Cranberry Brie Bites

November, and the Thanksgiving preparations begin with a new dimension: the cookbook. The cookbook is on the kitchen counter, open to the turkey chapter, and the openness is both practical (I am consulting my own recipes) and symbolic (the book is in the kitchen where it was born, doing the work it was written to do: guiding a cook through a meal). I am the cook. The book is the guide. And the guide was written by me, about Mama, for the kitchen where we both stood.

Carrie has announced that she is coming home for Christmas — from Fukuoka, a sixteen-hour flight, a two-week visit. The announcement was delivered by phone at three AM Charleston time (Carrie's time-zone awareness has not improved), and the news was the gift: Carrie is coming home. For the first Christmas without Mama. For the first Christmas with the cookbook on the shelf. For the first Christmas where the blessing will be entirely mine.

James and Elise will come for Thanksgiving. The table will hold four: Naomi, Robert, James, Elise. Joy will visit for the afternoon. The four is the number. The number is sufficient.

Thanksgiving dinner was the same: turkey, giblet gravy, cornbread dressing (crumbled), sweet potato casserole, collard greens, mac and cheese, cranberry sauce, buttermilk biscuits, peach cobbler. I blessed the food with my own words. The words were mine. The blessing was mine. And the mine-ness was not loneliness but sovereignty — the sovereignty of a woman who has assumed the blessing and who blesses with the authority of a lifetime of cooking and a lifetime of faith and a lifetime of showing up at the table.

I made the full Thanksgiving dinner, following the cookbook on the counter, and the following was the reading, and the reading was the cooking, and the cooking was the Thanksgiving.

The cranberry sauce has always been the quiet one at my Thanksgiving table — present every year, rarely the center of attention, but unthinkable to leave out. This year, with the cookbook open on the counter and the blessing finally mine to speak, I wanted to carry a little of that cranberry spirit beyond the dinner plate and into something guests could hold in their hands the moment they walked through the door. Cranberry Brie Bites felt exactly right: a small, golden, melting thing that says welcome, the table is set, and someone who loves you made this.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 24 bites

Ingredients

1 sheet puff pastry, thawed (about 9x9 inches)
4 oz Brie cheese, rind removed, cut into 24 small cubes
1/2 cup whole-berry cranberry sauce (store-bought or homemade)
2 tablespoons chopped pecans or walnuts (optional)
1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves (optional)
1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)
Flaky sea salt, for finishing

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat your oven to 400°F. Lightly grease a 24-cup mini muffin tin with cooking spray or butter.
Cut the pastry. On a lightly floured surface, unfold the thawed puff pastry sheet and cut it into 24 equal squares (cut into a 4x6 grid).
Form the cups. Gently press each pastry square into a mini muffin cup, letting the corners fold up naturally to create a small cup shape.
Fill each cup. Place one cube of Brie into each pastry cup. Top each with approximately 1 teaspoon of cranberry sauce. Sprinkle with chopped pecans and fresh thyme if using.
Brush with egg wash. Using a pastry brush, lightly coat the exposed pastry edges with the beaten egg. This gives the bites a deep golden color as they bake.
Bake. Bake for 13–15 minutes, until the pastry is puffed and golden brown and the Brie is fully melted.
Finish and serve. Remove from the oven and let cool in the tin for 3–4 minutes. Sprinkle with a pinch of flaky sea salt, transfer to a serving platter, and serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cranberry Brie Bites — The Blessing Was Mine to Give