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Thanksgiving Quesadillas -- Using Every Bit, Because That’s What January Asks of You

New Year 2018 — wait, we already did New Year 2018. This is still 2018. End of January. The winter drag. I'm making it quick because January is quick: cold (for Louisiana), dark (by 5 PM), and quiet (no holidays, no events, no excuse to boil anything). The crawfish are sleeping. The hunting is winding down. The business is in its slow season. Everything is holding its breath, waiting for March, waiting for spring, waiting for the starter's pistol that is the first pot of crawfish boiling in the driveway.

But here's the thing about January: it's when you do the work that nobody sees. I updated the business licenses. I reviewed Marcus and Terri's work. I maintained the truck. I fixed the fence that the December wind knocked crooked. I patched the caulk that I patched in the spring because caulk doesn't last in Louisiana humidity. These are not glamorous tasks. These are not stories. These are the roux — the thing you do before the thing you do, the invisible foundation that holds everything else up.

Made a pot of turkey neck and rice — the humblest of Cajun dishes, the dish that nobody puts on a restaurant menu because it doesn't photograph well and it sounds like something your great-grandmother made during the Depression, which it is. Turkey necks simmered in a dark gravy until the meat falls off the bone, served over rice, with a dash of hot sauce. It costs about $3 to make. It feeds five people. It tastes like the history of a people who made everything from nothing and made the nothing taste like home. Rémy ate three bowls. The machine runs on humble food and big dreams.

Turkey neck and rice is the dish I grew up on — the one nobody brags about but everybody remembers — and on nights like these January nights, when the work is invisible and the season is quiet, it leads me straight to another humble turkey dish that stretches a little into a lot. These Thanksgiving Quesadillas are the same philosophy in a different form: use what you have, feed who’s at the table, and make the nothing taste like something. Rémy’s already asking when we’re making them again.

Thanksgiving Quesadillas

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

Ingredients

  • 2 cups cooked turkey, shredded or chopped
  • 1 cup leftover stuffing (or seasoned breadcrumbs)
  • 1/2 cup cranberry sauce
  • 1 cup shredded mozzarella or Monterey Jack cheese
  • 4 large flour tortillas (10-inch)
  • 2 tablespoons butter or cooking spray
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • Sour cream or gravy, for serving (optional)

Instructions

  1. Prepare the filling. In a bowl, combine the shredded turkey, garlic powder, and black pepper. Stir to coat evenly and set aside.
  2. Assemble the quesadillas. Lay a tortilla flat on a clean surface. Spread a thin layer of cranberry sauce over one half. Add 1/2 cup of the turkey mixture, a spoonful of stuffing, and a generous handful of shredded cheese. Fold the tortilla in half to close.
  3. Cook the first side. Heat a large skillet or griddle over medium heat and add 1/2 tablespoon of butter. Place the folded quesadilla in the pan and cook for 3–4 minutes until the bottom is golden brown and crisp.
  4. Flip and finish. Carefully flip the quesadilla and cook another 3–4 minutes on the second side until the cheese is fully melted and both sides are evenly browned.
  5. Rest and slice. Transfer to a cutting board and let rest for 1 minute before slicing into wedges. Repeat with remaining tortillas and filling.
  6. Serve. Plate the quesadilla wedges with sour cream, warm gravy, or extra cranberry sauce on the side for dipping.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 38g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 640mg

Tommy Beaumont
About the cook who shared this
Tommy Beaumont
Week 103 of Tommy’s 30-year story · Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Tommy is a Cajun electrician from Thibodaux, Louisiana, who lost his home to Hurricane Katrina four months after his wedding and rebuilt his life one roux at a time. He grew up on Bayou Lafourche, fishing with his father Joey at dawn and eating his mother's gumbo by dusk. His crawfish boils draw the whole neighborhood, his boudin is made from scratch, and he stirs his roux the way Joey taught him — dark as chocolate, forty-five minutes, no shortcuts. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

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