Thanksgiving planning. I'm hosting again — this is what I do, this is what Mamma does, this is what happens when you're a Johansson woman with a kitchen and a table and a constitutional inability to let other people feed your family.
Anna and David and the kids are coming. Elsa is coming from Ely (the weather cooperated — no major storms in the forecast, which in November in northern Minnesota is a small miracle). Peter said, "I'll try." The same words as last year. I said, "Try hard." The same words as last year. We're caught in a loop, Peter and I — the same conversation, the same hope, the same uncertainty. But this year the "try" sounded different. This year it sounded like it might mean "yes."
Mamma will come with Erik. She's already making her meatballs. I called her Monday to discuss the menu — as if the menu has changed in thirty years, which it hasn't, but the call is part of the ritual and Mamma would worry if I didn't call. "Are you making the stuffing with the rye bread?" she asked. "Yes, Mamma." "And the cranberry sauce from scratch?" "Yes, Mamma." "Good. The canned kind is a sin." Mamma has theological opinions about canned cranberry sauce. I share them.
I'm preparing the turkey brine today. The bread for the stuffing was baked yesterday. The pies — pumpkin and the last of the blueberry — will be made Wednesday. The logistics of a Johansson Thanksgiving could fill a military planning document: the timing of the bird, the coordination of the sides, the strategic deployment of Mamma's meatballs, the management of oven space.
Paul offered to help. I assigned him the potatoes because Paul can peel potatoes reliably with his right hand and because giving him a task keeps him in the kitchen where I can see him instead of in his study where I can't. I'm not controlling. I'm — present. There's a difference. (There may not be a difference.)
I made a pre-Thanksgiving meal on Wednesday: Swedish brown beans — bruna bönor — slow-cooked with vinegar, brown sugar, and syrup until they're sweet and tangy and the kind of side dish that no one outside of Scandinavia understands but that Johanssons eat by the bowlful. They're traditionally served with pork, but I ate them alone, at the kitchen table, with a piece of rye bread and butter, and they tasted like Mamma's kitchen on a November afternoon in 1973 when I was ten and the world was small and safe and there was nothing to worry about except homework.
I miss that version of the world. But I don't want to go back to it. I want to be here, in this kitchen, in this November, with everything I'm carrying, because this — the worry, the love, the cooking, the waiting — this is the life. Not the absence of worry. The presence of it, managed, held, endured. That's the life.
Turkey goes in Thursday at seven AM. Everyone arrives by noon. Meatballs at the center of the table. Mamma at the head. That's the plan. That's always the plan.
The bruna bønor were never meant to be on the blog — they were just for me, eaten alone at the kitchen table before the real Thanksgiving work began, a private ritual. But the slow cooker was still on the counter afterward, and it seemed a shame not to use it again while I had three days of cooking ahead of me. This Slow Cooker Butternut Squash Tortellini is the recipe I keep coming back to in November: it asks almost nothing of you while the oven is already spoken for, and it delivers the kind of warm, creamy, this-is-exactly-what-I-needed that a week of planning and waiting sometimes demands. It’s not a Johansson family heirloom — but it’s become mine.
Slow Cooker Butternut Squash Tortellini
Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 4 hours (low) | Total Time: 4 hours 15 minutes | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 medium butternut squash (about 2 lbs), peeled, seeded, and cut into 3/4-inch cubes
- 1 small yellow onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 cups vegetable broth
- 1 can (14 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
- 1 teaspoon dried sage
- 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
- 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
- 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
- 1 package (20 oz) refrigerated cheese tortellini
- 1/2 cup heavy cream
- 2 cups fresh baby spinach
- 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
- Fresh sage or parsley, for garnish (optional)
Instructions
- Load the slow cooker. Add the cubed butternut squash, diced onion, garlic, vegetable broth, diced tomatoes (with their juices), sage, thyme, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper to a 6-quart slow cooker. Stir to combine.
- Cook low and slow. Cover and cook on LOW for 3 1/2 to 4 hours, until the squash is completely tender and beginning to break down at the edges. (You can also cook on HIGH for 2 to 2 1/2 hours.)
- Mash lightly. Use the back of a wooden spoon or a fork to gently mash some of the squash into the liquid — not fully, just enough to thicken the sauce. Leave plenty of whole pieces for texture.
- Add the tortellini. Stir in the refrigerated cheese tortellini. Cover and cook on HIGH for 20 to 25 minutes, until the tortellini are cooked through and tender.
- Finish the sauce. Stir in the heavy cream and fresh spinach. Replace the lid for 3 to 4 minutes until the spinach is wilted. Stir in the Parmesan cheese and adjust seasoning with salt and pepper as needed.
- Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with additional Parmesan and a few leaves of fresh sage or a pinch of chopped parsley if desired. Serve immediately.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 15g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 59g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 720mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 86 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.