Category: Culture
Giant of the Senate
Though we rightly celebrate the young volunteers who went South in the civil rights movement of the 1960s, most stayed only several months or perhaps a few years. Nowadays few remember the names of the small number who remained for the balance of their lives, like Charles Sherrod in southwest Georgia and Robert Mants in Lowndes County, Ala. Similarly, two decades later, someone could decide to become a community organizer on the Far South Side of Chicago before leaving after three years for Harvard Law School, a life in electoral politics, and a lazy retirement in multiple mansions.
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Turkey-hater’s delight: 6 historic Thanksgiving substitutes
This Thanksgiving, consider the poor turkey. Is there any animal we consume with less gusto?
It has become something of annual tradition to denigrate the day’s traditional fare. Nearly 35% of Americans claim turkey is their least favorite part of the feast, according to one recent survey.
This vintage Better Homes and Gardens recipe is a bit of a cheat, as it does use turkey — although not in any form you’re likely to recognize
The internet just stokes the hatred. Every year the same tiresome “contrarian” opinions: “Stop pretending you like turkey. It’s no good on Thanksgiving, or any other day.”
Even celebrity chefs can’t resist punching down. “Turkey is wildly overrated,” says restaurateur David Chang.
“The only reason to cook the turkey is to get the gravy, and then you can just give the turkey away.”
We must admit that turkey-haters have a point. Yes, turkey meat can be dry and flavorless (although brining is a dependable way to avoid that). And yes, the tradition of eating turkey — and most Thanksgiving foods — was essentially created by advertising in the early 20th century. (College freshman home for fall break voice: “It’s all a scam by Big Cranberry!”)
While we’re content to stick with the standard flightless fowl, there were plenty of other contenders in the great battle for the Thanksgiving table. As a service, we provide the following recipes for anyone wanting to change it up.
1. Roast eel (1621)
Among the meats served at the first Thanksgiving in Plymouth would surely have been this vital freshwater food source. The 1622 promotional pamphlet for the Plymouth colony “Mourt’s Relation” describes how the Wampanoag native Tisquantum (better known as Squanto) taught the Pilgrims to catch the slippery, succulent treats.
Tisquantum went at noon to fish for Eels, at night he came home with as many as he could well lift in one hand, which our people were glad of, they were fat & sweet, he trod them out with his feet, and so caught them with his hands, without any other Instrument.
Here’s how they might have prepared it:
Ingredients
- 2 lbs cleaned freshwater eel
- Salt, splash of vinegar
- Sage or bay, butter
Instructions
- Soak eel 30 minutes in salt water and vinegar.
- Dry; rub with salt and herbs.
- Split a roasting stick down the middle, coil eel around stick.
- Roast over open fire 20-25 min.
- Baste with butter.
2. Roast swan (17th-18th centuries)
Long a favorite of European royals (peasants were forbidden to hunt them), swan was plentiful in the New World and was most likely one of the waterfowl consumed at the first Thanksgiving.
Here’s a recipe from Hannah Woolley’s “The Queen-like Closet,” (1670) a cookbook that later colonists would have had in their kitchens:
To bake a Swan.
Scald it and take out the bones, and parboil it, then season it very well with Pepper, Salt and Ginger, then lard it, and put it in a deep Coffin of Rye Paste with store of Butter, close it and bake it very well, and when it is baked, fill up the Vent-hole with melted Butter, and so keep it; serve it in as you do the Beef-Pie.
For something more elaborate, here’s a preparation from the late 14th century cookbook “Le Menagier de Paris”:
Pluck like a chicken or goose, scald, or boil; spit, skewer in four places, and roast with all its feet and beak, and leave the head unplucked; and eat with yellow pepper.
Item, if you wish, it may be gilded.
Item, when you kill it, you should split its head down to the shoulders.
Item, sometimes they are skinned and reclothed.
RECLOTHED SWAN in its skin with all the feathers. Take it and split it between the shoulders, and cut it along the stomach: then take off the skin from the neck cut at the shoulders, holding the body by the feet; then put it on the spit, and skewer it and gild it. And when it is cooked, it must be reclothed in its skin, and let the neck be nice and straight or flat; and let it be eaten with yellow pepper.
3. Passenger pigeon pie (1700s)
Though extinct for more than a century, passenger pigeons were once as abundant as the kind you see fouling statues in urban parks. While we wouldn’t recommend eating those birds, Cornish game hen or squab make a decent substitute.
Ingredients
- 2 Cornish game hens (substitute for extinct passenger pigeons)
- 1 onion, quartered
- 2 tbsp butter
- 2 tbsp flour
- 1-1½ cups chicken or turkey stock
- Salt and pepper, to taste
- 1 tsp dried thyme
- Double pie crust (bottom + top crust)
Instructions
1. Prepare the meat
- Simmer game hens with the onion until fully cooked and tender.
- Remove hens; pick the meat from the bones.
- Place shredded meat in a bowl.
2. Make the gravy
- Melt butter in a pan.
- Add flour and cook until lightly browned.
- Stir in stock to form a smooth gravy.
- Season with salt, pepper, and thyme.
- Simmer until slightly thickened.
3. Assemble the pie
- Line a pie dish with bottom crust.
- Add shredded meat.
- Pour warm gravy over the meat.
- Cover with top crust and seal edges.
- Cut a small vent in the center.
4. Bake
Outdoor Dutch oven method (historical):
- Preheat Dutch oven with coals above and below.
- Elevate pie pan inside the Dutch oven on metal hooks or a trivet.
- Bake ~10-20 minutes, checking frequently to avoid burning.
Modern oven method:
- Bake at 375°F for 35-45 minutes, until crust is golden.
5. Serve. Let cool slightly before slicing.
4. Sautéed calf’s brains with mushrooms, sour cream, and dill
In 1904, railroad heir George Vanderbilt and his wife, Edith, hosted a lavish Thanksgiving at their Asheville estate, Biltmore. Turkey was on the menu — but so were calf’s brains. Here’s one preparation that guarantees a delicate, custardy mouthfeel:
Ingredients
- 1 lb brains (veal, pork, or lamb)
- Water for soaking
- Salt (for poaching water)
- 2 tbsp butter
- 1 cup sliced white mushrooms
- 2-3 tbsp sour cream
- 1-2 tbsp fresh dill, minced
- Toasted bread, for serving
Instructions
1. Prep the brains
- Soak brains overnight in cold water to remove blood pockets.
- Drain.
- Poach gently in salted water (bare simmer) for 10-15 minutes until firm.
- Cool slightly, then peel off the thin outer membrane.
- Cut brains into bite-size pieces.
2. Cook the mushrooms
- In a skillet, melt butter over medium heat.
- Add mushrooms and sauté until they release their juices and the butter turns lightly browned and nutty.
3. Add the brains
- Add chopped brains to the skillet.
- Toss gently with the mushrooms and browned butter for 1-2 minutes.
4. Finish the sauce
- Remove skillet from heat.
- Stir in sour cream to form a loose sauce.
- Add minced dill.
- Adjust salt if needed.
5. Serve. Spoon the mixture over warm toast. Serve immediately.
5. Celery au naturel (late 1800s-early 1900s)
Now the most unwanted vegetable on the crudite platter, this Bloody Mary garnish was a highly coveted status symbol of the Gilded Age (it was hard to grow). Everyone will want the recipe.
Ingredients
- 1 bunch crisp celery
- Cold water
- Ice cubes (optional)
- Salt (for serving, optional)
Instructions
1. Trim the celery
- Cut off the root end.
- Remove tough outer stalks if desired.
- Trim leafy tops to a neat fan.
2. Refresh the stalks
- Place celery in a bowl of cold water (add ice for extra crispness).
- Chill 15-30 minutes.
3. Present with appropriate ceremony
- Stand stalks upright in a tall glass, vase, or celery jar.
- Arrange so the tops flare elegantly.
4. Serve. Place the celery in the center of the table. Offer a pinch dish of salt on the side.
Note: In the late 19th century, this was considered a showpiece delicacy. Your guests are encouraged to admire its beauty before eating it exactly as it is.
6. Turkey lime molded salad (1969)
This vintage Better Homes and Gardens recipe is a bit of a cheat, as it does use turkey — although not in any form you’re likely to recognize.
Ingredients
- 2 packages (3 oz each) lime-flavored gelatin
- ¼ tsp salt
- 2 cups boiling water
- ½ cup cold water
- 1 (7 oz) bottle ginger ale
- 2 cups diced cooked turkey
- 1 cup sour cream
- ¼ tsp ground ginger
- 1 (16 oz) can pears, drained and diced
- 6½-cup gelatin mold
Instructions
1. Make the gelatin base
- Dissolve lime gelatin and salt in 2 cups boiling water.
- Add ginger ale and ½ cup cold water.
- Chill until partially set.
2. Prepare the turkey layer
- Fold diced turkey into the partially set gelatin.
- Pour into a 6½-cup mold.
- Chill until almost firm.
3. Prepare the sour cream-pear layer
- Beat sour cream, ground ginger, and ½–1 cup of the remaining unset gelatin until smooth.
- Chill until partially set.
- Fold in diced pears.
4. Add second layer
- Spoon the pear-sour cream mixture over the firm turkey layer.
- Chill until completely set.
5. Unmold and serve
- Dip mold briefly in warm water.
- Invert onto a serving platter.
- Lift mold carefully to reveal two layers.
Louis CK’s ‘Ingram’: Skilled comic spews self-indulgent self-abuse
For more than two centuries, the great American novel has tempted writers who dreamed of capturing the country’s soul between two covers.
From Melville’s “Moby-Dick” to Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby,” from Faulkner’s haunted South to Steinbeck’s dust-caked plains, these novels shaped the way Americans saw themselves. Even in decline, the form still attracted giants. Updike, Roth, Morrison — writers who made words shine and sentences sing. Each tried to show what it means to be American: to dream, to stumble, and to start again.
To compound matters, ‘Ingram’ isn’t just a story of exploration, but also one of self-exploration, in the most literal and least appealing sense.
Now comes comedian, filmmaker, and repentant sex pest Louis C.K. to try his hand at what turns out to be … a not-great American novel. In truth, it’s awful.
Road to nowhere
“Ingram” reads like a road map to nowhere — meandering, bloated, and grammatically reckless. The prose wanders as if written under anesthesia. Sentences stretch, then sag. The paragraphs arrive in puddles, not lines. There’s an energy in C.K.’s comedy — a kind of desperate honesty — that, on stage, electrifies. But on the page, that same honesty slips into self-indulgence. The book is less “On the Road” and more off the rails.
To be clear, I love his comedy. I’ve seen him live and will see him again in the new year. He remains one of the most gifted observers of human absurdity alive — a man who can mine a half-eaten slice of pizza for existential truth. But this is not about comedy. This is about writing. And C.K. cannot write. The pacing, the architecture, the restraint — none of it is there.
Rough draft
The story unfolds in a version of rural Texas that seems to exist only in C.K.’s imagination, a land of dull prospects and even duller minds. At its center is Ingram, a poor, half-feral boy raised in poverty and pushed out into the world by a mother who tells him she has nothing left to offer. His education consists of hardship and hearsay. He treats running water like sorcery and basic plumbing like black magic. C.K. calls it “a young drifter’s coming of age in an indifferent world,” but it reads more like rough stand-up notes bound by mistake.
The writing is atrocious. Vast portions of the book read like this:
I couldn’t see my eyes, but I knew what was on my throat was a hand by the way it was warm and tightening and quivering like you could feel the thinking inside each finger, which were so long and thick that one of them pressed hard against the whole side of my face.
Or this:
I sat up, rubbing my aching neck til my breath came back regular, and I crawled out the tent flap myself, finding the world around me lit by the sun, which, just rising, was still low enough in the sky to throw its light down there under the great road, which was once again roaring and shaking above me.
Sentences stretch on like prison terms, suffocated by their own syntax, gasping for punctuation. The dialogue is somehow worse. Ingram’s conversations with the drifters and degenerates he meets on his journey stumble from cliché to confusion, the rhythm of speech giving way to nonsensical babble.
RELATED: Bill Maher and Bill Burr agree Louis CK should be welcomed back in Hollywood
Photo by Ronald Martinez/Getty Images
A gripping tale
To compound matters, “Ingram,” isn’t just a story of exploration, but also one of self-exploration, in the most literal and least appealing sense. There’s a staggering amount of masturbation. C.K. doesn’t so much write about shame as relive it, page after sticky page. His public fall from grace plays out again and again, only now under the pretense of art. It’s less confession than repetition — self-absolution by way of self-abuse, and somehow still not funny.
Any comparisons to writers like Bukowski or Barry Hannah are little more than wishful thinking. Bukowski was grimy, but in a graceful way. He wrote filth with style, turning hangovers into hymns.
Hannah’s madness had a tune to it, strange but unmistakably his own. Even Hunter S. Thompson, at his most incoherent, had velocity. His sentences tore through the page, drug-fueled but deliberate.
C.K.’s writing has none of that. He tries to channel Americana — the heat, the highways, the hard men who dream of escape — but his clumsy prose ensures the only thing channeled is confusion. As C.K. recently told Bill Maher, he did no research for the book, and that much is evident from the first page. His characters talk like they were written by a man who’s only seen Texas through “No Country for Old Men.”
Don’t quit your day job
In the history of American letters, many great writers have fallen. Hemingway drank himself into oblivion; Mailer stabbed his wife; Capote drowned in his own decadence. But their sentences still stood. Their craft was the redemption. With “Ingram,” C.K. has no such refuge. The book exposes the limits of confession as art — that point where self-exposure turns into self-immolation. It could have been great; instead, it’s the very opposite. The only thing it proves is that writing and performing are different callings. Comedy forgives indiscipline. Literature doesn’t.
The great American novel has survived worse assaults — from bored professors, from self-serious minimalists, from MFA factories that mistake verbosity for vision. But rarely has it been dragged so low by someone so convinced of his brilliance. There’s perverse poetry in it, though. A man who was caught with his pants down now delivers a novel that never pulls them back up.
Cold War Interlude
Is there a more purely entertaining British novelist writing today than William Boyd? I doubt it, and I would even go a step further than that. Since his crowning achievement with 2002’s whole-life novel Any Human Heart, Boyd has pivoted from the witty, Evelyn Waugh-ish literary books with which he began his career to a series of period-set spy novels that focus on what it’s like to be an innocent caught up in events beyond their comprehension. From 2006’s mega-bestseller Restless to 2012’s Waiting for Sunrise, Boyd has consistently proved himself the purveyor of high-class, page-turning espionage fiction. Warmer and funnier than le Carré, less jaded than Mick Herron, his novels are page-turners par excellence.
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Giving History the Human Touch
America owes all her triumphs to the humans who crawled across battlefields, toiled in factories, blasted through mountains, sermonized on soapboxes, and experimented in labs. American history—world history—is human history more than anything. The late David McCullough understood this as well as anyone, and in the posthumous collection of his essays and speeches, History Matters, this basic idea is a consistent throughline.
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Putting Atheism on the Defensive
Academic pariah he may be, but on the big questions Charles Murray is a man of his time. Science, he believed for most of his life, had demolished the traditional notion of God. Consciousness is produced by the brain, nothing more. The Gospels are less history than folklore.
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Karp’s Quest to Save the Shire
“You’re killing my family in Palestine!” a protester screamed at Palantir CEO Alex Karp while he was addressing a Silicon Valley conference last April. “The primary source of death in Palestine,” Karp, the Jewish, half-black, progressive, tai chi practitioner shot back, without missing a beat, “is the fact that Hamas has realized there are millions and millions of useful idiots.”
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What Is an American?
The chaotic confrontation in Dearborn, Michigan, on Tuesday — when a demonstrator attempted to burn a Qur’an and Muslim counter-protesters…
