Cranberries are one of a handful of fruits that are native to North America and, very specifically, to our region. This is their big and (mysteriously, to me) only occasion to shine. If you are rooting around to understand the origins of this holiday, handling the ingredients with an appreciation of how they came to us through history is a great toehold. A few things to think about while getting elbowed in the produce department as you reach for a couple of bags: cranberries were believed by First Nations people to improve the digestion of meat, and finding them required tuning in to the habits of the birds who also consumed them.

Why do we make the cranberry sauce this week? If you are hosting a meal for Thanksgiving, it’s easy to devolve into a task-driven automaton, ruled by lists and a complex chart of burner and oven deployment. To maintain any hope of a gracious hosting presence on game day, it’s good to knock down some tasks ahead of time.

That’s one reason why we make it ahead. Another (connected) reason is the cook’s privilege/cook’s pleasure principle that is widely known inside my own head and probably nowhere else. Staying rooted in the kitchen is important. Rooted in the grace of being able to provide a meal, rooted in the web of plants and animals and their stewards that brought the food to my kitchen, rooted in the ideas that food tastes good and that seeking nourishment comes right after oxygen on the to-do list of all born animals.

Cook’s privilege is the crispy little ends and first tastes of things that being the person who is making the food affords. Cook’s pleasure is when you get to inhale the rush of scent as you warm spices in butter, or see sunset colors in the pot before it is all stirred up, or feel pillowy dough give way under your hands and remember your big grown children when they were fat little dumplings right out of the bath (whoops, just me?). In the maelstrom of tasks on the day of a big meal, it is hard to grab hold of these, but they are very nourishing. So do it for efficiency (you might consider making a pot of broth this week; you will need it for something and it keeps well, too), but also make the cranberry sauce ahead so you can do it with a poet’s heart and build up your personal reserves, as well as the pantry. If you need to nick a spoonful for your morning toast or yogurt, that’s the privilege of knowing what’s in the fridge.

I will NOT tell you why we make our own cranberry sauce. If you must have can ridges to keep the peace, go see my friend Marisa and she will help you out.

Wishing you a holiday that is rooted in pleasure, and gratitude.

Cranberry Sauce
12-ounce bag fresh cranberries
1 8-ounce jar of all-fruit apricot preserves
1 cup fresh squeezed tangerine or orange juice
¼ cup honey
1 teaspoon freshly grated ginger root (more if you like it spicy)

Place these ingredients in a medium saucepan and stir it all up. Bring the mixture to a low boil. Listen for when the berries begin to pop, a few minutes, and lower the heat. Using a potato masher, break up some (or all) of the berries, according to your texture preferences. Simmer 5-10 more minutes, stirring often, until the sauce just begins to thicken. (It will thicken quite a bit more when it cools.) Transfer to a glass jar or dish with a secure lid and cool before refrigerating.

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