Smoked Ham with Butternut Squash Over Noodles

Mid-November and Memphis has made its final decision about fall: the leaves are down, the air is sharp, and the mornings require a real jacket, not the light windbreaker of October but the lined, insulated jacket of a man who is about to walk six miles in fifty-degree weather with a forty-pound bag. I love this weather. Not the way I love spring or fall proper, but the way you love a challenge that you've been meeting for thirty-six years — with respect, with preparation, and with the quiet satisfaction of knowing you can do it.

This week was Thanksgiving prep. In the Johnson household, Thanksgiving is not a day — it's a campaign, planned with the logistical precision of a military operation and the emotional intensity of a family reunion, because it is both. Rosetta began planning in September. I began planning in September too, but my planning is simpler: smoke the turkey, make the sides, survive the day without crying at the table, which I have managed every Thanksgiving since 2010 except one, and we don't talk about that one.

The turkey. I smoke it. Every year. A fourteen-to-sixteen-pound bird, brined for twenty-four hours in a solution of salt, sugar, apple cider, peppercorns, rosemary, and thyme. I pull it from the brine Thanksgiving morning at 4 AM, pat it dry, rub it with butter and my poultry seasoning — sage, thyme, garlic, onion powder, paprika — and put it on Uncle Clyde's smoker at 275. A turkey of that size takes about five hours, and I mop it hourly with a butter-and-apple-cider mixture that keeps the skin from drying and adds a sweetness that plays beautifully against the hickory smoke.

But before the turkey comes the planning. This week I confirmed the guest list with Rosetta: Walter Jr.'s family (5), Marcus and Angela (2), Charlie from Nashville (1 — she's driving in Wednesday night), Tyrone (1), and Pearlie Mae (1 — we're arranging transport from the facility). That's twelve at the table, plus Denise's plate, thirteen. Rosetta says thirteen is unlucky. I say it's not unlucky if one of them is an angel.

I also placed my order with Jerome for the turkey — farm-raised, never frozen, which Jerome sources from a farm outside Collierville. I've been getting my Thanksgiving turkey from Jerome for fifteen years, and every year he sets aside the best bird for me, because Jerome and I have the kind of relationship that butchers and pitmasters have: mutual respect, shared language, and the understanding that good meat is the foundation of good food and good food is the foundation of good living.

Wednesday evening I prepped the brine and submerged the turkey in a cooler filled with the solution and ice, and it sat in the garage overnight, brining in the cold dark, and I checked on it before bed the way you check on a sleeping child — not because anything could be wrong, but because checking is caring and caring is the job.

Rosetta was in the kitchen until midnight, prepping her contributions: the dressing (cornbread-based, with sage and celery and onion, baked in a casserole dish, not stuffed inside the bird because Rosetta says stuffing the bird is unsanitary and I have learned not to argue with a nurse about sanitation), the green bean casserole (from scratch, always from scratch), and the cranberry sauce (homemade, with orange zest, because canned cranberry sauce is a cylindrical insult to the cranberry).

I watched her work from the kitchen doorway, her hands moving with the efficiency of someone who has done this a hundred times and will do it a hundred more, and I thought about how Thanksgiving is Rosetta's art the way BBQ is mine — the turkey is my canvas, but the table is hers, and the table is where the family sits and the family is everything.

Watching Rosetta work that night — her hands steady, her purpose clear, the whole kitchen smelling like sage and something good — put me in mind of the kind of cooking that isn’t about showing off, just about feeding people you love. The next weekend, with the holiday still warm in my chest, I wanted something that had that same quality: humble ingredients, slow heat, the kind of dish that fills the house and sits easy on the table. That’s how I landed on smoked ham with butternut squash over egg noodles — smoky, sweet, and exactly what a late-autumn kitchen should smell like.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour 15 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 35 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 lbs smoked ham, bone-in or boneless, cut into 1-inch chunks
1 medium butternut squash (about 2 lbs), peeled, seeded, and cubed into 3/4-inch pieces
12 oz wide egg noodles
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup low-sodium chicken broth
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon ground sage
Salt to taste
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped, for garnish

Instructions

Roast the squash. Preheat your oven to 400°F. Spread the butternut squash cubes on a rimmed baking sheet, toss with 1 tablespoon melted butter, smoked paprika, and a pinch of salt. Roast 30–35 minutes, turning once halfway through, until tender and caramelized at the edges. Set aside.
Cook the noodles. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook egg noodles according to package directions until just al dente. Drain and toss with 1/2 tablespoon butter to prevent sticking. Set aside.
Build the base. In a large, deep skillet or Dutch oven, melt the remaining butter over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook 6–8 minutes, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Add the ham. Add the smoked ham chunks to the skillet. Cook 4–5 minutes, stirring occasionally, letting the ham pick up color from the pan. The fond that builds here is flavor —mdash; don’t rush it.
Deglaze and simmer. Pour in the chicken broth and apple cider vinegar, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Add the thyme, sage, and black pepper. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook 8–10 minutes until the liquid reduces by about a third.
Finish the sauce. Reduce heat to low. Stir in the heavy cream and cook 3–4 minutes until the sauce is slightly thickened and coats the back of a spoon. Taste and adjust salt as needed —mdash; smoked ham is salty, so add carefully.
Combine and serve. Fold the roasted butternut squash into the ham and sauce, then add the cooked egg noodles, tossing gently to coat everything evenly. Serve hot in wide bowls, garnished with fresh parsley.

Nutrition (per serving)

Smoked Ham with Butternut Squash Over Noodles — From the Pitmaster’s Playbook, a Smoke-House Classic for When the Turkey Rests