Turkey Monte Cristo with Rosemary Aioli

Thanksgiving in a pandemic. Two people at a table set for two. No children. No grandchildren. No Thomas. No Mrs. DeLuca. Just Marvin and me and a turkey that was obscenely large for two people, because I bought the twenty-two-pound turkey out of habit and defiance and the refusal to let a virus reduce my Thanksgiving to a Cornish hen.

I cooked for three days. The full spread: turkey, brisket, kugel, challah, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie, rugelach. For two people. The leftovers alone could have fed the entire neighborhood, and in fact they did — I packaged everything into containers and left them on porches up and down the street, masked and gloved, a one-woman kosher-adjacent meals-on-wheels, because the only thing worse than Thanksgiving for two is Thanksgiving for one, and I know at least three people on my block who would have eaten alone if I hadn't left brisket on their porch steps.

The video call was chaos and joy. David's family in their kitchen. Rebecca alone in hers. Miriam in Tel Aviv, where it was already Friday and she had her own Shabbat to prepare but joined anyway because the Rosen sisters do not miss each other's holidays, not even across nine time zones and a pandemic. The grandchildren waved. Noah, twenty months, toddled past the camera repeatedly. Ethan said, "Bubbe, I can see your turkey!" Sophie said, "Can you send some through the phone?" I said, "If I could send food through a phone, I would have solved world hunger by now."

Marvin sat beside me during the call. He smiled when the grandchildren appeared. The smile is real — diminished, not quite the full Marvin smile, but real, and the reality of the smile is the thing I hold onto, the evidence that somewhere inside the disease there is still a man who recognizes small faces on a screen and responds with something that is unmistakably love. The love endures. The love has not been taken. The disease takes memory and names and the route to the deli, but it has not taken the love. The love is stored somewhere the disease cannot reach, in the same place the soup is stored, in the body, in the cells, in the ancient architecture of a man who has been loving for seventy years and whose love is older than his memory.

After the call, I washed the dishes. Marvin slept. The turkey carcass went into a pot for soup. The cycle continues. Thanksgiving ends. The soup begins. Always the soup.

The day after Thanksgiving, with Marvin napping and the soup pot already simmering on the stove, I stood in front of the refrigerator looking at enough leftover turkey to feed the block a second time. I could have made another round of porch deliveries, and I did, but first I made us lunch — a Monte Cristo, because if you’re going to cook a twenty-two-pound turkey for two people, you owe it to that bird to do something magnificent with the leftovers. The rosemary aioli is the kind of small, unnecessary flourish that makes the day after feel like its own occasion, not just an afterthought.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 25 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

For the Rosemary Aioli:

1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, finely minced
1 clove garlic, minced or pressed
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
Salt and pepper to taste

For the Monte Cristo:

8 slices challah or brioche bread
3/4 pound leftover roasted turkey, sliced
4 slices Swiss cheese
4 slices ham (optional)
3 large eggs
1/3 cup whole milk
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Powdered sugar for dusting
Raspberry or cranberry preserves for dipping

Instructions

Make the aioli. In a small bowl, stir together the mayonnaise, rosemary, garlic, Dijon mustard, and lemon juice. Season with salt and pepper. Refrigerate until ready to use.
Assemble the sandwiches. Spread a thin layer of rosemary aioli on each slice of bread. Layer turkey, Swiss cheese, and ham (if using) on four slices. Top with the remaining bread slices, aioli side down. Press gently.
Prepare the egg wash. In a shallow dish, whisk together the eggs, milk, nutmeg, and salt until well combined.
Dip the sandwiches. Carefully dip each assembled sandwich into the egg wash, turning to coat both sides evenly. Let excess drip off.
Cook until golden. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in a large skillet or griddle over medium heat. Place two sandwiches in the pan and cook for 3 to 4 minutes per side, until the bread is deeply golden brown and the cheese has melted. Repeat with remaining butter and sandwiches.
Serve warm. Dust lightly with powdered sugar. Serve with extra rosemary aioli and cranberry or raspberry preserves on the side for dipping.

Nutrition (per serving)

Turkey Monte Cristo with Rosemary Aioli — Because the Leftovers Are the Point