Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. This was the second year in a row in which I was cooking in isolation from my extended family in Michigan since relocating to Minnesota. I miss having my whole family together and all their different contributions to the meal. On the other hand, cooking in Minneapolis for a small crowd, I have complete control over the meal. This satisfies the control-freak in me, and also allows a bit of flexibility about how I cook the bird.

The bird in question arrived from Clancey’s Meats & Fish last Monday. I was wide-grinningly excited when our turkey — which had never seen the inside of a freezer — showed up under Martha’s arm; I immediately set about dismembering it. Originally, my plan was to cook the bird whole, in search of that classic Norman Rockwell moment. But after reading Kenji Lopez Alt’s enlightening “Turkey Stuffed Turkey” article I could not resist taking my turkey apart. It just makes so much sense: the legs and the breasts are two different kinds of meat that demand different treatments — they are done at different temperatures — and, best of all, if you cut the legs and breasts off, you have the whole carcass to make turkey stock in advance, to be held at the ready for all your stuffing/dressing and gravy needs.

After dismantling the turkey, I salted the legs and thighs and refrigerated them overnight. The next day, they were ready to confit in a crockpot with plenty of olive oil, bay leaves, thyme, orange zest, peppercorns and juniper berries. Before removing the breasts, I carefully took the majority of the turkey’s skin off in one piece — I think Hannibal Lecter would have been proud. The breasts and skin were reserved for Thanksgiving day. Meanwhile, I roasted the rest of the carcass and boiled it down into stock. The copious amount of bones made available by cutting the turkey apart meant that I got a thick, gelatinous stock.

For reference, a ten pound free range turkey produces about 2 ½# of white meat. I felt like a mad scientist rolling the two breasts together and wrapping them in their own skin per Lopez Alt’s instructions. The technique worked out really well; the meat cooked very evenly and the skin even managed to adhere to the meat, no Activa required. Go figure.

My quest to use all parts of the turkey resulted in the surprise best dish of the evening, a turkey liver pâté. After soaking the turkey’s liver in milk for two hours to leech out some supposed metallic flavors, I sauteed it in butter along with some shallots. This I ground to a paste in my food processor along with thyme, turkey meat left over from the stock, salt, lots of black pepper, some juniper berries and a bit of heavy cream. After baking this mixture in a water-bath in a 300°F oven for an hour I cooled it and refrigerated it overnight. The result was amazing. I have been dabbling in terrines, pâtés and other potted meats for well over a year now. The results, while always pretty good — how can you go wrong with potted meat? — were always missing something, or featuring too much. Either I have learned enough or the stars were just aligning right for this Thanksgiving: the pâté was creamy, rich, slightly gamy and very peppery. Great with mustard, pickled green beans and olives. Not how I’ve usually started off Thanksgiving, but possibly a new tradition!

One can hardly have Thanksgiving appetizers without Thanksgiving cocktails. Martha found the recipe we used on Apartment Therapy: 1½ oz rye whiskey (Wild Turkey, of course), ½ oz triple sec (substituted for clear curaçao), 2 oz apple cider, 1 tsp simple syrup and a couple of cranberries for garnish. Changing every “oz” to “cup” we successfully octupled the recipe with enough for everyone to enjoy two.

As for the rest of the meal, it was more or less what you would expect. Mashed potatoes, stuffing, fresh cranberry sauce, sauteed green beans with lemon, roasted parnsips, carrots and brussels sprouts, roasted turkey breast and turkey leg confit and plenty of gravy to cover it all.

In some ways Thanksgiving is a stupid meal: nobody can make all these dishes perfectly at the same time. We’d be better off focusing on just a couple and having a really great meal. But it’s Thanksgiving, it happens only once a year, and frankly, nobody expects it to be perfect. That’s why there’s gravy.

Another weekend at the Midtown Farmers’ Market brought an impressive, but dwindling, bounty of vegetables. The late summer fruits — bell peppers and tomatoes — are clinging on to life even as the impending frost threatens to cut them off without warning. Their bright reds, oranges and yellows are starting to be crowded out by the earth-tones of the fall harvest: brassicas from root (turnips) to leaf (brussels sprouts, cabbage) to flower (cauliflower, broccoli); large carrots, onions and potatoes with hardy skins are waiting to fill root cellars for the winter (you have started filling your root cellar, haven’t you?). Sweet potatoes made their first appearance this week — their tender bulbs begging me to wrap them in foil, toss them in smoldering coals and eat them, steaming, right out of their jackets.  Green beans, which appear to be one of the longest-seasoned crops of all in Minnesota, seemed a proper compliment to this kind of food: good, hearty fare that makes you feel like a true Midwesterner.

It is hard to believe that there is only a month left in the market season; once October’s over, that’s it for convenient local produce buying. But while the season starts off a little slowly, it comes to a much more plentiful end; the last month of the market still promises plenty of good food.

I love fall; it is my favorite season. But for whatever reason, be it the cold summer we’ve had or how much I’ve been enjoying the summer, I am not ready for fall to be here. So it was pretty jarring to see crates full of large winter squashes at the Midtown Farmers’ Market this morning. Surely it’s not squash time already!? I usually make a point of buying whatever is new in the market any given week, but I just couldn’t bring myself to buy winter squash. Not yet.

Luckily, things are not all squash and storage potatoes. There were still plenty of tomatoes, and I got my usual sungolds and assorted heirlooms. Summer is hanging on enough for there still to be sweet corn. There is an abundance of peppers of all varieties—with the deals you can get on red bell peppers at this time of year they are impossible to pass up. Tomatillos are also in season, and you can still buy green beans, although they are getting a bit tougher than they were earlier in the year. Cucumbers are still available but they are either very large or, as with the ones I bought, very, very small. Perfect for cornichons! Herbs and lettuces, which have been available most of the season, are still available. The beets, potatoes and onions are representing the root vegetable contingent; I haven’t seen a lot of turnips yet. More of those in the fall.

In perhaps another sign of fall, apples are everywhere. None of the vaunted Honeycrisps yet (let alone any SweeTangos), but as much Zestar and Gingergold as you could ever want. Given my preference for unique produce, I went for the crab apples. Yes, crab apples. As the vendor pointed out, crab apples have an undeserved bad reputation and, sampling one, I had to agree. They were not quite as tart as I like, but they had good crisp texture and a nice, compact size.

With guests in town for Labor Day weekend, this time Martha’s sister and two nephews, our usual bike ride was traded for the car. This meant we were able to bring home fresh flowers (thanks to Sara!) and eggs, which are usually a bit tough to get home in one piece inside a backpack. Martha’s nephew John picked out some extra-sharp cheddar from the cheese vendor as well.

As you an see, the splendor of summer is still in ready evidence everywhere at the farmers’ market, but the trickle of fall crops will become a steady flow before too long. All the more reason to get to the market as soon as possible.

Upon arriving at the Midtown Farmers’ Market this morning, I was confused: there were cars where the market should be and a market where the cars usually park! This weekend, they were having a big resource fair for Latina families living in the area, and needed the extra space for extra tents. I eventually got over my disorientation (nobody was in their usual spot!) and was able to buy my produce without too much difficulty.

The market continues to make the transition from midsummer to late summer. Sweet corn is everywhere, and new varieties of tomatoes at new stalls are appearing. Carrots, potatoes and onions are all getting bigger and more mature. There are still plenty of green and yellow beans and a variety of summer squashes. And lot of cucumbers. One farmer I spoke to said melons would normally start this time of year but because of the cold weather were still not ripe. To me, it still seems a little early.

For the first time this week, I decided to buy garlic at the market. I usually avoid it since it is significantly more expensive than at the store, but these bulbs looked too beautiful to pass up. I have always been a little skeptical of garlic at the farmers’ market—are they really growing it locally?—but with the number of people selling it short of some kind of massive conspiracy it is probably legit.

As I was buying corn and squash the farmer interrupted our transaction to take a phone call from a friend closer to downtown monitoring the impending storm. “Storm?” I thought, looking for the first time at the sky. It looked ugly, and it was starting to get dark. And to rain. As farmers and resource fair participants desperately poked at their canopies to try to keep the rapidly accumulating pools of water from collapsing the whole operation, Martha and I donned our rain jackets and headed for our bikes. And that’s when the rain really started. But, with warm weather and no lightning, it was actually kind of nice to ride through the rain, rather than waiting under some bridge. Besides, I had vegetables to attend to.

The abundance of the summer season can be quite exciting, but also daunting. I try my best to make a plan each week after my trip to the farmers’ market about what I am going to do with all my produce, but given the quantities sold at the farmers’ market and life rearing its ugly head, a few vegetables slip through the cracks: a half pound of green beans here, some cucumbers there, you know what I mean. Maybe you’ve even had to face the shame of discovering rotting vegetables at the bottom of your crisper drawer. Those vegetables gave up their lives for you and you’re just going to throw them out?!

One solution is to cook all this stuff before it gets old but—and I’m sure I’ll be disavowing these words come February—a person can only eat so many steamed fresh green beans. For me, when nature’s bounty becomes a little too much to handle, I turn to pickling.

Maybe you’re thinking, “whoa,  pickling is too much to handle!” I’m not talking about your grandma hauling out the canning jars and putting up the whole winter larder (not that there’s anything wrong with that!). Given the limitations of my stove and storage space there’s no way I could sterilize or properly seal a bunch of jars. But with refrigerator pickles, quick pickles that need to be stored cold, there’s no need to sterilize the containers or vacuum seal them: it’s just produce, spices, vinegar and you’re all set.

I had three particular overabundances to address: a bag of green and yellow beans that was two weeks old, a large bag of cucumbers that I had no chance of finishing, and the rest of the summer slaw from earlier in the week (which, obviously, was not dressed).

With all those vegetables stuffed into clean jars it was time to add spices. I don’t believe in using a recipe when making pickles; instead, I just put together a collection of what I vaguely consider pickling spices. With the beans I put in a few sprigs of fresh dill, a split jalapeño, a few crushed garlic cloves, coriander seeds, mustard seeds and peppercorns. Same drill with the cucumbers, except instead of mustard seeds I used caraway. For the cabbage I put in chinese five spice along with garlic and peppercorns. I usually prefer to use whole spices for pickling but my five-spice was ground; I don’t think it will be a problem, though those seeds floating around the jar are pretty.

At this point the pickles are ready to be, well, pickled. For this, pickling solution is required. I usually do a combination of two parts vinegar to one part water, with about two tablespoons of salt and ¼ cup of brown sugar if I’m looking for sweet pickles, as was the case with the cabbage. Vinegar choice definitely makes a difference here: I have had some excellent pickles made with champagne vinegar and I bet balsamic would give interesting results. Being economically minded above all, I usually just use pure white vinegar, a gallon of which can be obtained for less than a dollar. It tastes fine.

After a quick boil to dissolve the salt and sugar, the solution can be poured in the jars to cover the produce. With a short cooling they are ready to be lidded and put in the refrigerator. 24 hours later and the pickles are ready to eat. I think food safety experts might say pickles last refrigerated up to a month, but I have eaten pickled rutabaga that was over 3 months old and did not die, so proceed at your own risk. It probably won’t be an issue anyway, because after you try the first of your homemade pickles (trying my pickled cucumbers on a burger, for example, sent me into a fit of joyous expletives) they won’t last much longer at all.