The Art of a Coastal Thanksgiving: From Table to Turkey to Tomorrow's Sandwich By Laurie Savino | Destination Living

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, my Lavallette beach house smells like butter and sage. Outside, the November shore sits quiet—summer crowds long gone, leaving only the steady rhythm of waves and the occasional dedicated surfer. Inside, I'm planning a holiday that bridges two worlds: my Brooklyn roots and my Jersey Shore present, the formal dining rooms of my childhood and the relaxed coastal living I've come to treasure.

After 30 years helping families find homes across Brooklyn and Monmouth County, I've learned that the best spaces—whether brownstones in Cobble Hill or waterfront estates in Rumson—share one quality: they're designed for living, not just looking. Thanksgiving crystallizes this philosophy. It's the one holiday that demands your home actually work, from prep to presentation to the inevitable leftovers phase.

This year, I'm sharing what I've learned from decades of hosting, influenced by Italian family traditions, coastal living, and the pragmatic approach of someone who knows that hospitality is about warmth, not perfection.

Setting a Coastal Thanksgiving Table

The Brooklyn-Meets-Jersey-Shore Aesthetic

Forget the orange and brown clichés. My Thanksgiving table takes cues from the natural palette outside my windows: weathered grays, cream, navy, and touches of brass that catch afternoon light streaming through the windows.

The Foundation:
Start with good linen. Not the stiff, formal stuff that requires professional pressing, but the kind that gets softer with washing—French linen in natural or soft gray. Layer a gauzy runner down the center, deliberately imperfect. This isn't a museum; it's where people will actually eat.

The Centerpiece:
I abandon traditional fall florals for something that feels more honest to the shore setting. Branches from my property—nothing fancy, just interesting shapes—arranged in vintage brass candlesticks of varying heights. Tuck in dried hydrangeas from the summer garden, white pumpkins (the Jarrahdale variety, if you can find them—they're that beautiful blue-gray), and pillar candles in hurricane glasses to protect against drafts.

The key: keep it low. Thanksgiving is about conversation, and no one wants to crane around a towering arrangement to talk.

The Place Settings:
White plates. Always. They make food look better and work with any aesthetic. But here's where personality enters: mismatched vintage glassware in blue and green tones, echoing the ocean outside. Brass flatware instead of silver—warmer, more relaxed. Small brass name card holders with each guest's name in my (admittedly mediocre) calligraphy.

For napkins, I've collected vintage linen pieces over the years at estate sales in Red Bank and Little Silver. Each one different, each with its own history. Guests love discovering their unique piece.

The Lighting:
Thanksgiving happens at the worst possible time for natural light. By the time you're eating, it's nearly dark. My solution: layers. The hurricane candles on the table, votives clustered on the sideboard, and—this is crucial—dimmer switches on all overhead fixtures. Warm, dim light makes everyone look good, feel relaxed, and forgive any hosting imperfections.

The Main Event: Turkey That Actually Tastes Like Something

My Italian-American Approach (Refined Over 30 Years)

Growing up in Brooklyn with a family in commercial real estate meant attending a lot of business dinners where I learned this truth: expensive doesn't mean better, but technique does. After decades of trial, error, and plenty of Thanksgiving feedback, I've settled on a method that combines dry-brining with an unconventional roasting technique I learned from Cook's Illustrated—starting the turkey breast-side down.

The Method: Dry-Brined, Butter-Slicked, and Upside-Down

This approach takes courage the first time, but produces the juiciest turkey breast you'll ever serve. The science: when the turkey starts breast-side down, all those flavorful juices from the dark meat baste the breast from above. It's brilliant, slightly fussy, and absolutely worth it.

Three Days Before:
Pat your turkey completely dry (12-14 pounds—any bigger is a showoff move that just extends cooking time). Mix ½ cup kosher salt with 2 tablespoons brown sugar, 1 tablespoon black pepper, and 2 teaspoons dried sage. Rub this everywhere—over, under the skin, inside the cavity. Place uncovered on a sheet pan in your refrigerator. The dry surface created over these days leads to unbelievably crispy skin.

Thanksgiving Morning:
Take the turkey out an hour before cooking to reach room temperature. While it sits, make compound butter: one stick of softened butter mixed with minced garlic, fresh thyme, sage, lemon zest, and a pinch of red pepper flakes (the Italian in me can't resist).

Gently separate the turkey skin from the breast meat—your hands will fit right in once you start. Spread the compound butter directly on the meat under the skin and rub the rest all over the outside.

The Roasting (The Cook's Illustrated Method):
This is where everyone gets anxious. Don't. Just follow the steps.

Stuff the cavity with a quartered onion, lemon, and a handful of herbs—this isn't for eating, it's for flavor and moisture. Tie the legs together.

Here's the key: Place the turkey breast-side DOWN on your roasting rack. Start at 425°F for one full hour. The legs and thighs, now facing up, will brown beautifully while the breast stays protected and gets basted by dripping juices.

After an hour, the hard part: flipping. This is not a solo job. You need silicone oven mitts, a helper, and confidence. Carefully flip the turkey breast-side UP. Don't panic about the rack marks on the breast—they'll plump out during resting.

Reduce oven temperature to 325°F. Continue roasting, basting every 30 minutes with pan juices, until a thermometer reads 165°F in the thickest part of the thigh (USDA guideline)—usually about 1.5-2 more hours depending on your bird's size.

The Final Touch:
Because the breast started face-down, it needs help browning. When your turkey hits temperature, turn on the broiler. Broil the breast-side for 4-6 minutes until the skin is golden and crisp. Watch it carefully—this goes from perfect to burned quickly.

The Rest:
This is where amateurs fail. When your turkey hits temperature (and after that quick broil), remove it from the oven and let it rest, loosely tented with foil, for 30-45 minutes. Yes, it stays hot. Yes, this matters. The juices redistribute, making every slice tender instead of dry.

Fair Warning: This method requires coordination, muscle, and ideally a kitchen partner. But if maximum juiciness is your goal—and impressing your guests with insider technique—it's worth every minute of fussiness. I've been using this approach for years at my Lavallette Thanksgivings, and family members now request "the upside-down turkey" by name.

Method adapted from Cook's Illustrated's extensively tested turkey techniques. For their complete scientific breakdown of why this works, consult their November-December issues or their online turkey guide.

Popovers: The Secret Weapon

Why Popovers Win Thanksgiving

I discovered popovers during my first Thanksgiving in Rumson, at a neighbor's house. These aren't bread rolls—they're architectural marvels of steam and egg, with crispy exteriors giving way to hollow, custard-like interiors perfect for soaking up gravy.

They're also absurdly easy and look impressively complicated—the hosting sweet spot.

The Foolproof Recipe:

Ingredients:

• 3 large eggs, room temperature
• 1½ cups whole milk, room temperature
• 1½ cups all-purpose flour
• ¾ teaspoon salt
• 3 tablespoons melted butter

Method:

The night before, take your eggs and milk out of the fridge. Room temperature ingredients are the only real rule here.

Preheat your oven to 450°F. Generously butter a popover pan or muffin tin—don't skimp.

Blend eggs, milk, flour, salt, and melted butter until just combined—a few lumps are fine, overmixing is the enemy.

Fill each cup about two-thirds full. Bake at 450°F for 15 minutes. Do NOT open the oven. Reduce heat to 350°F and bake 15-20 more minutes until deeply golden.

Pierce each popover once to release steam, then serve immediately. They deflate as they cool, so timing matters—make them while the turkey rests.

The Day After: Leftovers as Main Event

The Brooklyn Italian Thanksgiving Sandwich

This is my father's legacy, refined over years of day-after Thanksgivings. It's become something my clients and friends request the recipe for every year.

Components:

The Bread: Semolina hero from a real bakery—soft interior, substantial crust. In Bay Ridge, I get mine from Caputo's Bakery. At the Shore, Filoncino Bakery Cafe Red Bank has excellent bread. Whatever you choose, it should stand up to serious filling.

The Build:
Split and lightly toast the bread. Spread cranberry sauce (the whole berry kind, never the canned gel) on both sides—this is your sauce, providing sweet-tart contrast.

Layer: Turkey (obviously), then surprisingly good deli-sliced provolone (the creaminess matters), fresh arugula (peppery bite), thinly sliced red onion (soaked in cold water for 10 minutes to mellow it), and here's the secret—leftover stuffing, pan-fried in butter until crispy on both sides.

The crispy stuffing adds textural contrast and acts as a warm element against the cold turkey. The whole thing gets pressed down firmly (I use a cast iron skillet as weight) and cut on a dramatic diagonal.

The Turkey Soup Your Grandmother Would Approve Of

Throw your turkey carcass into your largest pot. Add two quartered onions, four carrots, four celery stalks (all roughly chopped—you're straining this out), a head of garlic halved crosswise, bay leaves, peppercorns, and a bundle of thyme.

Cover with water by two inches. Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, and ignore for 3-4 hours. Strain, return liquid to the pot, reduce by a third for concentrated flavor.

Add: diced carrots, celery, leftover vegetables from Thursday, shredded turkey meat, and small pasta (ditalini or orzo). Season aggressively with salt and pepper. Finish with fresh parsley and a squeeze of lemon.

This soup improves over three days and freezes beautifully. It's what you'll want when December arrives cold and dark.

The Real Feast: Gathering People in Homes They Love

After three decades in real estate, I've walked through thousands of homes during holidays. The ones that feel right—whether co-ops in Brooklyn Heights or waterfront estates in Rumson—share something beyond square footage or finishes. They're designed for gathering.

Thanksgiving isn't about perfect tablescapes or competition-grade turkey. It's about creating space—physical and emotional—where people feel welcome. It's why I love what I do: helping families find places where these moments happen naturally, where the dining table isn't just furniture but the center of life.

This year, my Lavallette table will hold family who've traveled from Brooklyn, friends from Rumson, and neighbors from down the shore road. The turkey will be imperfect, someone will arrive late, and the popovers might deflate before we photograph them.

But the wine will be cold, the gravy will be hot, and the house—with its view of November waves and its table set with mismatched vintage linens—will feel exactly like what it is: home.

About the Author:
Laurie Savino is an Associate Broker at Corcoran, serving Brooklyn and Monmouth County from her Rumson, New Jersey office. When she's not helping clients find their perfect homes, she's at her Lavallette property testing recipes and refinishing furniture from estate sales. Follow more lifestyle content and real estate insights at destination.living.