Chicken soup is the most soothingly delicious (and supremely restorative!) thing in the world for what ails you

How are you feeling? Not so great? Yeah, I thought so. 

When someone sneezes chez moi, I reach for a chicken – to make soup. It's what my mom always did. And I've always used her recipe.

And if the husband or the son or whoever happened to sneeze isn't actually under the weather, all the better: The chicken soup idea has been planted, and I can't shake it. As the soup simmers, it fills the house with wonderful smells. Chicken soup was the fragrance of my childhood (along with Chanel No. 5, but never at the same time). And I always find diving into a big bowl of chickeny broth with carrots, celery and noodles to be supremely restorative. No one needs to be ailing for chicken soup to be a splendid idea. 

Lots of cultures celebrate chicken soup. There's Chinese wonton soup, Thai thom ka gai (with coconut and lemongrass), Mexican tortilla soup and many more. I love them all. 

Jewish penicillin

Jewish penicillin

But for Ashkenazi Jews, no matter how far-removed we are from the old country (wherever in Eastern Europe that may be), it's a primal dish, a cornerstone of Jewish culture – right up there with bagels and chopped liver. And like bagels, it's one of the few Ashkenazi dishes to have infiltrated mainstream American culture. Campbell's Chicken Soup: Is that Jewish, or American? You get my drift.

Fragrant, delicious chicken soup is very easy to make – easier, I'd say, than running out to a deli to pick some up, should you happen to be in possession of a chicken, celery and carrots. In fact, if you've never made it before, once you try it, you'll wonder why it took you so long to make your own.

It goes like this: Cut up a chicken, ask the butcher to cut one up for you or buy one already cut up. The benefit of the first two are you can keep the back and neck to put in the soup -- they add lots of richness. Cover it in cold water, bring to a simmer, and skim. Add aromatic vegetables: onion, carrot and celery. My mom always added parsnip, too, so I follow suit, but it's not essential. If you skip it, add another carrot. Throw in a bunch of dill. Let it simmer an hour and a half or two hours. 

Add salt and pepper, and it's basically done. My mom always cooked fine egg noodles separately, put some in each bowl, and then strained some soup directly into each bowl, along with some carrots and celery. She would give us a plate of the chicken separately, and I shudder to think now that we often ate it with ketchup.

 I usually strain the whole soup –– reserving the chicken meat, carrots, celery and parsnip and adding them back into the clear soup. Put some cooked noodles in each bowl, and ladle it in.

My recipe includes measurements, but you don't have to measure things to make chicken soup; it's a soup made by feel. My mom never put garlic in hers, but I often do – especially if the soup is serving as Jewish penicillin; then I throw in a whole head, separated into cloves but not peeled. Sometimes I add a leek, or parsley. Have extra chicken parts in the freezer? Throw those in, for sure, and add a little more water. 

OK. That is my mom's gift to you. Wear it in good health. 

 

Turkey tetrazzini is the mac and cheese of Thanksgiving leftover dishes

You've had your fun with the turkey. Now you want the tetrazzini. 

What? Never made it or even tasted it? If you love mac and cheese, this is for you – it has that some kind of old-fashioned comfort-food creamy, luscious appeal.

In fact, I always make a bigger bird than I think I'll need for Thanksgiving so I'm sure to have four cups or so of leftover turkey meat after everyone has had their fill of next-day bone-gnawing.

It's pretty simple to achieve. Boil up half a box of spaghetti. Sauté some mushrooms. Make a white sauce by sprinkling flour on the mushrooms, cooking till the flour loses its raw taste, whisking in chicken broth and milk (or a combo of milk and half-and-half, if you want it richer, or even all half-and-half), then cooking till it's thick and creamy. Stir in chopped turkey, the spaghetti, grated Parmesan cheese and seasoning and turn it into a buttered baking dish. Top with Parmesan-enriched bread crumbs and bake till the top is golden-brown.

Then serve it up. Underneath that golden-brown, crunchy top it's rich, creamy and savory: old-fashioned comfort food at its best.

Preceded by a simple green salad and joined by a glass of full-bodied white wine, it's the perfect post-Thanksgiving dinner. 

Crazy-good classics: Leslie Brenner's favorite Thanksgiving dishes

One day in the early autumn of 2006, a conversation I had with one of my colleagues at The Los Angeles Times, where I was Food Editor at the time, would change Thanksgiving for me forever. And not just me: What came out of that conversation -- with my colleague Russ Parsons, a longtime food editor, staff writer, cookbook author and one of the best cooks I've ever had the pleasure to know -- changed Thanksgiving for dedicated home cooks all over America.

Russ was somewhat obsessed at the time with technique for roasting poultry (and other meats) practiced by Judy Rodgers, the gifted chef-owner of Zuni Cafe in San Francisco. (Rodgers passed away in 2013). If you've ever been to Zuni Cafe or cooked from the Zuni Cafe Cookbook, you may have feasted on its famous roast chicken. The secret behind its incredible flavor, succulence and crisp, golden-brown skin is generously salting the bird a day or two before you roast it, then letting the skin air-dry for hours. It's a trick Rodgers learned from old-school home cooks in the French countryside. Try roasting a chicken this way, and you'll never do anything else.

Anyway, I was as enamored of the technique as Russ was. One day I said to Russ, "Hey, Russ, have you ever tried giving a turkey the Judy treatment?" 

A look of amazement crept across Russ' smiling face. I think he ran out of the office without looking back -- eager to get his hands on a turkey and try it.

In the following weeks, Russ developed the technique for the turkey -- he called it dry-brining. It was a smashing success. The flesh was incomparably flavorful, with a wonderful smooth texture, and fabulous crisp, golden-brown skin. The technique was a snap, there was no basting, and no wrestling the bird into a bucket of brine and finding a way to store it during the week when refrigerator space is at such a premium.

At the paper we did comparative tastings -- of turkeys roasted after conventional wet-brining (always good, but an unwieldy mess), and high-temperature roasted birds and steam-roasted birds (another technique we were loving then). The dry-brined bird blew the other turkeys out of the water.

Russ tweaked and refined the technique, we published the recipe and our readers went crazy for it. Within a couple of years it had been picked up by papers and magazines all over the country. Now if you ask a serious home-cook how they make their Thanksgiving turkey, likely as not they'll say they dry-brine.

I can't even imagine doing it any other way: It's that good. That's why, from that season on, a dry-brined turkey has always been the centerpiece of my Thanksgiving table. (Thank you, Judy! thank you, Russ!)

Meanwhile, for me Thanksgiving isn't the time I feel like experimenting and being adventurous; it's the day I want to sink my teeth into dishes I know and love. I crave familiar flavors. For me Thanksgiving is the day to celebrate comfort food. (Probably the fact that as I restaurant critic I'm constantly tasting new things every night, rarely able to zero in on something I just happen to love, has something to do with it . . . ) 

Therefore, I always make the same things, year after year after year. The dry-brined turkey. A really good Cognac sauce (not gravy!). Chestnut-porcini stuffing. Brussels sprouts leaves with pancetta and mirepoix. And a luscious, savory sweet-potato gratin. You'll find recipes for all of the above in this post. I also serve a simple cranberry sauce and a relish tray, and for dessert, it's classic pumpkin pie all the way. 

So, back to our turkey. As Russ has always pointed out, the path to the magnificent bird is really more a technique than a recipe. 

All you do is apply Kosher salt -- quite a lot of it -- to the surface of the turkey. Seal it in a plastic zipper bag. Let it sit for three days in the fridge, during which time the salt works its magic on the flesh. By the end of three days, the salt will have soaked in. You take the bird out of its bag, its flesh moist but not wet at this point, and let it air-dry in the fridge for six or eight hours. The roasting part couldn't be easier: Start it breast-down on a rack in a roasting pan at high heat, turn it breast up, drop the temperature and let it finish roasting like that. That's it. No basting is necessary. The bird will be brilliant.

In case you're not yet a dry-brining convert, I'm excited to share the technique and recipe with you.

Along with the recipe you'll find my personal contribution: the really good sauce. It's not a gravy, but a sauce -- made by deglazing the roasting pan with Cognac. Ready for the recipes? Here you go . . . 

Now let's talk about the sides.

Naturally there has to be stuffing, and my stuffing of choice is one made from country bread enriched with chestnuts, porcini mushrooms and lots of celery and herbs. It was inspired by the stuffing my mom always made -- which didn't have mushrooms, but did have lots of rich roasted chestnuts.

And she taught me a trick that gives it amazing body and texture: add a lightly beaten egg or two. I used to stuff my turkey, and make additional stuffing to bake outside the bird. But in recent years I've chosen to keep the roasting simpler and quicker (and probably safer, from a food-safety point of view) and just bake the stuffing in a casserole outside of the bird. Honestly, I find it to be just as delicious. 

Here's the stuffing recipe:

Onto the potato question. I know there are people in the world who serve both regular potatoes and sweet potatoes at Thanksgiving, but that's not the way I was raised. Chez nous, it was sweet potatoes all the way. 

In my house, we were spared the candy-sweet concoctions involving marshmallows and pineapple. But I did grow up with sweet potatoes that were given a brown-sugar boost. They weren't terribly sweet, but they were sweeter than I liked; I'm a huge fan of sweet potatoes' deeply sweet natural flavor. The sweet potato recipe of my dreams walked into my life the year after Russ developed his "Judy bird," as he called it, when my friend Regina Schrambling published her recipe for a savory sweet potato gratin -- also in the L.A. Times.  

I've made it every year since: It's a simple dish, achieved by peeling and slicing sweet potatoes, layering them -- seasoned -- in a baking dish, pouring a mixture of heavy cream and fresh thyme over them and baking. 

Yes, it's super-simple. And really killer. I hope you'll love it as much as I do.

Finally, a green veg. Many years ago (fifteen maybe? I'm guessing...) I fell in love with a recipe in Chez Panisse Cooking for Brussels sprouts leaves with pancetta and mirepoix (mirepoix is the classic trio of diced onion, celery and carrot). It was long before the Brussels sprouts craze took hold; I remember telling a friend this was a Brussels sprouts dish for people who didn't like Brussels sprouts. 

To be perfectly honest, it's a bit of a pain in the ass to prepare, as it requires pulling all the leaves off of each Brussels sprout. But the payoff is great: You get all the wonderful Brussels sprouts flavor -- heightened by mirepoix and pancetta — without the dense texture of biting into a little cabbage-head. Bertolli's dish, made bright and lively with a splash of vinegar at the end, is light, airy, vibrant and super-flavorful. 

OK, I hope that's enough to get you inspired for the big day. I always round things out with classic pumpkin pie and a straightforward cranberry sauce.  With any luck, I'll manage to put recipes for those in your hands by the time Thanksgiving rolls around. 

Have any questions — about planning, cooking these dishes, anything? Do let me know in a comment — I'd love to hear from you and I'll do my best to help!

Nervous nibbles: 5 irresistible election-night snacks

The big night is finally here! Everyone's been so swept up in prognosticating and the frenzy of voting, who's had time to think about snacks for return-watching tonight?

Since I know you already voted (right?! If not, please stop reading this now and GO VOTE!), let's project ourselves into this evening. After you vote, you can run to the supermarket.

OK, now it's six p.m. We've all snuck out of work early (after voting, of course!!!). Everyone is jittery as we gather round the TV.  Need drinks and nibbles. Your friends will bring the drinks. You can make these easy nibbles.

Amazing cheater hummus

Swipe a warm pita triangle through smooth-as-silk hummus, and you won't care who's ahead in Florida. (OK, maybe I exaggerate slightly.) It's too late to soak garbanzos overnight, so here's a super-quick and easy recipe for amazing cheater hummus, made with canned chick peas. It takes all of about ten minutes to achieve.

No one will know the chick peas used to live in a can!

Sevillian marinated carrots

 

Whether you're looking for a vegetarian snack, or you're after a nibble the color of Donald Trump's hair, this classic tapa will spice up your evening.

Charred okra

Got okra? Char it.

Got okra? Char it.

Here's another great vegetarian snack, and you don't need a recipe for this one. Procure a basket of okra, and slice each one vertically. Heat a stove-top grill (let it get really hot), brush the grill with a little olive oil, and place the okra cut-side-down on the grill. Use tongs to turn them over once they're nicely charred, and char the other side. Transfer to a platter, sprinkle with your best salt and, if you like, some kind of red pepper: Aleppo, Espellette, red chile flakes, whatever you've got. Ready, set, nibble.

Lamb meatballs

Spear these with toothpicks.

This one does double-duty: irresistible nibble and soothing comfort food. For a crowd, make a double batch. Spear 'em with toothpicks and prepare to swoon.

Guacamole, salsas and chips

Our recipe for guacamole will satisfy the baddest of bad hombres; roasted salsa verde makes a great complement. Are you so nervous you can't get anything done today? Then go all-in, and make the salsa borracha, too. Don't forget the chips!

Oh, one more thing: Don't forget to VOTE!!!

 

What to cook now: classic split-pea soup and baby kale-sweet potato salad

Even if you're among those who sort of wish kale had not taken over the world, there's a good chance you'll love this salad, which stars tender, earthy-yet-eminently-palatable baby kale. I tossed it together on a whim last winter, as I thought the ingredients – which sounded so nice together (baby kale, roasted sweet potato, toasted pecans and pomegranates) – would also look gorgeous together and taste great together.

They did! It was a huge hit, and I've made it many times since, including last night – when it seemed just the thing with simple, classic split pea soup – which I've been craving since autumn started to really kick in here in North Texas.

On weekends in fall and winter, I often roast two or three sweet potatoes (garnets are my faves) in case of sudden salad urges like this. They're also great, reheated in the office microwave, for a luscious, satisfying (and super-healthy) desk lunch. 

Autumn weekends are also a great time to simmer up a big pot of soup. Thierry's absolute favorite is my simple, classic split-pea soup, which you can almost make with your eyes closed (it's that easy).

All that's required is chopping an onion, slicing a few carrots, giving them a sweat in olive oil, adding split peas, water and a ham hock or smoked pork shank, and let it simmer and fill your living space with enticing aromas. It couldn't be easier or more delicious. The creamy, velvety texture is achieved just by the long simmer. Pull out the pork, cut or shred it up, put it back in and you're good to go.  Make it this weekend, and serve it all week.

Or invite friends over to be soothed by it at an election-watching party. Some crusty bread and sweet butter (dark rye or pumpernickle is great with it), a couple of cheeses – definitely some wine – and  you'll be ready for, well, anything.