The Thanksgivings of my youth were spent with my mother’s extended family in Alabama. It was the kind of affair where you processed around the dining table to fill your plate, then found a seat wherever one was available (as a child, that usually meant a step, if you were lucky, outside; a patch of grass if you were not).
The food was legendary: There were at least two roast turkeys and a glistening glazed ham. Sweet potato casserole with and without marshmallows. And there were at least three variations of cornbread dressing. The side dishes filled the rest of the dining room table (extra leaves inserted) from corner to corner. There were no desserts in sight.
And that’s because the sweets were housed on a separate table in the kitchen. A round table that sat at least five people on a regular weeknight became the place where pies, cakes, and more awaited their turn to be devoured (it, too, was full). I loved pecan pie. And fried apple pie. But the dessert that most felt like Thanksgiving to me (and still does) was pumpkin roll.
The pumpkin roll was one of the few dishes at this annual shindig that was not a family legacy. The simple recipe was tucked into half a page of our church cookbook, but it quickly became my mother’s signature addition to the spread. The cake was tender and delicately spiced, the frosting creamy and just slightly savory, and the nuts added just enough textural crunch. Luckily, for home cooks who don’t have a robust collection of community cookbooks from the 1980s Mid-South, Gourmet published a very similar version in its July 1995 issue.
Roll cakes have a reputation for being fussy, but that’s what makes pumpkin roll so genius. The canned purée makes for an exceptionally moist cake that’s a cinch to stuff with cream cheese frosting and roll into a perfect spiral. Ours made the two-hour trip south every year with nary a crack in sight. Sadly, it rarely made the return journey (because it’d all been eaten).
We stuff our pumpkin roll by sprinkling toasted pecans all over the surface of the frosting, but walnuts are perfectly acceptable. For a few years, my mother would add the nuts to only one half of the pumpkin roll so that you could take a slice from whichever side most appealed to you. That Gourmet recipe takes a step in the other direction, folding the nuts into the filling for a more integrated bite.
Either way you go, there’s one more feature that makes pumpkin roll (imho) the best Thanksgiving dessert. To make one truly presentable, you have to trim a ½” or so from each side of the finished cake. These scraps, of course, become the cook’s treat: a small sampling of the dessert, before you share it with others. (Pumpkin pie could never.)
If you’ve never made a roll cake, allow me to give you a few pointers. Spread the batter evenly using an offset spatula. The cake is thin and cooks quickly, so if it’s spread unevenly, it’ll bake unevenly. Liberally dust a flour-sack kitchen towel (not terry cloth or microfiber) with powdered sugar—and I do mean liberally (use a fine mesh strainer). This will prevent the tender cake from sticking. When you go to turn it out, lift the pan slowly, gently, on one side so that the other stays on the edge of the towel. Just before you reach the halfway point, slam it down like a book cover, quickly and deliberately. This is the best way I’ve found to release the cake from the pan without tearing it, but it does take conviction. If that sounds too intimidating, simply slide the cake onto the towel using the overhanging parchment that lines the pan. Roll the cake up while it’s still warm to train it into shape. And don’t even think about unrolling it until the last bit of warmth has escaped its spiraled interior.
Throughout the years, I’ve made adjustments to the recipe: swapping in various freshly roasted squashes, sneaking in other spices, fancying up the frosting. Each experiment has had its merits, but even when I come back to the streamlined original, it’s still the best dessert on the holiday table.
