By Two weeks. The dressing cornbread is made and crumbled and drying. The yeast roll dough is planned for Tuesday evening so it rises cold in the refrigerator overnight and is ready to shape Wednesday morning. The turkey goes in the brine Thursday night. Dorothy is bringing her sweet potato pound cake and what she described to James as a surprise dish she has been developing, which James has been told nothing about except that it involves pecans and that it will be good. I believe him. I believe her. Whatever Dorothy Carter brings to this table has been made with the full attention of a woman who understands what occasions require.
Caleb is sixteen months old. He has more words than any of us can easily count now and he has opinions about things — specific, expressible opinions — and he brings them to the table with complete confidence. He has decided he does not care for peas, which I take personally and which CJ finds hilarious. I told CJ that Caleb will eat peas eventually and that this is not negotiable and that when the time comes I will be the one to make it happen, gently, with patience, over many peas. CJ said he was sure I would. He said it in the tone of a man who knows better than to bet against me in a kitchen.
Two weeks. The table will be full. The names are all accounted for. Marcus is in the photograph on CJ's wall and in Caleb's approximate attempts to say it. Bernice is in the cast iron and the recipe booklet and the Tuesday evenings and the name of the table. Both of them present, in the way the dead are present when you live your life honoring what they gave you. Both of them at the table. Both of them, always, at the table.
Caleb will come around on peas — I have said it and I mean it. In the meantime, I will keep making them exactly as I like them, because the table deserves nothing less than my full effort in every dish, and because somewhere between the butter and the shallots, even a sixteen-month-old with strong opinions might pause and reconsider. This is the version I will set out this Thanksgiving: simple enough to let the peas speak for themselves, refined enough to earn a place beside Dorothy’s pound cake and whatever pecan surprise she has been developing in secret.
Peas with Shallots
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
- 3 medium shallots, thinly sliced
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1 pound frozen sweet peas (or fresh shelled peas)
- 1/4 cup low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
- 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
- 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves (optional)
- 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
Instructions
- Soften the shallots. Melt butter in a wide skillet over medium heat. Add the sliced shallots and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 to 6 minutes until softened and just beginning to turn golden at the edges.
- Add garlic. Stir in the minced garlic and cook for 30 seconds until fragrant, taking care not to let it brown.
- Add peas and broth. Add the peas and broth to the skillet. Stir to combine, increase heat to medium-high, and cook for 3 to 4 minutes until the peas are heated through and tender and most of the broth has been absorbed.
- Season and finish. Remove from heat. Season with salt, pepper, and thyme if using. Add the lemon juice and stir gently to coat everything in the pan.
- Serve. Transfer to a serving dish and serve immediately alongside your Thanksgiving spread.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 110 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 4g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 180mg