Gravy Season
I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT OF GRAVY as typically American (in a down-home kind of a way). I come from a very gravy centric culture. Generations of my ancestors on both sides were farmers in Tennessee and Texas, where gravy functions as kind of a cultural glue that unites all aspects of society. My mom made several versions that she learned from her mother and mother-in-law. The most common was the cream one we had with fried chicken and chicken-fried steak, followed closely by the classic brown sauce she made from post-church roast beef on Sundays and redeye gravy she served with baked ham.
I remember how she taught me to make it back when my eyes were barely as high as the stove top. She tilted out most of the oil from the cast-iron pan, leaving only the drippings and tasty browned bits. Then she added flour and gently cooked it to make a roux, followed by slow-whisking in milk to reach the right consistency. I followed her demonstrations with rapt attention because I lovvvvved gravy. I mean, who doesn’t?
My belief that gravy was a uniquely American invention quickly evaporated under a little research. Turns out that European meat sauces (which is what gravy is, a jus with some sort of thickener) became popular centuries ago as people, many who ate with their hands, wanted the flavorful cooking liquids to stick to their food more successfully on its brief journey from plate to mouth. Simply put, thickeners like flour, arrowroot, and cornstarch provide different levels of body and flavor in the form of a liaison, which is a molecular reaction between starch solids and liquids. I checked the encyclopedia of French cooking, Larousse Gastronomique, and counted over 150 savory sauce recipes including the five mother sauces (béchamel, velouté, tomato, espagnole, and hollandaise) from which all the other sauces are derived. Although each execution is a standard by which a classically trained chef was, and still is, judged, these sauces are just gravy’s fancy-pants siblings.
Luckily, most of us aren’t trying to be chefs, and there are many ways to get a flavorful liquid to cling to or coat something. In this issue, our BHG food editors and Test Kitchen went both wide and deep to suss out the best tricks to help anyone make excellent gravy (see page 52), how to troubleshoot when things aren’t going well, and even a method for making it ahead. Let’s be frank—these days most of us aren’t making homemade gravy with much regularity the rest of the year. Plus, there are new influences on gravy-making, such as vegetarian or gluten-free options, as well as clever hacks to avoid lumps and the unappetizing taste of raw flour.
Success mainly comes down to timing and technique, and for many cooks, mastering a molecular liaison at the last minute while the turkey is resting and a dining room full of guests are being seated is an unnecessary exercise in stress. I can relate. On occasions when I haven’t followed my mother’s techniques and my gravy congeals in its boat like a meat-flavored gelatin, or I add too much butter and it separates into slick oil layers, I try to take Julia Child’s advice and never apologize for what ends up on the table. However, watching your fellow diners gamely scoop gravy globs onto their turkey and stuffing is more than a little cringe-making.
Perfection isn’t what the holidays are about—being with friends and family is. But after all the effort you’ve gone to, why take a chance on so-so sauce? Go ahead and check out our guide instead. Even if you’re a gravy all-star, I’ll bet you learn something new. Bon appétit!
STEPHEN ORR,
Editor in Chief
instagram @steporr
PHOTO: CARSON DOWNING; HAIR STYLIST: IVY BOYD
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