Thanksgiving shifts on you as life goes on. But the earliest memories stay put.
Our family used to drive to Brooksville, a little town in east Mississippi where my grandfather grew up. Several of my great-uncles still lived there, and cousins wandered in from all directions. That drive from the Pine Belt toward Noxubee County always signaled the holiday. Somewhere around Shuqualak the tall pines gave way to hardwoods, and through the rear windshield of my mother’s yellow Plymouth, the world changed colors. Pinecones and straw in my neighborhood were replaced by piles of crinkly, multicolored leaves in Brooksville. Playing in those leaves at my great-uncle Harrison’s house made the whole trip worth it.
The food never disappointed. It was the classic lineup every year—turkey, dressing, sweet potatoes, and homemade rolls. The rolls may have come from the Mennonite bakery down the road. Nothing fancy. Nothing “elevated.” Just straightforward country cooking from people who knew feeding your family well is one of the clearest ways to show love.
As the years rolled on, Thanksgiving moved from Brooksville to my grandmother’s house on Fourth Avenue in Hattiesburg. My grandmother, Eunice Holleman St. John, was the undisputed hostess of that era. She had traveled the world, but you wouldn’t know it unless you asked. Her lunches were formal but never stiff. She listened more than she talked. She cooked with skill and served with ease. Any early form of gratitude I managed to show probably came from her. My mother taught manners. My grandmother taught the deeper side of it.
Even now, thirty-five years after her passing, she stays at the top of my daily gratitude list. Before my feet hit the floor most mornings, I run through a silent list of the people and things I’m grateful for—something I picked up in recovery forty-two years ago and still practice today.
My kids always make the list. Their health and happiness. My wife and best friend. Our team members. My friends around town and across the country. But I’ve never once recited that list without my paternal grandmother near the top. Her influence is still that strong.
I’ve spent a fortune on business seminars and coaching sessions, professional industry consultants, gaining advice from experts who operate at a high level. But none of it ever topped the examples my grandmother set and how she lived her life. She was selfless. She was compassionate. She was strong and gracious without fanfare. In movies, someone always calls his grandmother a saint. I relate to that. Mine literally carried the name St. John, but she lived it long before any of us thought about the symbolism.
My twenties were a blur, and I can barely recall many Thanksgivings from that stretch. By my late twenties, my first restaurant was open. I spent ninety hours a week in the kitchen behind the line. We closed on Thanksgiving Day, but I’d still drive up to the restaurant, fire up the fryer, drop a turkey, and use the ovens to bake the sides. It was easier than navigating one small oven at home. So, there I was cooking Thanksgiving lunch in an empty restaurant kitchen under fluorescent lights that reminded me I was the only person in town working on Thanksgiving, unless you count the crew earning triple pay at the Waffle House.
For the past three decades, I’ve been responsible for the family Thanksgiving meal. In the early days I cooked every dish. But for the past decade or so, since I’m not on the line as much, our prep crew at the restaurants does the heavy lifting. They appreciate the extra work, and I’m grateful for the help. I roast the turkey, make the gravy, heat the casseroles, and it all comes together.
I’ve also reached an age where gratitude isn’t something I keep to myself. I’ll call someone out of the blue just to say thank you. Maybe they set an example that shaped the way I parent. Maybe they helped me through a hard season. Maybe they’ve simply been steady. Every time I make one of those calls, that’s my grandmother talking.
Life looks different now, but the work still connects it all. These days I own a bakery that is becoming the bakery I always hoped Hattiesburg could have. Loblolly has been on a tear this past year. Chef Linda Roderick—who has worked beside me for more than twenty-five years—has spent the past several months filling every freezer and shelf with Thanksgiving casseroles. Cornbread dressing, sweet potatoes, mac and cheese, squash, asparagus, green bean casseroles, dinner rolls, and even the gravy.
Everything but the turkey. We took orders right up through Sunday. It’s been a ride.
About that gravy. You may think gravy is just gravy. Wrong. When we were developing Christmas recipes for the new cookbook, Linda, my son Harrison—fresh out of the Culinary Institute of America—and I worked through the gravy until it landed exactly where it needed to be. Out of all the recipes in the book, that gravy may be the one I’m proudest of. It’s listed alongside this column.
Last week I flew home after two months overseas. The very next night we held the book launch at Crescent City Grill. The place was packed, and the signing ran long. Chef Nevil Barr cooked dishes from the book, including the Barq’s root beer ham and the roasted turkey with gravy. People kept stopping by the table talking about that gravy. Out of everything there, it stole the show.
When it was over, I finally walked over and tasted it. Nevil said, “We just followed your recipe.” I didn’t remember it being that special, but when you taste a hundreds of dishes in recipe testing session, things can blur. This one stood out.
Thanksgiving looks different these days, but the core of it is still the same. Those leaves in Brooksville, the hardwoods past Shuqualak, my grandmother’s table on Fourth Avenue, the years in the kitchen when I was young and bulletproof—all of that lives in me. It comes back every November, not as a faded memory but as a reminder of how much there is to be grateful for right in front of me.
Those early years laid the foundation, but they aren’t better than what sits in front of me now. A wife who’s also my best friend. Children who’ve grown into adults any father would be proud to claim. Friends who’ve been there longer than I deserve. A team that believes in what we’re doing. A community that has supported me— through victories and failures— and longer than seems reasonable. The older I get, the more I appreciate it.
People try to find happiness in a lot of places. Gratitude is what finally held me in place. My grandmother lived that way without saying a word about it. She worked in her kitchen grateful for her family, her faith, and her day. I didn’t understand it then. Recovery made it clear, and it’s been the one thing I can count on.
So, as Thanksgiving gets close and I think about the meal and the people who’ll be at the table, it’s clear that every stop along the way and every person who helped me brought me to this point. Gratitude isn’t a task for the morning. It’s the whole thing. And if I’m blessed with fifty more Thanksgivings, they don’t have to look like the ones in Brooksville. The best parts are right in front of me today.
Onward
Christmas Turkey
There’s nothing like a well-roasted turkey to anchor a holiday table, and no one made it quite like my grandmother. She didn’t wait until Thanksgiving to serve it. She’d roast a turkey once a month throughout the year, never mind the occasion. It was a staple at her table.
My mother, on the other hand, always made a formal Christmas Eve dinner, complete with turkey, dressing, and gravy. As kids, the excitement of Christmas Eve was almost too much to bear. Those big dinners felt like the beginning of Christmas itself. It’s a memory that comes to mind every time I cook a turkey or make gravy. And a good gravy can make or break the meal. Making sure the roux browns just right and finishing the gravy with a touch of lemon juice or fresh herbs are tricks worth remembering. A little extra attention to the gravy goes a long way.
Serves 8 to 10
1 each 16-18 pound turkey, fresh or thawed
1 stick salted butter
3/4 cup chicken or turkey stock, slightly warm
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons poultry seasoning
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 small onion, large dice
1 rib celery, 1/2-inch slice
1 Honey Crisp apple, 1-inch dice
Turkey Gravy – recipe follows
One day in advance:
Remove the neck and giblets. Using a sharp knife, remove the wings (we’re going to use them for gravy). Store refrigerated overnight until ready to use.
Dry the turkey well.
Place the butter in a microwave-safe dish. Heat until the butter just begins to melt. Mix the butter and stock on low in a blender until emulsified. Inject the turkey thoroughly until all of the butter mixture is used up. Place the turkey in a roasting pan or on a platter and refrigerate uncovered overnight.
Pull the turkey two hours before roasting. The turkey will cook more evenly when allowed to sit out at room temperature before roasting.
Preheat oven to 325° F
Rub the turkey with the olive oil. Combine the poultry seasoning and kosher salt. Rub the turkey with the seasoning. Stuff the cavity with the onion, celery, and apple. Tie the legs together with butcher’s string. Position a roasting rack inside a roasting pan. Place the turkey, breast-side-up on the roasting rack.
Roast for two hours then begin basting the turkey every 30 minutes until done. If the skin starts to get darker than you prefer, tent the turkey with foil.
Roasting time will vary depending on the size of the turkey. As a general rule, the turkey needs to roast for 14 to 16 minutes per pound if pulled out two hours before roasting.
A 16-to-18-pound turkey will take four to four and a half hours to cook. Remove from the oven when the turkey reaches an internal temperature of 165° F. Let the turkey rest for 30 minutes before serving.
Turkey Gravy
This gravy technique uses professional tricks to deepen flavor and ensure a smooth, luxurious consistency. Roasting the bones and deglazing the pan with white wine provides complexity, while a final touch of lemon juice brightens everything up. For best results, strain the gravy before serving.
Makes 21/2 cups
Preheat oven to 375° F
Neck and wings from turkey
1 small onion, diced
1 rib celery, diced
1 carrot, diced
3 cups turkey or chicken stock, heated
1/4 cup dry white wine (optional, but recommended)
3 tablespoons pan drippings or clarified butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
11/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon fresh thyme, chopped
1/4 teaspoon sweet basil
1/4 teaspoon fresh lemon juice (to finish)
When you pull your turkey from the refrigerator to bring it to room temperature, start the gravy.
Place the turkey neck, wings, onion, celery, and carrot in a one and a half-quart oven-proof skillet or saucepot. Roast for 30 minutes then using tongs, carefully turn them. Return them to the oven and roast for 30 to 40 minutes, until golden brown.
Place the skillet or saucepot over medium heat and stir in the stock. Use a wooden spoon to scrape the bottom of the pan to release all the flavorful browned bits. Add the wine and bring to a simmer. Cook for 30 minutes.
Hold in a warm place while the turkey roasts.
Once the turkey has finished roasting and is resting, strain the stock through a fine-mesh strainer and discard the solids.
Place the pan drippings or clarified butter in a small skillet over medium heat. Stir in the flour to make a roux. Cook for four to five minutes, or until it reaches a light caramel color.
Bring the strained stock to a boil over high heat. Carefully whisk in the roux and continue simmering for five minutes until thickened. Stir in the salt, thyme, sweet basil, and lemon juice. Taste and adjust seasoning if needed.
Serve warm.
(Robert St. John is a chef, restauranteur and published cookbook author who lives in Hattiesburg, Miss.)
