The Rake Magazine

If you were casting the role of Tea Lady, you might choose a soft woman with a doughy nature. Maybe you'd pick a spinster who has a serious passion for bone china and a pension for plushy chairs and quiet nights by the fire. Maybe she has cats, lots of cats.

Mrs. Kelly of Mrs. Kelly's Custom Teas would blow your Tea Lady right off the map. Not content to sit by the fire, Mindy Kelly is a driven individual with boundless energy who has created one of the most successful food companies around. With her husky voice she'll proudly tell you that it's actually a family affair, that she's sucked her husband and kids into the business along with her. They're the ones you see manning the farmer's market stalls week after week.

Chat with Mindy for five seconds and you'll see that she's not just passionate about tea and business, but about the reach it's afforded her. A few years ago, she traveled to India as part of an American tea delegation sponsored by the Specialty Tea Institute. She was amazed and humbled by the people whose tea she imports, and will expressively tell you how it changed her world view.

This weekend you can chat-up Mindy and her clan at the annual Tea Tasting. Held in the old Grain Belt Brewery which houses the company, this has become quite the festive event. While sampling over 100 of their specialty teas, you can stroll art galleries or check out products and seminars by local chocolate god B.T. McElrath, peruvian food princess Rachel Rubin, or bread master Klecko.

December 1-2 ... 9am - 4pm ... bring a non-perishable food donation or $2 for Second Harvest Heartland.

For the restaurant industry, this week marks the final push of the year: Sell those gift cards! Book the holiday parties! Throw open the new doors and get some butts in chairs (welcome Otho and finally Red Stag)!

Last week was different. Before all the hubbub there was time for a moment of reflection.

Last Monday night, I found myself jammed into Mancini's Char House with a throng of industry lifers for a little celebration of the old-school. It was the Minnesota Restaurant Association's big soiree, a night when they induct honorees into the Hall of Fame and present their award for Restaurant of the Year.

First of all, it wasn't the James Beard awards. Standing there, swirling my Maker's Mark as I surveyed the room, it was obvious to me that the night wasn't about cutting-edge chefs and daring cuisine.There were plenty of suits sporting names like Kozlak, Cossetta, and Murray on their badges, but not a McKee or Woodman or Becker in sight. Maybe for some that's reason enough to poo-poo the whole affair, but I'm happy for their short-sightedness: more room for me at the prime rib carving station.

The Hall of Famers this year included the late Bob Casper of Casper's Cherokee Sirloin Room, Louis Tinucci of Tinucci's Restaurant, and the man I was there to applaud, Pete Mihajlov of Parasole Restaurant Holdings.

It has been said that if you don't like Pete, you don't like Santa Claus. His boisterous and snarky partner, Phil Roberts, is usually the one to get the press, which is just as Pete would have it. While Phil is the buzz, Pete is the undercurrent, working behind the scenes to build the Twin Cities dining culture. When you read about the staff at Manny's who have the almost unnerving ability to recognize and remember frequent guests, that's Pete at work. His guest-focus is the core of the Parasole culture, which has further influenced the local dining scene as former employees (Town Talk's Niver was a Pronto manager, Tim McKee a Figlio cook...) branch out and make their mark.

It wasn't lost on me that we were celebrating these groundbreakers in a place that started as a small 3.2 beer joint, just serving some Italian sandwiches. When Nick Mancini decided to buy a bar instead of a gas station in 1948, the "good" part of town was still a few blocks away. Over the years, Mancini's has become a jewel of West Seventh and a St. Paul institution. Nick Mancini died earlier this year, but his love for the business clearly infected his sons who proudly accepted the mantle of Restaurant of the Year.

Nestling into one of the iconic, high-backed, red leather booths for a good gossip session, I kept one eye trained on the shrimp station. As soon as it was refilled, I made a bee-line for the young man serving. It's true I get a bit "chatty" after a measure of bourbon, and thusly discovered that the food was being served by culinary students. Of course I asked him my favorite question: Why do you want to be a chef? And of course he started out with the usual blah blah I've always loved food blah blah my grandmother taught me to cook blah blah I want to bring new food to the Twin Cites blah blah. But then he added: If I could create a restaurant that would last as long as this, wouldn't that be something?

No school like the old school.

"Be not angry or sour at table; whatever may happen put on the cheeful mien for good humor makes one dish a feast."

from the Shaker manual Gentle Manners.

THE FEAST INDEX

Estimated number of turkeys rasied in Minnesota in 2007: 46 million

Rank of Minnesota in the top six turkey producing states: 1

Estimated pounds of cranberries produced by Wisconsin this year: 390 million

Amount by which that kicks ass over Massachusetts, the second largest producer: 210 million

Average spoonfuls of cranberry sauce that someone under the age of 15 will put on their plate: .5

Percentage of grocery store checkout ladies that knew what quince were: 25%

Margin by which the vote swung against me and my whole wheat dinner rolls: 5

Amount, in pounds, of potatoes I expect to be eaten: 10

Amount, in pounds, of butter that I expect to use: 4

Number of people eating The Feast at my house: 15

Number who will wince as my diabetic mother-in-law goes in for her second piece of pie: 14

Ratio of guests to matching silverware: 15:11

Minimum hours spent laboriously pressing cloth napkins that will only get wrinkled and mashed up anyway!: 2

Chances that my husband and his sister will get in a politically motivated "discussion": 1 in 4

Amount of holiday cheer that I will need, expressed in ounces of Johnnie Walker Blue: 18

Chances that a dessert will contain pumpkin: 2 in 3

Chances that, as I'm eating the dessert, I will feel like a pumpkin: 3 in 3

Minutes after the last guest leaves that the first turkey sandwich will be eaten: 27.3

Maximum number of days post-feat that I will be deconstructing the night with some local ladies at McGarry's Pub: 3

Tradition hasn't rooted so firmly in my kitchen that I cook the Thanksgiving meal every year. Sometimes I am a guest at the feast, like the mjority of people, an eater. It's a beautiful thing, for a cook to be cooked for, and I never take that invitation lightly.

It should be one of the first rules of life that you never show up to a feast empty-handed, and I'm not talking about pot-luck. A little gift, a little prize, a little special something that will make the host smile ... it's a small price for a full belly.

That being said here are some peccadilloes to avoid:

I know this will sound surprising, but don't bring flowers. The hostess will have to find a vase and a location for your flowers, taking her away from her duties. And even if they have a pleasant odor, they'll take away from the smell of the food.

Don't bring a cookbook. Nothing says "Hey, time to learn something new!" to a harried cook more than that.

Dont' you dare bring a surprise dish: "I brought along my favorite mayonnaise pizza dish just to help out!" This person should be banned for life.

And never, ever, ever this.

So what's a stylish and gracious guest to do? Simply, be thoughtful:

A bottle of wine is classic and easy, but make it a bottle that is meant for another day. In fact, make it a kick-ass port with a tag that reads: Open when we're all gone.

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A ribbon-tied pair of dish washing gloves, with your name inked on them.

Chicken stock ... just in case.

Onion goggles. Your contribution to a tears-free family feast!

A game to occupy the kids at the Kids Table, whether you're still sitting there or not.

Chocolate turkeys. Who doesn't love biting the waddle off a chocolate turkey?

A great loaf of bread and jar of mayo for the first post-meal-everyone's-gone-late-night turkey sandwich.

Breakfast in a clean kitchen: a bag of pre-ground coffee, scones, and lemon curd.

Fine! You can bring a pie, dammit. But make sure it's flippin' great and not something you picked up at Costco or the gas station.

The All Time Best Gift: an invitation to dinner at your house.

The bird is the word.

We used to go to my aunt's house in North Oaks for Thanksgiving. I clearly remember her perched on a chair next to the oven, heater and scotch in one hand, turkey baster in the other as she dutifully doused the bird every five minutes. From that chair she barked orders to the rest of the family to execute the remainder of the meal, I was in charge of rolling butter into pretty balls. Others can mash the potatoes or slice the beets, but she couldn't, wouldn't leave her post or her mission, all in the name of moisture.

A dry turkey is a sin. You don't build an entire feast around one main protein only to realize you've served a chew-toy. I can't seem to get my mother-in-law to see that you don't need to start cooking the bird at 6am for a 4pm dinner. Gravy needn't be the real main course, there is another way.

In the past few years, it's been all about the brine. Brining a turkey involves soaking the thawed bird in a salt and herb solution. The theory is that the meat absorbs the flavorful solution and the proteins, when heated, lock the moisture inside. Although it does change the texture slightly, the resulting meat is ultra-moist, even when slightly overcooked.

Change the flavor of your brine with the addition of cider or different herbs, just don't oversalt. The first time I made my own brine, my turkey tasted like ham. There are a ton of good brines on the market, Golden Fig's locally made brine mix is one of the best.

If your bird is frozen, start thawing it in the fridge on Monday. By Tuesday, you should mix your brine solution and let it sit overnight. If you don't have a big enough pot or bucket, don't worry, there are plenty of giant bags meant for brining. I don't even need to say that you shouldn't use a scented garbage bag, do I? Get the bird into the solution by Wednesday and let it soak until you get it ready for the oven.

I guarantee that any old-timers who haven't had a brined bird will flip over the juiciness.

Now for the ultimate question: to baste or not to baste? I've never basted a brined bird, and have yet to be disappointed. I have a chef friend that laughs at the basters, swearing that they only thing you have to do is slow-roast the bird at a low temp wrapped in parchment paper and foil, followed with a turn under high heat to add the crispiness.

I'm sure I could have explained this all in detail to my aunt, but I fear not even a lecture from the turkey himself could have moved her from her perch.