Sweet Potato and Turkey Couscous — What I Made When the Soup Was Gone

The week after Thanksgiving is its own season. The house has been emptied of guests. The fridge is full of leftovers. The dishwasher has run six times in three days. The smell of turkey has shifted from celebratory to vaguely accusatory (you must do something with all of this, the smell says; you cannot just keep eating sandwiches). So I made soup. I always make soup the week after Thanksgiving. Turkey wild rice soup, in the largest stock pot I own, using the carcass of the bird (boiled all day with the vegetable scraps to make stock), the picked-clean meat, wild rice, carrots, celery, onion, garlic, mushrooms, a bay leaf, thyme, cream at the end, salt and pepper to taste. The soup made eight quarts. I gave two quarts to Mamma (she protested; she ate them). I gave two quarts to the Damiano Center (Gerald wept; Gerald never weeps; the soup must have been particularly good). I froze two quarts for January (the bleak month, the month when soup is medicine). I kept two quarts for myself, which lasted me four days, eaten at the kitchen window, with bread, alone. Sven got the turkey skin. He always gets the turkey skin. The post-Thanksgiving redistribution is a sacrament in this house. Wednesday I called Peter. He picked up on the second try. His voice was thick. It was 11 AM. I do not know what time he had started drinking. We talked for forty minutes. He said work was fine (I do not believe him). He said he was going to a Bears game on Sunday with a friend (I do not know if the friend exists). He asked about the kids and the grandkids and Sven. He said he was sorry he didn't come for Thanksgiving. He said he'd try for Christmas. He did not commit. I did not lecture. I did not push. I did not tell him about Pappa, who I see every time Peter slurs his words on the phone. I just listened. I told him I loved him. I told him the soup was particularly good this year. I told him to call me on Sunday. He didn't call on Sunday. I cooked harder. That is what I do when I am worried about my children — I cook harder. Wednesday: pot roast (Paul's recipe; the one with red wine and rosemary). Thursday: meatballs (Mamma's recipe; the real ginger). Friday: a beef stew (the ancient Swedish kalops, with allspice and bay). Saturday: a quiche (because the eggs were getting old). Sunday: a pot of split pea soup (because the ham bone from Thanksgiving was in the freezer and ham bones do not freeze well past three weeks). The kitchen produced food at a furious pace and I ate some of it and froze most of it and gave the rest away. The cooking was prayer. The cooking was the only thing I knew how to do. The Damiano Center on Thursday: wild rice soup as usual, plus a pot of meatballs and gravy that I served on rice for the regulars. They ate seventy-three plates of meatballs. Gerald said, "Linda, you are getting into the meatball business." I said, "Gerald, I have always been in the meatball business." Friday: I baked cardamom bread. The kitchen smelled like Christmas-coming. Sven slept on his bed. The afternoon light at three-thirty was already half-gone. November is brutal in Duluth — the dark arriving like a guest who has overstayed. I ate cardamom bread for dinner. With butter. With coffee. At the window. Sven snored. Peter did not call. I will call him tomorrow. The cooking continues. The worry continues. The soup is in the freezer. The bread is on the counter. The dog is on the bed. It is enough. It is barely enough. But it is.

The soup carried me through four days, but eventually even eight quarts runs out. When the last container came out of the freezer and the stock pot was finally washed and put away, I still had turkey left—picked and shredded and sitting in a container in the fridge, waiting to become something. This sweet potato and turkey couscous was what happened next: fast to make, warm in the way I needed, and built from almost nothing, which felt honest for the week I was in. You cook what you have. You feed whoever shows up. You keep going.

Sweet Potato and Turkey Couscous

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups couscous
• 1 1/2 cups chicken or turkey broth (plus 1/4 cup more as needed)
• 2 cups cooked turkey, shredded or cubed
• 2 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
• 1 small yellow onion, diced
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped (for serving)
• Lemon wedges, for serving

Instructions

1. Cook the sweet potatoes. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the sweet potato cubes and cook, stirring occasionally, for 8–10 minutes until just tender and lightly golden at the edges.
2. Soften the aromatics. Add the diced onion to the skillet and cook 3–4 minutes until softened. Stir in the garlic, cumin, smoked paprika, and cinnamon. Cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
3. Add the turkey. Stir in the shredded turkey and cook 2–3 minutes until heated through. Season with salt and black pepper. Reduce heat to low and keep warm.
4. Prepare the couscous. In a medium saucepan, bring 1 1/2 cups broth to a boil. Remove from heat, stir in the couscous, cover, and let stand 5 minutes. Fluff with a fork. If the couscous seems dry, stir in the additional 1/4 cup warm broth.
5. Combine and serve. Gently fold the sweet potato and turkey mixture into the couscous, or spoon the skillet mixture over a bed of couscous in individual bowls. Top with fresh parsley and serve with lemon wedges on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 410 | Protein: 29g | Fat: 7g | Carbs: 56g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 480mg