Thanksgiving Turnip Greens Need Big Pot and the Little One

Thanksgiving Turnip Greens Need Big Pot and the Little One

Preparing the Thanksgiving meal for your family proves to be a daunting challenge, at any age. The first time my husband and I hosted the big dinner at our home, our kids were little bitty and our plans grandiose. We wanted to fix everything ourselves. No, don’t bring a thing, we instructed the family. We’ve got it all under control.

My dad had grown a beautiful mess of turnip greens in his garden. In addition to the traditional sweet potato casserole, turkey and trimmings, I decided that one of our green vegetables should be a big pot of those tender greens. He agreed, and after some instruction on how to harvest the leaves, I got to work collecting what I needed for our Thanksgiving feast.

My Aunt Ora V got wind of the plan. She reminded me that greens cook down. What appears to be a truckload of turnip greens will reduce to the volume of a cereal bowl. With all those people heading to our house for Thanksgiving, I would need a wheelbarrow to cart a sufficient amount. I kept this is in mind as I made my way down the rows of Dad’s garden.

Picking greens is no picnic. You want the tender leaves, not the leathery old ones, but you also want to leave the baby stalks, so that there will be more greens later. Dad helped me, and when we had a couple of grocery sacks full, he suggested that was enough.

“But Dad, greens cook down!” I reminded him. He inquired if I had been talking to my aunt. I kept pulling leaves as he departed, saying something under his breath about turnip greens for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Finally, with my back screaming and sweat dripping from my brow in the cool November air, I hauled my harvest home, bags and bags of greens. And they all had to be washed.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. I had desserts to bake, dressing to make, and homemade rolls to mix and a young ton of greens to wash. I plugged one side of the sink, filled it with greens and flooded them with cold water. Over and over, I plunged the leaves beneath the icy bath, rinsing away grit and plucking out the occasional fat, lime-colored worm. It seemed the more I washed, the more I found undesirable debris.

With buckets and bowls of freshly washed greens waiting for the stovetop, I put a big pot on the eye, fried several slices of bacon, and poured in a “goodly” amount of water. I seasoned it with salt and pepper. While I chopped and mixed and assembled other menu items, I kept adding greens to the pot.

The pot was way too small. I dragged out a big Dutch oven and transferred the greens. They did cook down. But I had enough greens to feed our guests twice, and still, there were more greens.

Out in our garage on a high metal shelf was an aluminum pot designed to cook gallons of gumbo, the type of thing an Army chef employs to feed the troops in the field, a vessel that will accommodate bushels of potatoes or a sea of soup. I extracted it from its perch, scrubbed it twice with soap and steel wool and planted it on the red-eyed stove. I heaved the steaming greens to the lip of the tub, spilling them into the depths. And finally, I added the last of the leaves. It was 10:00 at night. The next day, we glutted ourselves on greens, and the next day, and the next.

This Thanksgiving, I will be thankful for a lot of things, but mostly for the blessings of living in the greatest country on Earth. I will say a prayer of gratitude for the sacrifice of those in the military who are far from home, who defend the inalienable rights of humans to pursue happiness and live in peace. And, should they ever need me, I can cook enough greens to feed all four branches of the armed services and their families, with leftovers.

Happy Thanksgiving, to you and yours.