Thanksgiving was yesterday and the preparations got me thinking about how differently people cook and eat. I had just read that 11 percent of Americans take their turkey in a restaurant (no leftovers?), and that 53 percent of the rest bought prepared stuff from the grocery. That leaves only 36 percent who actually participate in cooking their own turkey and the surrounding accoutrements.
Thanksgiving is primarily a holiday of traditions, and most people cook the same things every year. I've noticed that people seem to have certain jobs - who makes the green bean casserole, or who always brings dessert. My assigned role is to make bread and cranberry sauce, so early every Thanksgiving 
morning, you can find me in the kitchen, baking some version of Parker House Rolls and stirring cranberries until they pop. Yesterday, as I was beginning the process of turning ordinary ingredients into a tradition, I was thinking of Martha.
As I plan, shop and cook for the holidays, I always rediscover my inner Martha Stewart. I know many people don't like Martha, I think this has much to do with guilt. People know that they too could cook, decorate and garden, if only they tried, but rather than giving it a shot, they find it easier to write Martha off as a pushy domestic demon (find these people in the 64 percent who buy prepared food and eat out). But I think Martha's message is simply that anything worth doing is worth doing well, and to me this especially applies to cooking.
As I was kneading the dough and stirring the cranberry sauce, I was having a Martha minute, thinking of how much I was enjoying the process, really being in the moment, and pouring myself into making the
rolls and sauce the best that they could be. Anyone that cooks knows that time and heart put into cooking don't necessarily equal awe and gratitude around the table. It never fails to amaze me how many people eat simply to survive, without thinking about the experience at all (These are more people who are probably buying their Thanksgiving dinner at the deli). But I'm not doing it for them. I'm kneading rolls and stirring cranberries for the couple of people who, each year remind me how they like their rolls (soft and barely baked), or who swoon over the cherried cranberry sauce. I want people to love what I've cooked for them, sigh with delight when they taste my dishes and pant while they ask when I will make it again. That is why I cook. It's a good thing.
I found this recipe in Saveur a couple of years ago. It's a fantastic twist on Cranberry sauce and a far cry from the jellied sauce that stays can shaped after you've poured it into the dish. Play with the flavorings - I've used dried cherries, frozen cherries, tart pie cherries and coarsely chopped lemon zest - all are
wonderful, but bring different flavors to the party.
Cherried Cranberry Sauce
12 oz. fresh cranberries, rinsed
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup fresh orange juice
1 tsp freshly grated lemon zest
1 cup pitted cherries
1/2 cup water
Put all of the ingredients into a saucepan and simmer over medium heat, stirring often until the sugar dissolves and the cranberries pop, 10-15 minutes. Reduce heat to low and cook another 5 minutes. Set aside to cool, stirring occasionally. Put into a covered bowl and refrigerate until well chilled. The sauce will keep about 2 weeks - but will be gone long before that. Makes about 3 cups.
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