The Great Cranberry Debate

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: I don’t understand cranberry sauce from a can. I know people love it, and they get those white and red tin cans, and open one end, and goosh out that cylindrical shape with the ridges encircling it. 

And then pretend it’s cranberries.

I know there are even MOLDS you can buy to make your homemade cranberries have ridges! 

A food found in nature would not behave like that. Cranberries are little round red things that, in the natural order of the universe, will just stay essentially little round red things, and not be tortured into some sort of forced aspic shape.

(And I know pumpkin pie does not look like a pumpkin, but let’s leave that for later since it’s not my point.)

Don’t get me wrong, I adore cranberries. Real cranberries, put into a sauce pan with water and triple sec, and sugar and orange rind. And boiled, until they make simple syrup. Then poured into a crystal cut glass bowl and refrigerated and chilled until–voila. It becomes like a gorgeous chunky marmalade. Maybe add chopped walnuts.

This is a real plate from our last year's table. See the cranberries?

I have never tasted ridged cylindrical shaped/ produced from real-but-how-would -you-know cranberries. Is it like Jello? Or aspic? Or…those candies called Chuckles?

People seem to have opinions on this. What are yours, Reds and Readers?

Thursday, we will talk about stuffing. Dressing. Or whatever you call it. But today: ONLY cranberries. Or cranberry-type food items.

Let me take a moment to acknowledge the place where I live, now called Newton Massachusetts, was the home of the Massachusett tribe, for, according to some records, around 12,000 years.

LUCY BURDETTE: Hank! You’ve never tasted cranberry sauce from a can?? It’s the perfect accompaniment to Thanksgiving dinner. Period. I know people are very proud of their homemade cranberry sauce (Debs for example), but give me the jelly roll can with perfect ridges every time! I am going to spend my extra time saved by not making cranberry sauce on a mocha crunch pie.

Oh and I do adore Chuckles, but it’s more like grape jelly, only cranberry flavored if that helps?

RHYS BOWEN: Cranberry sauce is something I tend to forget to put on the table. I prefer the one with whole berries not the jellied tower of horror, but really if it’s not there I don’t notice. More important to me are stuffing and crispy roast potatoes, or creamy mashed potatoes and lots of lovely gravy.

Having not grown up with Thanksgiving I don’t obsess over all the required elements of the meal. Once I even served crab, much to the horror of our children.

DEBORAH CROMBIE: Do you know I don't think I've tasted the cranberry in a can since I was a child? I think I might have liked it then. I also remember there being some kind of relish on the TG table that I thought was gross, but I have no idea what the recipe had in it.

But somehow between then and now I fell hard for cranberries–the real berries that pop when you cook them and make the most gorgeous mess. (Do not splatter on clothes, however!) Of course you have to sweeten cranberries or you would be permanently puckered. The recipe I love calls for honey (along with jalapeno, loads of orange zest, black pepper, and vinegar) but I usually add a couple of teaspoons of brown sugar, too. It is my favorite thing on the entire table and sometimes the only thing I actually cook because I can't envision Thanksgiving without it.

JENN McKINLAY: Give me the jiggly tower of horror! I have never tasted a cranberry relish that I liked. Ick. Bleck. Nope. Also, I need it to stay in can shape for easy slicing. And when you make a turkey and stuffing sandwich the next day there is no substitute for the smear of cranberry jelly on the bread to bring all the flavors together! Yum!!!

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I hate to pile on, Hank, but I, too, use the canned stuff - although not the jiggly jelly. I buy the whole berry cranberry sauce, and if I’m feeling ambitious (and haven’t mucked up the timing so I’m cooking eight dishes at the same time) I’ll stir in some fresh orange segments and add a little mace or something.

The fact is, no one in my family really likes cranberry relish, so it’s pretty much out there for the guests. If they want some fancy recipe that starts with them wading through the bogs in Wareham, Mass, they can make and bring it themselves.

HALLIE EPHRON: YAY for the canned whole berry sauce!! I have *4* cans of it just in case the store runs out. And it’s *essential* for turkey and stuffing sandwiches the next day.

(Yes cranberries aren’t cylindrical-shaped, but neither is tuna, and yet….)

HANK: Like a pumpkin and pumpkin pie. Of course. Still. I mean--I really love actual authentic cranberry relish, and it's even good on oatmeal. But not the canned stuff with ridges. How about you, Reds and Readers? Where are you in the great cranberry debate?

On Perfectionism

Both the artist and the lover know that perfection is not loveable. It is the clumsiness of a fault that makes a person loveable.


Joseph Campbell



JAN: All I can say, is THANK GOD, because perfection is so far from my personality type, it's never, ever been an objective.I used to worry about that because achievement is about exceeding expections. Without only the highest expectations, how can you achieve excellence? Then I worked with an editor who was a sweetheart, but a perfectionist. He actually wrecked pretty much every article he got his hands on because he wanted it to be perfect. In the news biz, that meant answering every question. When I moved to a larger newspaper and I worked with a new editor for the first time, he said to me: "Jeez, I've never actually said this to a reporter before, but you have too many facts in here. Too much information."

You see, when an article tries to answer every question it becomes dense and unreadable. In fact, it loses its focus.

This provided three lessons that I found valuable in fiction writing. The first was: readers can only absorb so much information at once. Throw too much into a paragraph and no one gets anything from it. The second was that if you strive for perfection, you may not see the forest from the trees. And the third was that if you try to please every reader, you will please no one.

Personally, I haven't so much as struggled with perfection, as discovered my justification in not being a perfectionist. But I'm wondering, have any of you struggled with perfectionism? And what have you learned from the battle? Or do you have a completely different take on its value?

RO: I certainly don't strive for perfection in my writing. I'm hoping to be entertaining, pure and simple. In other, smaller areas, I sometimes try. I'm frequently disappointed but I keep trying. Examples? The perfect flower arrangement..I can happily try 8 or 9 vases before settling on the right one. I have been known to move cooked cranberries or blueberries with a toothpick to make the perfect arrangement in a tart. I've just about stopped making tart tatin because I can never get the apple slices to fan out perfectly.Roberta, have I just revealed a deep neurosis to the entire blogosphere?

ROBERTA: Ro, yes. But they probably already had that figured out:). I would so not move fruit with a toothpick in a tart. But I would worry about choosing the perfect words, all while knowing that isn't possible either! I think I've learned a lot from being in a writers' group. On the nights when I've sent chapters to be read ahead of time, I remind myself that I'm just going to listen to all the comments, take notes, ask questions, and otherwise keep my yap shut.

I think there's such a continuum of perfectionism--my family thinks I'm a nut about the house. Whereas I can practically see my neighbor's eyes bulge out when she stops over--dog hair everywhere, piles of shoes, stacks of mail...

Did anyone read the Science Times article on perfectionism this week? Interesting stuff: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/04/health/04mind.html?_r=1&ref=science&oref=slogin

JAN: Yes, it says perfectionism is at the root of many mental illnesses, including depression and obsessive compulsive disorder. So I'm feeling much better about being a slacker

HALLIE: I am so NOT a perfectionist, but I do know how to cut corners. Back in the day when I crocheted, I started an afghan and it ended up being a perfectly adorable pocketbook. I once watched Martha Stewart, the Princess of Perfection, ice a wedding cake and got inspired to try a recipe for a 12-layer dobos torte (12 thin cake layers, each baked on the BACK of a cake pan; mocha butter cream filling; a glaze of cramelized sugar on top.) Mine ended up with only 5, albeit delicious layers. It doesn't have to be perfect--adorable and delicious is good enough.

HANK: Yes, I'm the last to add. And it's just about deadline moment. And I was asking myself why I had waited til the last minute to post. Well, I wanted to think of the perfect thing to say, I replied.

And this internal dialogue happened with no sense of the irony involved.

Perfectionism is a truly complicated need. I'm a TV reporter of course. So I have worked for the past 30 years knowing I can NEVER make a mistake. Never be one minute late. Actually, not one SECOND late. Never choose the wrong word, never call someone by the wrong name, never make a math error, never have a bad hair day. You try that, and see if it doesn't make you a little crazy. And of course, to have chosen a profession where perfection is required, also may put me in some DSM-4 category that we will leave un-named.

But it does certainly carry over into my regular life. My holiday presents are wrapped beautifully. Moving a cranberry in a tart, as Rosemary described? Of course. I have discarded out-going mail envelopes because I put the stamps on crooked, or if I decided someone might think I was making some sort of a statement by my choice of stamps.

I could go on here, but I see you all shaking your heads. And hey,I can let go. It does not carry over into all realms. Don't even look in my dresser drawers. Or kitchen drawers. (I, too, have stacks. Of magazines. What's the 'perfect' thing to do with the ones you haven't read but might?)

But as I get happier, my need for perfection diminishes. (What can we learn from this?)

And when it comes to writing. You know, the sense of "perfection" is kind of--different. I's a sense of "right"-ness. For me, not for others. When it feels right, you know it. And that's a fun journey, not a struggle for perfection.

How do you know if you're pushing too hard?

JAN: I think we've nailed this topic, PERFECTLY, so to speak. And now that you all know I don't struggle with perfectionism, check in on Friday, when I reveal that I struggle with caramelism. Yes that's making home-made caramels for the holidays --at the last minute of course. A mental illness all its own.