Thanksgiving Keto Style

 

Hello, Friends! Flossie Benton Rogers here. The dreaded fattening food season is upon us, made harder by the exciting and beloved holidays it cradles-- Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. What? You made it through Halloween without succumbing to a miniature Snickers? You rock! One down and two to go! The holidays coming up are fabulous family times. At Thanksgiving, in particular, you may want to indulge in what everyone else is eating, which may include turkey and gravy, dressing, yams, cranberry sauce, corn pudding, pumpkin pie, and many other delicacies. However, maybe you'd like to have one or two keto dishes on the table just for you and Aunt SassyJane, who is a keto enthusiast if I ever saw one. 

Fabulous recipes can be found by googling keto and whatever dish you are looking for. Almond flour and coconut flour often play a part. I like to stay away from those as much as possible because, though low carb, they still contain more carbs than I like. The recipe I'm sharing today is made from a keto enthusiast's best friend-- pork panko (crumbs made of pork rinds). You can buy pork panko or make your own by pummeling pigskins or pork rinds into crumbs. The entire dish contains about 7 carbs.

The recipe is a  quick and easy "Two-Fer"-- Keto Dressing and Keto Bread Pudding made from the same base mixture. I concocted the recipe after being inspired by an old "pigskin pancake" recipe I've been using for years and the newer keto chaffle recipes featuring cheese. I bake both the stuffing and bread pudding simultaneously in a divided Pyrex dish.

The following two pictures show most of the ingredients.

INGREDIENTS FOR KETO BASE MIXTURE:

2 eggs, beaten

2 cups pork panko 

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 cup shredded Creamy Melt mozzarella cheese

REMAINING INGREDIENTS FOR KETO DRESSING:

1/4 cup chicken stock

1/2 teaspoon sage

1/2 teaspoon poultry seasoning 

pinch pepper

Optional: If you like your dressing made from cornbread, add 1/2 teaspoon of cornbread flavoring as pictured above. I had no idea this existed and was tickled to recently discover it. This is Amoretti brand, and there are other brands as well.

REMAINING INGREDIENTS FOR KETO BREAD PUDDING:

1/4 cup water

heaping teaspoon of stevia or other sugar-free sweetener

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Spray cooking oil into baking dish. In a medium bowl, mix the ingredients for the Keto Base Mixture until well combined and all panko has been moistened. Divide half the mixture into a second bowl.

To the mixture in the first bowl, add the remaining ingredients for Keto Dressing. Mix well and spoon into one side of the divided baking dish.

To the mixture in the second bowl, add the remaining ingredients for Keto Bread Pudding. Mix well and spoon into the other side of the divided baking dish.  Bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes. Remove from oven. The dressing will be lighter in hue and the bread pudding darker.  

Slice and enjoy! The keto bread pudding is extra delicious with a dollop of whipped cream made with stevia and whipping cream.

In the comments below tell me your favorite Thanksgiving dish for a chance to win a copy of Mind Your Goddess or any of my Wytchfae eBooks. flossiebentonrogers.com

Thank you for participating in our celebration this week! 

HAPPY THANKSGIVING FROM THE PEN DAMES!

Kitchen "Cat"-astrophes

 

Picture courtesy of Jennifer Smits

We Pen Dames appreciate our readers so much! Thanks to every one of you for reading this. Please comment on this post, and I will select one person for a surprise gift.

Thanksgiving is one of the holidays I love best! Every year, I cook a huge dinner with all the trimmings and at least four pies. Our family has expanded to six adults and two children, and I make everyone’s favorite dish.

Amanda and Amelia love my original recipe Cran-raspberry Gelatin Fluff. Jennifer adores mashed potatoes. Dan wants pumpkin pie. Drew loves spinach salad with hot bacon dressing. Everyone insists on apple pie. For me, it’s the turkey, particularly after roasting and basting it all day with that heavenly aroma wafting through the house.

While I’m cooking this enormous meal, I think about all the things I’m grateful for and remember the fun we had in years past, including events that are more amusing now than at the time.

When our daughter was young, we rescued two adorable tuxedo kittens from the local shelter. One was tiny, the runt of the litter, with short hair. She was black with white paws. We named her Boots. The other was plump with long, luxurious black fur and white front paws. We called her Mittens.

Being kittens, the two had no manners. Boots went after anything she wanted. She tried to steal sandwiches off our plates. Several times we caught her dumpster diving in the garbage can, feasting on left over spaghetti. When we pulled her out, she was orange from the pasta sauce!

Their first Thanksgiving with us, Boots weighed no more than three or four pounds. She fit in the palm of my hand, but she had the heart and mind of a tiger. She feared nothing and no one.

Mittens was the opposite. She’d gone from plump to pudgy. Though sweet-natured and loving, she found the world terrifying and raced under the bed at the first unusual noise. When she wasn’t hiding, her preferred spot was a basket where I kept paper napkins. It was much too small for her, but she wedged herself in and acted completely content. I had to put the napkins elsewhere.

That morning, both the kittens hung out with me while I worked, Mittens in her woven retreat and Boots watching intently from a perch on a chair at the dining table.

I got the 25-pound turkey out of the refrigerator and set it in the sink to rinse and begin preparations, but I had to leave the room for some reason. I don’t remember why, but I was only gone for a few minutes.

When I returned, Boots was on the counter licking the raw turkey! She was so miniscule, she could have tucked herself inside the bird, but she clearly intended to eat as much as she could hold.

I shooed her away, but I had a problem. It was too late to buy another turkey. Boots hadn’t taken any bites out of it, and besides, heat would kill any germs she left behind. However, my husband, who grew up on a farm, was not a fan of animals in the house. I was afraid if he found out what Boots did, he would kick the cats out. They would not have been safe outdoors, so I decided not to tell him.

The meal was delicious, and no one was the wiser.

The next year, Boots found a way to outwit me again and gave our main entree a few slurps when I wasn’t watching.

In fact, every year afterwards, Boots did the same thing. I think it became a game. We always gave her a little of the cooked meat, but she never seemed to like it quite as much as the stolen tastes.

Mittens never acted interested in stealing food. She plopped herself in her basket and watched Boots outsmart me time after time.

After many wonderful years, Mittens and Boots both passed on. We miss them, but it is lovely to remember them, especially during the holidays.

A year or so ago, a strange thing happened.

I still have the basket that Mittens loved to sit in. After she died, I started storing napkins in it again.

It was in its usual place, and I was preparing Thanksgiving dinner. Our daughter, now grown, was helping.

Suddenly, the napkin holder fell to the floor and spilled out all the napkins. No one else was in the kitchen, and no one was near it when it fell. It had been sitting there for months without incident until that moment.

A little chill ran over me, and I got goosebumps.

My daughter said, “Mom, I think Mittens just came to visit.”

I believe she did.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Oh, by the way, we did eventually tell hubby about the turkey incident. He didn’t react much at the time, but when I mentioned this blog, he said it was gross, and I shouldn’t write about it. (So of course, that’s exactly what I’m doing.)

Kathy’s Cran-raspberry Gelatin Fluff: 

I serve this as a side dish because it’s sweet with a hint of tartness that enhances the cranberry sauce, but it could be a dessert. It comes out bright pink and the fresh raspberries add a fancy flourish.

Ingredients

1 package frozen raspberries thawed and drained.

1 1/3 cups cranberry-raspberry juice (I prefer sugar free)

 3 oz pk raspberry gelatin

 8 oz cream cheese (softened)

1-pint whipped topping (thawed)

fresh raspberries for garnish

Preparation:

Heat cran-raspberry juice to boiling and pour into bowl

Dissolve gelatin in juice

Cool to semi-solid state (This is the most critical part. If it is too solid, it won’t whip. If it isn’t solid enough, it will be runny. You have to check it and shake the bowl until it wiggles a little but isn’t set.)

Using hand mixer, beat until foamy.

Beat softened cream cheese into gelatin. (Cream cheese should be very soft from sitting at room temperature for a couple of hours, but not runny, so don’t use microwave to soften.)

Stir in raspberries.

Fold in thawed whipped topping.

Spray mold with nonstick cooking spray and pour mixture into mold.

Chill until firm, several hours or overnight.

About 10 minutes before serving, tip mold upside down onto large plate and let rest for several minutes. Salad should unmold onto plate. If it sticks, tap gently on the outside of the mold to dislodge.

Garnish with fresh raspberries and serve.

Remember! Comment to enter for a special gift! 

 

 

 

              

Gravy Shame

Several years ago, I shamed myself, my ancestors, and the great state of Idaho. I didn’t mean to do it. After a scrumptious Thanksgiving meal with my extended family, I committed the unpardonable—I wasted the Gravy. They say that blood is thicker than water. In my family, Gravy is thicker than blood.

My family hails from Idaho, home of the humble Potato. We grew up in the mountains outside of Pocatello, and Potatoes were at the root of our existence. Dad grew a crop, enough to feed the seven of us with plenty to store for the winter. My older sister trudged home from her job at the potato chip factory reeking from the starch of ten million Potato peelings. When I was five, I got a penny for every Potato bug I captured. We ate spuds every imaginable way, but the family’s favorite will always be mashed Potatoes.

As any self-respecting Idahoan knows, the making of mashed Potatoes is an art. I once used potatoes that were not Idaho grown, and I made that mistake only once. My mom and sister were the Tuber Queens, and their skill at making them is legendary.

Even more sacred than the spud is that ultimate topping, Gravy. If a Potato won an Academy Award, she would thank Gravy first. Have I mentioned that Gravy and Potato are proper nouns in our family, and as a result, cannot be played in Scrabble?

My mother was the Goddess of Gravy, and before every holiday meal, she magically prepared it while my sister and I watched with open-mouthed awe. I was 52 before I was allowed to touch the gravy pan.

Then, on that fateful day, during clean-up time, I lost in seconds the honor it took me years to earn. The cleanup ritual began like any other year. We moved like sluggish zombies after a feed. My older sister stood at the sink, muttering Idaho-grown oaths like, “Great Grandma Grunt, what a freaking mess.” My older brother painstakingly picked the meat off the turkey, humming one of his original tunes.

I picked up the Gravy pan with both hands, scraping it into a plastic container. I put the pan in the sink.

My sister screamed. “What are you doing?” She snatched the pan out of the dishwater, but it was too late. Soapy water had mixed with the precious nectar left in the pan. Dread slapped me like a wet dishtowel. I had wasted three to four tablespoons of Gravy.

The kitchen turned deathly still, all eyes boring into me. I backed against the counter.

“Why?” My brother eyed me accusingly. “Why have you done this…heinous thing?”

We stood in this shameful tableau; the weight of their disappointment fell on me like a bad cake. I hung my head in shame—Gravy Shame.

“I couldn’t help it,” I squeaked. “I am made stupid by piggery.”

They didn’t disagree.

“I’m sorry,” I gulped.

Mom shook her head. “Sorry doesn’t bring the Gravy back.”

How would I ever be able to escape this shame spiral? Would my family ever forgive me? Most importantly, would I still be allowed pie?

I kneeled and grabbed my mother’s apron. “I do so swear, dear Goddess, I will never waste Gravy again. I will not leave one iota of that sacred nectar in the pan. I will lick that pan clean if it will win your sweet forgiveness. Please, I beg of you, for I am sore ashamed.”

My mom touched the top of my head and looked kindly upon me. “I see that you are sincere, and I will ponder the matter. Get up," she commanded. “There is still work to be done.”

I let out a breath. I would eventually be forgiven.

The years have gone by, and still I wonder: would I ever regain my ancestors’ esteem? Would this be the year that I am allowed to touch the gravy pan?

On the other hand, that’s one less pan to wash…

A Thankful Character

 Greetings!

Today I am interviewing my character Ian Pierce, the hero in the first two books of my Rhythm of the Moon series.  I've invited him to our American Thanksgiving dinner. I'm glad he likes children because there will be six of them.

By the way, please don't tell my husband. He doesn't know Ian's here. I have him tucked away in the basement. I'll break the news to him later, and I daresay he won't be surprised. Let's get started:

Me: Thanks for time-traveling to my neck of the woods, Ian. 

Ian: I'm never far away from you, my dear.

Me: True. You'll always be my first book hero love, but I know your heart lies elsewhere, as does mine. 

Ian: Yes, no one will ever match my Maggie, begging your pardon, Mistress.

Me:  You live in the 18th Century in the town of King's Harbour. Tell me how you met the love of her life.

Ian: Let's just say the circumstances were not ideal. We met at a graveyard. She was standing at her sister's grave and I was there mourning my brother, who had passed when I was traveling the world. I did not realize that I was singing. Music runs through my brain and pours out of me like a waterfall. 

Me: Then what happened? 

Ian: Her crying broke through my sorrowful melody, and I went to her. She blamed me for her tears, for opening her up to her grief. Despite her refusal, I walked the midwife home, and as we talked, I admired her strength and resolve to forge ahead and take care of her brother-in-law and her sister's infant child, despite her sorrow.

Me: Then something unexpected happened.

Ian: (Memory glazed his green eyes, making them shine like emeralds.) Yes. I returned to the graveside that night to discover that her sister Sarah's grave had been disturbed, and she was alive, barely.

Me: That must have been shocking and terrifying for everyone.

Ian:  Indeed, but my Maggie took action, and I found I wanted nothing else but to help her with her sister's recovery. She was not herself. And thus began our macabre and supernatural journey to bring her sister back to herself, and to solve the mystery of who could have done this to her. It didn't take long before I loved her, body, and soul.

Me: You returned to King's Harbour to take over the family's apothecary shop. You have training as an apothecary as well as a musician. Why did you travel the world?

Ian: (He looked down at his long, slender hands, and lifted his head again, in his eyes a sweetness that made my stomach flip over.) I have an affliction. It began when I was a young boy. I have periods of great energy, and I think I can conquer the world with my music. I cannot control it. Ideas and music pour out of my head. I cannot sleep, I cannot concentrate. They call it manico-melancholicus. Then come the down times, where I'm thrown into an abyss of sorrow. So I traveled, playing music to make my coin, and searching for remedies. 

Me:  You suffer from what we now call bipolar disorder. Were you successful with your search?

Ian: I learned some techniques along the way to calm myself...somewhat. Then I met Maggie. Her love does not take away my affliction, but to have her love soothes me so and fills me with purpose. 

Me: She sounds like a strong, loving person.

Ian: Yes. (A huge grin lit up his face.)

Me: I want to prepare you for something.

Ian: (His sandy eyebrows rose.) Sounds intriguing.

Me: Before we eat our meal on Thanksgiving, we go around the table and say what we're thankful for. What are you thankful for?

Ian: Oh, I'm beyond thankful for my Maggie. Not only is she strong, beautiful, and capable beyond measure, but she accepts me and loves me for who I am.  Her passion knows no bounds. Though I am full of regret that I am at times not a whole man, she says we will take care of each other, that I give her joy, make her laugh, and fill her soul.

Me: It sounds like you have a lot to be thankful for. I must warn you: our dinners are rowdy, with two toddlers, a four-year-old, seven-year-old, and two teenage girls. And loud adults.

Ian: (He had a contagious laugh, and I joined him.) Do not fret, my dear lady. I frequent the Siren Inn, the most raucous and popular inn in town. Your family surely can't match the rowdy sailors and merchantmen who frequent the place.

Me: (Still laughing.) Don't be too sure. Thank you for the conversation, Ian. I'll bring you up when the time comes. Thank you for your patience.

Ian: (Picks up his lute.) I shall compose a song for our feast. Until Thanksgiving, madam.

http://amzn.to/2bHVKUf 

The first book in my series is Mercy of the Moon. I hope you enjoyed the conversation with one of my favorite characters.