3 retro Midwestern recipes that fill our Thanksgiving tables – and hearts

More than any other holiday, Thanksgiving is for the makers. The ones who carefully curate the menu, making sure everyone’s favorites are represented. The ones who bake love into fussed-over feasts, and who rise while the frost still sparkles to start playing oven gymnastics while the house is still quiet.

Some of the dishes we prepare have the power to bring flavors and the people who shared them front and center, an especially sweet ode when those makers are no longer at the table. Others are about fun and creativity, which is just as important.

We offer three recipes that hearken to plates passed long ago, but are perfectly at home on today’s table. They were often made by those who loved us best — even if oatmeal in dressing and fruits and vegetables suspended in Jell-O were strange ways to show it.

As a child, oatmeal stuffing was a hard sell. Witnessing Mom and my Grandma Aggie load every available turkey orifice with the mashed mixture was a mild trauma, one I’ve spared my children. But, as is sometimes the case with childhood tastes, my perspective on this special family stuffing has changed. Grandma would have gotten a hoot out of the current state of oatmeal’s trendiness.

Agnes Mae Ross Seaquist, my grandma, was a singular woman wrapped in a wee, feisty package. Her parents were Scottish immigrants who raised their family in Duluth. Aggie taught her son’s girlfriend, a culinarily curious kid, how to make her family’s dressing by feel. Plunging her hands into a large bowl, she’d smush the oats together until it was just the right consistency.

My parents would marry and each year my sister and I would get the speech, “You have to learn how to do this. Who will make the dressing when I’m gone?”

She didn’t need to worry. Every year I plunge my hands into the bowl, consulting my mom on its worthiness. Oatmeal dressing has become the side dish we eagerly pass and scoop. Like the best family recipes, it’s changed only a little for modern tastes. Water is replaced by broth. Nubs of Honeycrisp apples are seasonally perfect. And I revel in a cracked pepper rebellion that would have shocked Aggie with its prodigiousness. And it’s cooked outside the bird.

The change is not unlike our Thanksgiving table. When we sit down, those memorialized in food will join us; I’ll remember Aggie’s infectious laugh. We’ll pass plates and share stories while I fill everyone with all the gratitude, abundance and love that was poured into me.

Serves 4 to 6.

Oatmeal stuffing might need a little PR to convert some Thanksgiving traditionalists, but this cozy dish carries all the expected flavors with the added bonus of being gluten-free. Grandma would have cooked this in the bird, but I’ve adapted it to an easy slow-cooker side. Feel free to personalize with regional dressing add-ins, like crumbled sausage, garden herbs, dried fruit or veggie stock. Note: Find schmaltz in most Jewish delis; use the leftovers to fry eggs or to top leftover stuffing. From Joy Summers.

Directions

In a large bowl, mix together oatmeal, butter, liver, onion, celery and poultry seasoning; refrigerate overnight.

The day of cooking, remove the oat mixture from the refrigerator and stir in the apple, and slowly add 1 ½ cups broth, mixing for even hydration.

Grease a 4 ½-quart slow cooker with schmaltz or butter. Add oat mixture and cook on high, undisturbed, for one hour.

Check for hot spots and stir. If bottom edges are starting to brown, add reserved ¼ cup broth around the interior edges. Cover and cook for one additional hour.

When I moved to Minnesota from a tiny suburban town along the New York City commuter line, I relearned the meaning of salad. In these parts, a salad does not have to contains greens or crunchy vegetables or even pretend to be healthy. At potluck gatherings, I’d find pasta salads, rice salads, Jell-O salads, fruit salads, egg salads, with nary a leaf in sight. So, no surprise, I stumbled upon the most unlikely yet fabulous desert, the cookie salad.

Cookie Salad, quite like rice or bread pudding, cake pops, trifle or “Mississippi mud,” was born of Midwestern thrift. It makes delicious use of cookies that don’t fit onto the holiday tray, and those that are broken, misshapen, burned at the edges or just a bit stale. In cookie salad, such sweet orphans find a lush home.

When I was seeking a recipe, I searched through old church cookbooks and newspapers and found that no two cookie salads are alike. But the unifying ingredients are custard (packaged vanilla), whipped cream (Cool Whip), cookies (crumbled Keebler Fudge Stripes or Oreos), drained canned pineapple and drained canned mandarin orange segments. Most often cookie salad is served in a fancy cut glass bowl. It is decidedly cloying and very rich.

In devising a recipe, photographer Ashley Moyna-Schwickert, who is steeped in our region’s culinary lore, and I came up with a brighter, tangier, easier cookie salad than the original. Calling for Greek whole milk yogurt, real whipped cream, vanilla and crumbled chocolate cookies, it’s topped off with orange segments for old times’ sake. Nostalgic yet practical, this cookie salad relies on an abundance of holiday treats. Make it ahead so it sets up nicely, and tote it to the next potluck.

Beth Dooley

Serves 8 to 10.

Note: Cookie salad puts over-the-hill cookies to delicious use. Oreos, graham crackers, striped fudge cookies — up to you. We’ve swapped out the boxed custard for tangy yogurt and call for real whipped cream. Make this a few hours or even a day ahead so that it sets up and serve in a pretty serving bowl garnished with bright mandarin orange segments.

Directions

In a large mixing bowl, gently fold together the yogurt, whipped cream, vanilla and honey or brown sugar. Then fold in half of the mandarin oranges and half of the cookie crumbs. Transfer to a pretty serving bowl and garnish with the remaining orange segments and cookie crumbs.

What’s a holiday without family drama? Ours peaked on Thanksgiving Day 2017, the year of the Great Strawberry Jell-O Salad Debate: Is it really a salad?

Side one: Never. Pretzels, strawberries, Jell-O, cream cheese and whipped cream have no business being in the same conversation as leafy greens, chopped vegetables and ranch. It’s a dessert.

Side two: Absolutely. The argument wasn’t very sound, something along the lines of “because that’s what grandma’s recipe says.” This was more about a spirited rivalry between teenage cousins than culinary authenticity.

But we could all agree that it is delicious, and we’re not alone. The dish started appearing in home kitchens after “Joys of Jell-O” was published in 1963, according to the Farmers’ Almanac (which, by the way, calls it a dessert). It struck a chord in the Midwest and the South, which explains its steady appearance at local potlucks and in the new “When Southern Women Cook,” an America’s Test Kitchen cookbook.

Recipes abound for this retro classic, and they don’t vary much. Vintage versions may switch up the Jell-O flavors or add pineapple, oranges and, on occasion, shredded carrots (hard pass), but newer versions from Betty Crocker and the Washington Post encourage creativity.

It’s an easy crowd-pleaser to have on hand for the holiday season. Whether you’re in camp dessert or camp salad is irrelevant. Just be in camp Strawberry Jell-O Salad.

Nicole Hvidsten

Serves 12.

Note: This hits all the nostalgic notes. Be sure to start early in the day; the recipe needs to chill for several hours. The crust can be made a day ahead. Be sure to watch the Jell-O so it doesn’t set completely. If it does set too much, microwave in 10-second increments, stirring after each turn, until it’s the desired consistency. This version combines several recipes; make it your own by switching up the fruit or Jell-O flavors. Just no carrots. From Nicole Hvidsten.

For the crust:

For the filling:

For the topping:

Directions

Make the crust: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a medium bowl, mix together the crushed pretzels, melted butter and sugar. Press into ungreased 9- by 13-inch baking dish. Bake for 15 minutes, or until the crust is fragrant and starting to brown around the edges. Remove from oven and let cool on cooling rack for about 20 minutes.

Make the filling: In the bowl of a food processor, add the cream cheese, sugar and vanilla and process until smooth. Add the heavy cream, pulsing a few times to combine, and then process until thickened, about 30 seconds. Spread mixture over the cooled crust, completely covering the pretzels. Refrigerate until set, about 30 minutes to an hour.

Make the gelatin: Pour gelatin into a large liquid measuring cup. Pour boiling water over gelatin and stir until dissolved. Refrigerate until cool and partially set, about 30 to 45 minutes. (see Note).

To assemble: When the cream cheese filling is set, scatter strawberries over the filling. Carefully pour the gelatin topping over it. Refrigerate until firmly set, 4 to 6 hours or up to overnight. To serve, cut into rectangles and top with whipped cream and strawberry slices, if desired.