'm going to pull this off I know it's going to take some planning ahead. Luckily, Melissa Clark answered my prayers with this super helpful Seven-Day Plan for Thanksgiving. With this game plan by my side, I am actually starting to think I won't be a hot mess come Turkey Day.

Cranberries

First up on my list of make-ahead dishes is Cranberry Sauce. Homemade cranberry sauce is crazy easy to make. I kid you not, it is stone cold simple. Once you try it, I promise you will never buy the weird canned stuff again.

A few years ago I experimented with this recipe for Cranberry Jalapeno Relish with Lime and Cilantro. If you're looking for not-yo-momma's-cranberry-sauce, give this zesty little one a try. It's got kick and is totally different. This year, however, I wanted to go with something more traditional…but not boring.

Ta-daa! This Orange and Ginger Spiced Cranberry Sauce came out exactly as I had hoped. The fragrance of the orange zest and orange juice complements the cranberries beautifully, and the warmth of the ginger, cinnamon, and cloves tones down the tartness of the sauce and spices it up a touch, while making your entire kitchen smell like the holidays!

Ok, are you ready for how easy this is to make?

Cranberries pulsed to a coarse chop

Step 1: Coarsely chop up the cranberries in a food processor. If you don't have a food processor, or prefer a chunkier cranberry sauce, you can keep the cranberries whole. I like my cranberry sauce to have more of a jammy consistency so into the food pro they go.

Step 2: Dump all the ingredients into a saucepan and let simmer for about 20 minutes.

That's it! You're done. Really. See? This whole Thanksgiving Feast thing is going to be totally manageable…

Orange and Ginger Spiced Cranberry Sauce

Orange and Ginger Spiced Cranberry Sauce Recipe
Homemade cranberry sauce is crazy easy to make. I mean it. It is stone cold simple. Once you try it, I promise you will never buy the weird canned stuff again. This cranberry sauce elevates the traditional version with the addition of fragrant orange zest and juice, ginger, and warm spices.

Makes: 2 cups

Prep Time: 5 minutes
Cook Time: 20 minutes
Total Time: 25 minutes

Ingredients:
12 ounces fresh cranberries
1 cup brown sugar
½ cup fresh orange juice
Zest of 1 orange
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

Preparation:

1. Pulse the cranberries in a food processor until coarsely chopped. Be careful not to over process because you don't want the berries pureed. If you don't have a food processor, you can opt for a chunkier cranberry sauce and just use the cranberries whole.

2. Add all the ingredients to saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to a simmer. Lower heat a bit to keep it at a nice simmer for about 20 minutes, until the cranberries have softened and the liquid has reduced to create a thick compote. If you are using whole cranberries, you'll hear them pop a bit -- it's ok, that's what they do. Cool before serving.

(Make-ahead note: Can be made days ahead before serving, I actually think it is even better that way. Keep refrigerated in an air-tight container and either warm up or bring to room temperature before serving.)

Gluten-Free Dinner Rolls. Photo by Jeanne Sauvage

Thanksgiving, routinely a flour-heavy culinary event, is my favorite holiday -- so you can imagine what a bummer it was to learn that gluten was a key factor in the health problems I'd been battling for many years. While I was relieved to find the culprit in my health drama, I have to say that a lifetime of Thanksgivings sans pie, stuffing and dinner rolls made for a grim holiday season indeed.

I'm never one to back down from a challenge. Slowly, as I learned to bake using a completely new set of rules, I discovered that gluten-free baked goods can rival their wheaty counterparts. I learned how to make a gluten-free version of Thanksgiving stuffing, a fantastic butternut squash pie, and everything else that a normal person would sit down to enjoy with their loved ones. Sure, at first my family balked at my "weird" cornbread, but once they came around, they discovered that what I was making tasted good. Actually, I'd venture to say that my from-scratch versions tasted better than a lot of the prefab, processed stuff that my family normally layed out on the table during the holidays. But that's another post.

Somewhere out there, I know there's a person who's just gotten a diagnosis of celiac disease, or maybe someone they love has gotten the diagnosis. Either way, they're suddenly in a similar position as I was all those years ago, wondering what the hell to make for Thanksgiving dinner when you can't use white flour. Well, guess what? You're in luck! These days gluten-free resources are ripe for the picking, unlike a decade ago when they'd look at you funny if you walked into the grocery store and asked for brown rice flour and xanthan gum. Now, gluten-free blogs abound and bookstores have entire shelves dedicated to gluten-free cooking. To say we live in a time of gluten free bounty would be an understatement.

So what did I miss most about Thanksgiving once I learned I was gluten intolerant? What was the first thing I just had to recreate so that I could enjoy this holiday like a normal person? You might laugh at the simplicity of my needs, but I'll share anyways: it was the humble dinner roll. More than anything, I wanted a soft, warm roll that I could spread with a swath of sweet cream butter and soak up the pools of meaty gravy on my plate.

This year I found a gluten-free dinner roll recipe that puts mine to shame. This recipe comes from Jeanne Sauvage, an intrepid gluten-free baker who chronicles her adventures at The Art of Gluten-Free Baking. These light, airy rolls are perfect for soaking up any leftover turkey goodness, or for enjoying on their own whenever the carb fiend demands more than a bowl of rice.

Photo by Jeanne Sauvage

Gluten-Free Dinner Rolls for Thanksgiving
By Jeanne Sauvage of The Art of Gluten-Free Baking

Makes: about 20 rolls

Ingredients for Jeanne's gluten-free all-purpose flour mix:
1 1/4 cup brown rice flour
1 1/4 cup white rice flour
1 cup tapioca flour
1 cup sweet rice flour
2 scant teaspoons xanthan gum

Prepare the flour mix:

1. Sift ingredients together and store in the refrigerator.

Ingredients for dinner rolls:
Melted butter for pan and brushing tops of rolls
Tapioca flour for coating pan
1/4 cup sugar
2 cups warm (not hot) milk
2 tablespoons active dry yeast, such as Red Star
3 cups Jeanne's gluten-free all-purpose flour mix (recipe above)
1 tablespoon xanthan gum
4 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar
1/4 cup vegetable oil

Prepare the gluten-free dinner rolls:

1. Butter muffin tins well and dust with flour.

2. In a small bowl, whisk sugar into warm milk. Add yeast and whisk to dissolve. Set aside to allow the yeast time to proof -- you'll know this is happening when it starts to get foamy on top.

3. In a medium-sized bowl, mix together flour, xanthan gum, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

4. In bowl of stand mixer, beat together eggs, apple cider vinegar and oil. Add yeast mixture, beat well, then add flour mixture, beating on high with paddle attachment for 3 minutes.

5. Spoon dough into prepared muffin tins, filling to 3/4 of each cup. With a butter knife that has been dipped in tapioca flour, cut a deep slash in the top of each roll. Don't worry if there's a little extra tapioca flour left on the rolls.

6. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Put muffin tins on top of stove to rise in close proximity to warmth of the preheating stove. Let rise until they have just about doubled in bulk, about 40 minutes. Once rolls have risen, brush the top of each with melted butter and bake in preheated oven until the tops are a nice golden brown, about 20 minutes.

7. Remove rolls from tins and place them in a towel-lined basket to keep warm. These rolls keep well, although you'll probably eat them all the day you bake them!

I'd like to share a few more recipes that I've grown to love over the years as I crafted the perfect gluten-free Thanksgiving dinner spread. These dishes are from people who truly love -- and live -- the art of gluten-free eating. You'll find them not only satisfying, but seductive, gratifying, and tantalizing to every centimeter of your palate.

• Pumpkin pie
• Acorn squash with cranberry apple stuffing
• Beef and mushroom rice bake with cranberries
• Green bean shallot salad & champagne vinaigrette

Butternut Squash

When I lived in Bologna, my Italian roommate Mariangela would make this heavenly Butternut Squash Risotto on special occasions. She would stand there by the stove, stirring away with her ancient looking wooden spoon (she claimed it imparted extra flavor) until a magical transformation took place and plain rice became creamy risotto. She would then finish it off with a generous drizzle of the liquid gold her mother would ship to her from their olive grove in Calabria.

This dish holds a special place in my heart because it reminds me of long, hearty meals around a dining room table that gets cozier as the night progresses and louder as the wine flows. Which, come to think of it, is maybe why I think it's the perfect Thanksgiving dish as well.

Risotto: premature stages

Risotto: fully bloomed

Mariangela taught me a few tricks of the trade to making her risotto:
1) Don't forget to shred a carrot into the mix. Since carrot is a natural sweetener, it will bring out the sweetness of the butternut squash.
2) Don't forget to toast the rice a bit before you start adding liquid. It brings out the flavor of the rice and also helps in getting that nice, slightly al dente chew at the end.
3) Don't forget to bring the broth to a simmer before adding it to the rice.
4) Don't forget to add the broth one ladle at a time, waiting until it is absorbed by the rice until more is added.
5) Don't forget to pour yourself a nice glass of wine while you stir.

Risotto takes time and TLC, but it's well worth it. For Thanksgiving, roast off the squash ahead of time and keep it ready for use in an airtight container. You can even make the entire dish ahead of time and keep it in a large casserole dish ready to reheat in the oven before serving.

Butternut Squash Risotto

This Butternut Squash Risotto is meant to be shared and enjoyed with those near and dear to you. It is warm and comforting, creamy and rich, and taste like home.

Butternut Squash Risotto

Serves: 10-12

Ingredients:
1 small butternut squash (about 1 1/2 pounds), or 1 package pre-cut
32 oz chicken broth (2 boxes)
1 small onion, diced (about 1/2 cup)
1 carrot, peeled and shredded
2 large garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon grated ginger
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 cups Arborio rice
1/4 cup dry white wine
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch of nutmeg
½ cup Parmigiano Reggiano, freshly grated
Olive oil for roasting and finishing

Preparation:

Roast the Butternut Squash
1. Preheat oven to 450°F with the rack in the middle.
2. If using pre-cut squash, drizzle with about a tablespoon of olive oil, season with salt and pepper, and roast on a foil-lined baking sheet for 20-25 minutes until lightly browned. (Skip to step 5).
3. If using a whole squash, microwave the entire squash for 3-4 minutes so that it's easier to cut through. Halve squash lengthwise and discard seeds.
4. Peel one half and cut into 1-inch dice. Put remaining half, cut side down, in an oiled foil-lined baking pan with diced squash and season with salt and pepper. Bake the squash, stirring the diced pieces occasionally, until tender and browned lightly, 20-25 minutes. Holding halved squash in a kitchen towel, scoop out flesh and coarsely chop.
5. Set aside. (Roasting can be done 1-2 days ahead of time and kept in an airtight container in the fridge.)

Making the Risotto
6. In a saucepan bring broth to a simmer and keep at a bare simmer.
7. In a large pot melt the butter and add onion, carrot, garlic, and ginger. Cook over moderate heat, stirring, until softened.
8. Stir in rice and let it toast a bit, stirring constantly, about 1 minute.
9. Add wine and cook, stirring, until absorbed.
10. Then stir in the broth ¼ cup at a time, stirring constantly, until absorbed. Keep the risotto at a simmer throughout. Continue simmering, stirring, and adding broth, letting each addition be absorbed before adding next, until about half of broth has been added.
11. Stir in diced and chopped squash, honey, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg, and continue simmering and adding broth in same manner until rice is tender and creamy-looking but still slightly al dente, about 20-25 minutes.
12. Stir in the grated Parmigiano and combine.
13. Spoon risotto into serving bowls and garnish with a drizzle of olive oil and a few curls of Parmigiano using a vegetable peeler.

Run through your Thanksgiving menu in your head, right now. Something in there is making you nervous. Very nervous. What it is? You can admit it. It's not a phobia, more like an...inadequacy, a fear of never being as good as grandma, a lingering humiliation from that one year you tried and the knife wouldn't even cut through the bottom crust, so rock-like it was. Or when the dough glued itself to the counter in a rebellious mound, refusing to roll and instead sticking to every surface save the pie pan. But yes, it's real. We call it Fear of Pie-ing. And that's why I'm here, your Pie Therapist on call.

Let's get it straight: no one really worries about the filling. They might wonder if the apples should be cut thick or thin, whether to thicken with cornstarch or flour. But inevitably, it's the crust that strikes fear in the heart of grown men and women, even those who can whip out an osso bucco or tom kai gai with aplomb. They hit up the bakery, they settle for those nasty frozen pre-made crusts, they make crisp and cobbler instead. I'm here to tell you: there is NO magic about making pie crust. It takes four ingredients, about 20 minutes or less of hands-on time, and the results are so flaky, so buttery, so sublime, you will amaze your loved ones (and yourself) for life.

Oh, easy for you to say, I hear you muttering. You grew up making pie with Mom, pushing a crumbly handful of dough into a little Pyrex dish so you could dig into your very own pie for dessert. Fair enough. The challenge was this: could two urbanites, one a non-cook, the other a non-baker, turn into confident pie-bakers after a single session with the Pie Therapist?

The first patient was Kevin, a psychotherapist, who lives in the Castro. Although he has a longtime partner, he has what I think of as the bachelor fridge: limes and condiments. When I arrive with my bag of equipment, he tells me that he had to wake up his sick upstairs neighbor to borrow a pie pan. I realize quickly never to assume what someone will have in his kitchen. In this case, what's missing is anything like a mixing bowl. We make do with a small saucepan and a couple of pasta bowls.

First, of course, a little therapeutic assessment. His mom was a busy single working woman with no time for baking. Grandma, on the other hand, was a fantastic cook and a great baker, whose pies were memorable. Unfortunately, her recipes passed on with her, and no one in the family has been able to come close. Kevin's sole kitchen skill? Making a mean margarita, and happily, he demonstrates. We put on the Loretta Lynn and get busy.

First up, the dry ingredients. Flour, a little salt, a little sugar, stirred together in the pot. A glass of ice water, set aside. He's bought fancy butter, a good thing, in this case the high-butterfat, European-style butter from Straus Creamery, Marin's organic dairy. I tell him I've met the Straus family and their happy grass-roaming cows, and we rub up a little locavore glow, helped along by the tequila. Then the butter is cubed and tossed into the flour so that each cube is coated.

"Now, hold your hands out in front of you, palms up, like a statue of Jesus," I tell him, and we scoop our fingers, palms up, down and up through the butter-chunked flour. "Now, pick up a butter cube between your thumb and fingertips. Flatten it out to a little butter nickel, and drop it back into the bowl."

Keep scooping, aerating the flour as you go, and flattening out your butter nickels. The trick is to keep everything light and airy--no squeezing, no mashing. You don't want paste, you want a crumbly mixture of flour layered with shards of cold fat. As long as you keep your palms facing up and only your thumb and fingertips working the dough, all is well. Stop when it looks somewhere between peas and rolled oatmeal, chunkier than you might imagine, and definitely before it gets to to the dry-cornmeal stage most cookbooks recommend.

So far, so good. Now, the water to make the dough: four or five tablespoons, mixed in lightly with a fork. Then sprinkled in, a tablespoon at a time, maybe 8 to 10 tablespoons in all. Pick up a handful of dough, and squeeze gently. It should come together in a ball that holds together but isn't wet or gluey. Err on the side of slight crumbliness, if you must.

Once the dough holds together, it goes into the pie-baker's friend, the gallon-size resealable bag. Dough firmly pushed down into a round, air pressed out from the bag and sealed, then into the freezer for 20 minutes, or the fridge for an hour (or overnight). While not absolutely necessary, it relaxes the dough and firms up the butter, increasingly flakiness and making it less likely to stick while rolling or shrink during baking.

The dough comes out and is divided in half, with the second half going back in the fridge. Onto a lightly floured board, we press our dough-lump into a roughly round patty. "A rolling pin makes life easier," I tell Kevin as I pick up my wooden pin. "But then again, I've also rolled out a lot of pie crusts with a wine bottle."

I hand him the pin and tell him to think of the dough as a sun, with rays radiating out from the center. "Don't roll back and forth like you're paving a highway. Roll from the center to the edge, around and around so you make an even circle. And after every few rolls, loosen the dough with a spatula, so it doesn't get in the habit of sticking."

He rolls and rolls, and soon we've got a circle a couple of inches bigger than our pan. We loosen the dough, fold in half and in half again, and transfer it into the pan, since it's much easier to move a thick folded triangle of dough than a thin floppy circle. Unfold, press lightly, put in the fridge and repeat with the other half of the dough. The filling goes in--in this case, blueberries, mixed with sugar and a little cornstarch--the top is draped on and crimped, and it goes into the oven. An hour later, his partner is home, and they are two men with a hot pie.

Kevin is happy and amazed that it could be so easy. Scones, he wants to make next, and I tell him it's the same technique: mix the dry ingredients, cut in the butter, add liquid, then roll out and cut.

The next patient is Leslie, a great cook and a longtime cookbook editor and author. What could I possibly teach her? But baking, it turns out, is where she feels out of control. "Bread, cake, pie," is how she describes her hierarchy of baking fears. We decide to start at the bottom, with pie. In this case, she has bowls galore, but no pie pan, since she never makes pies. "I'm a crisp person," she admits. We go through the same steps, and I show her the fluff-it-up, palms-up technique. "Bring it up to God!" she laughs, and we agree. Surely there is pie in heaven, good pie.

It's apple this time, and we slice and mound the apples high while the crust chills. This crust is a little crumbly, and wants to crack and stick as we roll. I grab the baker's friend, plastic wrap (waxed paper works well too), and we slap a sheet of plastic between the rolling pin and the dough. Suddenly, everything's easy: the dough stops sticking and the cracks seal up. We fold and drape and crimp, and the pie goes into the oven. Leslie is ecstatic: she has conquered pie! An hour later, her family sits down to steaming slices. Her nieces battle forks for the last piece of crust on the plate. And the Pie Therapist packs up her rolling pin and slips out into the night, another job done.

All Butter Pie Crust
Yes, shortening is easier to work with. But honestly, it's not that hard to use butter, and the taste is so wonderful, there's no reason to bother with anything else. Anyway, if you're going to eat fat, eat honest tasty fat that tastes good.

As for baking times, it depends on the type of filling. Most double-crusted fruit pies can be baked at 375F for about 45 to 55 minutes, until crust in golden brown and filling is just bubbling up. For a single-crust pie, like pumpkin or pecan, bake at 350F for 30-40 minutes, until filling is just set but still a slightly jiggly, since filling will continue to set as it cools.

Equipment:
a large bowl
measuring cups and spoons
a large spoon for mixing
a pie pan (metal, glass, or ceramic)
a rolling pin
resealable plastic bag or plastic wrap

Ingredients:

Makes: Enough for a 9-inch 2-crust pie

2 1/4 cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tablespoons sugar
2 sticks (8 oz, 1 cup) butter, chilled
8 to 10 tablespoons ice water
extra flour for dusting

Preparation:

1. In a large bowl, sift or whisk together flour, salt, and sugar.

2. Cut butter into 1/2-inch cubes. Toss butter cubes into flour mixture. Rub butter cubes between your thumb and fingertips, palms up, until butter flattens into little flour-covered nickels. Keep scooping up flour and butter cubes and flattening into nickels until all butter is flattened into shards.

3. Lightly stir in half the water. Add the rest in drizzles, stirring and scooping dough until it just holds together; you may not use all the water. Squeeze a handful of dough together; it should hold together without crumbling.

4. Scoop dough into a gallon-size resealable bag. Flatten dough into a thick patty, press air from bag and seal. Chill for at least an hour in the refrigerator, or 20 minutes in the freezer. You can make your dough up to 2 days in advance, keeping it in the refrigerator, or store for up to a month in the freezer.

5. To roll out dough, sprinkle a wide work surface with flour. Divide dough in half and shape into a round. Rub rolling pin with flour and roll out into a thin, even circle, loosening dough frequently with a spatula. If dough is hard to roll or cracks, it may be too cold. Let it warm up for a couple of minutes, then try again. Put a sheet of waxed paper or plastic wrap between your rolling pin and the dough if dough is very sticky.

6. Loosen dough with a spatula. Fold in half, and then in half again. Transfer to pie pan and press lightly into the pan. Trim so dough is nearly flush with edges of pan. Put in the fridge and roll out second half of dough.

7. Put filling into pie pan, top with top crust, and seal edges together, crimping in whatever decorative fashion you like.

Note: For a single crust, use 1 1/4 cups flour, 1/4 tsp salt, 1 tbsp sugar, 8 tbsp butter (4 oz/ 1/2 cup), 3-4 tbsp ice water

Pumpkin pie is the quintessential Thanksgiving dessert. Most people eat it just once a year, and that's after first gorging themselves on turkey, mashed potatoes, yams, and about ten other side dishes. Yet more often than not I hear people say they'll take only a "sliver" of pumpkin pie, saving any available room for the other desserts. Sure, we serve pumpkin pie each November, but mostly because it's become obligatory: an expected holiday staple very few get excited about.

But pumpkin pie can be more than the standard fare of pureed pumpkin mixed with cream, sugar, eggs, and spices in a butter or graham cracker crust. I mean, honestly, do we all need to make the same pie every year? So this holiday, after a lifetime of eating traditional pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, I decided I was in the mood for something a little different. While enjoying some pecan shortbread last week, I started to wonder how it would taste paired with a pumpkin custard. But then my mind began to wander even further from the norm. Why make a regular custard filling when I could use cream cheese? I looked up some pumpkin cheesecake recipes, but most seemed more cheesecake than pumpkin pie, and I wanted to retain the pie's essence for the holiday, so I decided to make up my own concoction.

As I wanted the pie to preserve some traditional flavors, I started with the customary pumpkin puree mixed with eggs, sugar, and cream, along with the conventional spices of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. With my eye on making my pie creamier and richer than in years past, I then mixed in a package of cream cheese that had been whipped with some sugar, more eggs and vanilla. Then, to wake up the palate a bit, I also added in some ginger. Of course I used a pecan shortbread crust, the idea of which started this whole adventure in the first place. Finally, once the cake cooled, I topped it with sour cream that had been flavored with maple syrup simply because I wanted a hint of tartness and sugar to help balance the rich creaminess of the cake.

My new and improved pumpkin dessert was light and silky with a rich Fall flavor that wasn't overwhelming. Using only one package of cream cheese endowed the filling with a velvety sumptuousness that was more fluffy than overwhelmingly cheesy. The pecan crust's nutty and buttery crispness was also the perfect foil for the creamy center. And did I mention that you just press the dough in the pan, which means you don't have to prepare and roll out a crust? I have a feeling this new pumpkin dessert will find a place in my holiday repertoire of desserts, but I'm also open to future experimentation.

Pumpkin Cheesecake with a Pecan Shortbread Crust

Makes: 1 8-inch cake

Ingredients:

Crust
1/2 cup softened unsalted butter
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 cup flour
1/3 cup chopped pecans

Pumpkin Cheesecake Filling
1 8-oz package cream cheese
1/4 cup granulated sugar
4 large eggs
1/2 tsp vanilla
1 15-oz can pureed pumpkin or 2 cups cooked pumpkin
3/4 cups brown sugar
3/4 cup whipping cream
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp cloves
1/4 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp salt

Topping
1/2 cup sour cream
2 Tbsp maple syrup
2 Tbsp chopped pecans

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
2. Mix together all ingredients using either the paddle of a mixer or your hands.
3. Press crust into a 9-inch spring-form pan, being sure to make the bottom even and also pressing the edges of the dough about a 1/4 to 1/2 way up the sides of the pan. Set the pan in the refrigerator.
4. In a medium bowl, whip together the pumpkin puree, cream, 2 eggs, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger and salt until fully incorporated.
5. Using a the paddle attachment on your mixer, combine the softened cream cheese, 2 eggs, granulated sugar and vanilla until creamy.
6. Gently add the pumpkin mixture to the cream cheese, being sure not to over mix.
7. Take the crust out of the refrigerator and set the pan on a large baking sheet. Pour the filling into the pan.
8. Place the filled pan (which should still be on the large baking sheet) into the oven for 45 minutes or until the center only slightly jiggles. If the middle shakes like jell-o, leave it in until it sets further.
9. Once the cake has cooled down, mix the sour cream and maple syrup together. Spread the mixture on top of the cake and then sprinkle on the chopped pecans.
10. Refrigerate at least 2 hours or overnight and serve.

Sweet Potato Gratin

Turkey season is upon us, and for me, that means sweet potato season! I love sweet potato in pretty much any form -- baked, fried, pie'd -- but in this gratin form, it is savory-sweet bliss at its finest.

I first discovered this recipe years ago at a potluck in Brooklyn (thanks, Heidi, for sharing). I've since made it every Thanksgiving. It is the perfect sweet potato side dish for your table. Yes, this means your aunt can stop bringing those awful candied yams with marshmallows on top. Ickk.

The prep is the most tedious part of this dish, but it can be made a breeze if you have a good mandolin or food processor with a slicing attachment. If you are going the old fashioned knife route, I find it easier to nuke the potato just a minute or so to soften it before attempting to cut into thin slices. Don't worry if your slices are not perfect, they will be covered with delicious crunchy topping anyway.

Sweet potato prep

Back to the savory-sweet bliss part. If you're always walking the line between salty and sweet, meet in the middle au gratin, and come with a big serving spoon. The earthy sweetness of the potato anchors this dish, while savory sweet onions add an aromatic dimension. The thyme complements the sweet potato well without overpowering it with herby-ness. Heavy cream and butter make this a holiday dish (don't skimp, it's worth it). And, the topping, mmm…extra crunchiness from the panko offsets the soft texture of the gratin, Parmigiano brings even more buttery, savory, goodness into the picture, and pecans top it all off with toasted nuttiness, tinged with a sweet maple flavor.

Make this dish ahead of time to save on holiday stress. Simply prepare it up to the topping part. That way, come meal time, all you have to do is sprinkle the topping, drizzle with olive oil, and pop it in the oven until heated through and golden on top.

Leaves you more time to figure out what to do with Aunt Ro's marshmallows.

Sweet Potato Gratin

Serves: 8 to 12

Ingredients:

For the topping:
1 cup panko bread crumbs
1 cup pecans, chopped
¼ cup Parmigiano
Olive oil for drizzling

For the gratin:
4 lbs. sweet potato
2 lbs. onions, thinly sliced
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 cups heavy cream
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 ½ teaspoons fresh thyme

Preparation:
1. Heat the oven to 350°F and arrange a rack in the middle. Butter a 13-by-9-inch baking dish and set aside.
2. Melt butter in a medium frying pan over medium-low heat. When it foams, add onion and season well with salt and pepper. Slowly cook until soft and translucent (about 30 minutes); set aside.
3. Peel sweet potatoes and cut into 1/8" slices with a mandolin, sharp knife, or food processor with slicer attachment.
4. Mix the cream, cayenne and thyme leaves in a large bowl and set aside.
5. In the baking dish, layer 1/3 potato slices on the bottom, 1/3 cream mixture, add salt and pepper, and ½ of the onions. Repeat, layering another 1/3 of potato slices, 1/3 cream mixture, salt and pepper, and the rest of the onions. Finish off with the last of the sweet potato and cream mixture, and a sprinkle of salt and pepper.
6. Cover with foil and bake 40-50 minutes (it should be soft and cooked through).
7. Combine topping ingredients and sprinkle mixture evenly over gratin. Drizzle with a little olive oil to help with the browning. Bake uncovered, about 10 minutes, until golden. Keep an eye out to make sure the pecans don't burn.