Simmer

Celery root and potatoes are a mash made in heaven. Transfer cubed potatoes and celery root to a bowl of water as soon as you cut them to keep them from turning brown.

You can use rich stock, made from the turkey carcass, for risotto or soup of the long weekend, or freeze it for the new year.—M-F.H.

Peas and onions are a classic holiday duo. Relying on frozen ones, along with a quick béchamel, is a smart move on a busy day of cooking.

Chowders are by far my favorite kinds of soup and often feature at our table on a Saturday lunchtime. The best, I think is clam, followed closely by finnan haddie. If you can, try and buy some really good-quality undyed finnan haddie, which has a more subtle flavor than some of the others.

Brothy Beans "Sólo la olla sabe de sus frijoles" states the wooden sign hung on the wall of a fonda in Veracruz. "It is only the pot that knows its own beans." In homes and small fondas throughout Mexico, beans simmer in large ollas, bulbous-shaped clay pots, their earthy aroma filling the air. Traditionally, a smaller olla filled with water placed on top of the pot serves as both a lid and a way to heat the water that occasionally needs to be added to the beans. Fuel is often scarce and this is a practical way to conserve precious wood. These brothy beans, cooked with lots of water and just a scattering of herbs, onion, and garlic, are the classic bean dish of Mexico. They are often served as soupy frijoles caldos, ladled into small bowls, the beans submerged in their broth, and offered toward the end of a meal so no one leaves the table hungry. Or, they are served as frijoles cocidos, the beans drained slightly to accompany grilled meats or tacos. No matter whether the beans are cooked in an olla, Dutch oven, or other heavy pot, the procedure will be the same. All that needs to be adjusted is the length of the cooking time. The fresher the beans are, the less cooking time is needed, but 2 1/2 to 3 hours is a reasonable estimate, although 4 hours or more is not unusual.

The best leftover dish is the first sandwich you make from what's left of the turkey, standing barefoot in a quiet kitchen lighted only by the dim bulb above the stove: thick toast with mayo and cranberry sauce and dressing and slices of just-carved meat.
No, scratch that (though it's delicious and you should make two or three). The best leftover recipe is risotto with turkey and wild mushrooms, the grains of rice plump with turkey broth and made nutty with cheese. The soft richness of the meal recalls Thanksgiving, then amplifies the memory, giving it a rakish flair.

If fresh clams are unavailable (or you're running short on time), substitute two 10-ounce cans of baby clams and 6 cups of bottled clam juice.

This recipe is part of the Epicurious Online Cooking School, in partnership with the Culinary Institute of America. To watch it being made, and to learn how to make other Mediterranean classics, check out the video classes.

This recipe is part of the Epicurious Online Cooking School, in partnership with the Culinary Institute of America. To watch it being made, and to learn how to make other Mediterranean classics, check out the video classes.

This recipe is part of the Epicurious Online Cooking School, in partnership with the Culinary Institute of America. To watch it being made, and to learn how to make other Mediterranean classics, check out the video classes.

Cookbook author and cooking teacher James Peterson created this recipe exclusively for Epicurious. The repeated caramelization of the vegetables is the secret to the gravy's surprisingly rich flavor. For more of Peterson's gravy-making advice, including how to thicken with a roux and avoid lumps, see our Gravy Primer.

Order your turkey far enough in advance to make sure you get a fresh, rather than frozen, bird. Buy it from someone whom you trust, as lying about whether a bird has ever been frozen is common. It makes sense to buy a bird that's larger than you need so you'll have plenty left over for sandwiches, creamed turkey, soup, and the like. Take the bird out of the refrigerator 3 to 4 hours before it is scheduled to go in the oven. A room-temperature turkey will roast more quickly and evenly.

A gravy is made by thickening juices from a roast with flour. Making a generous amount of well-flavored turkey jus or gravy involves a paradox; if the turkey is properly cooked or if it is stuffed, it will release little in the way of juices. When overcooked, as most turkeys are, it will provide plenty of juices for your gravy. If the turkey has released an abundance of juices—a couple of cups (500 milliliters) or more—serving the jus is a simple matter of skimming off the fat and serving the juices as they are, as a "jus." To convert them to gravy, make a roux and add the juices to that. To make giblet gravy, roast the giblets in the pan along with the turkey, chop them fine, and add them to the gravy.
If you've cooked your turkey just right, you won't see much in the bottom of the pan and what there is won't have a whole lot of flavor. To get the most flavor out of a small amount of juices, boil down the juices until they caramelize on the bottom of the pan, pour out the fat (or leave a few tablespoons in the pan if you're making a roux), and deglaze the pan with water or broth. Use only as much broth as you need to serve the guests at hand—about 3 tablespoons (45 milliliters) per person—because the more broth you add, the less flavorful the juice will be. If you're a fanatic, you can bring up the flavor of the jus by adding a little broth at a time and caramelizing after each addition. To stretch a small amount of jus without diluting its flavor, consider swirling in 1/2 ounce (15 grams) of butter per serving.

The thick fogs that engulfed London until the mid to late 1950s for which this soup is named would not be unknown to the Crawley family. Matthew, a London native, would especially enjoy this hearty ham and pea soup, as it would remind him of his childhood home.

The mention of Hue, a city in central Vietnam, brings up many conflicted memories for me. It was the site of the Battle of Hue, one of the longest and deadliest battles of the Tet Offensive, which began in January 1968, and of the Vietnam War. Although I was just a kid when the fighting took place, the stories that I heard about it during my childhood were frightening. Hue was the imperial capital of Vietnam for nearly a century and a half, until 1945, and many of the most sophisticated and interesting dishes in the Vietnamese repertoire originated in the region, including this classic spicy beef soup. The light stock, which is made with beef and pork bones, is scented with lots of lemongrass and shrimp paste. Any rice noodle can be used here, but the usual choice is the round rice noodle that resembles spaghetti. In Vietnam, the soup is often served with cubes of coagulated pig's blood, like the bowl pictured here.

"Sometimes I sit and watch baseball and eat pistachios out of the can, but they're better as a topper for pasta."

A simple shrimp salad is served in small dinner rolls in this fun (and easy) twist on the traditional New England lobster roll.

This recipe can easily be doubled to feed a larger group—and makes for great leftovers. For a lighter soup, omit the cream; or for a little decadence, add more cream or swirl in a little crème fraîche.