I confess to being a little overwhelmed. Wait, did I confess to that already? It doesn't feel like things have eased up much. But I guess I'll sleep when I'm dead, as the saying goes. And I ain't dead yet. But I am a bit behind. So this recipe for pickled ramps is coming at you at a time when the farmers markets are no longer overflowing with wonderful wild leeks. Still, it works just as well with scallions which are now in abundance. One of the best things about these pickles—aside from the pungent, sweet-tart, slightly crisp ramps (or scallions) themselves—is the leftover brine. I have been using mine for salad dressing. Whisked with a bit of mustard and some olive oil, it's perfection. It's also great to dirty up your martini. Ice cold gin, a little pickled ramp brine and maybe even a slim ramp slung over the side of your glass.I love them with cheese! Above, they're arranged on top of ricotta-smeared rye with a few sprouts and a good sprinkling of red sea salt. I chopped up a few and plopped them into my latest quesadilla. It's a good idea. You can also fold them into omelettes, toss them into salads, stir them into mashed potatoes and use them as a garnish for cold soups. I think you get the idea. Pickled ramps are easy, versatile and just one in a series of homemade condiments coming your way.
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It's time to talk turkey. Even the most experienced cooks can get a little flustered when it come to roasting such a large creature. Confusion starts with what kind of bird to buy and proceeds through whether or not to brine, to stuff or not, what temp, how long to rest, etc. It's all in pursuit of that deep brown, lacquered skin and meat that is not hideously dry. Some say the sole purpose of gravy is to restore moisture to that breast. There really is no definitive technique for roasting a turkey, although most professional chefs do recommend you cook it until the breast is done, and then cut off the legs and thighs to finish roasting separately while the breast rests. In a neat twist on that, this recipe has you brine the bird whole, then break it down and roast the legs and wings on top of the stuffing. Food for thought.

But most people simply can't abandon the Norman Rockwell image of that intact turkey perched on the carving board in all its golden glory. And for those of you who wish to hew to tradition (my dining companions included), I've gathered a few recipes for success. I've rarely actually been in charge of a turkey, depending as I do on the kindness of others for my Thanksgiving dinner. But some years ago I did make Martha's version with the breast draped in wine-&-butter-soaked cheesecloth, and I recall it being quite delicious. I didn't brine it first—I'm actually not sure that I've ever eaten a Thanksgiving turkey that's been brined! Not everyone is prepared to take that extra step, but I understand it makes an enormous difference. I love to eat the dark meat—and to gob mayonnaise and cranberry sauce on a leftover turkey sandwich—so dryness is not my particular bugaboo, but it looks like we're going the brining route this year.
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