Some combinations are best left uncombined

Some adventurous, imaginative Americans no doubt celebrated Thanksgiving this year with a turducken for the main course. The obvious question would be: How could dessert top that?

A Thanksgiving turducken, as the name implies, is a hybrid entree. Invented down in Cajun land, it consists of a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey.

I have never tasted one myself, but those who have describe it as strange, hard to carve and ultimately not as satisfying as each of those birds would be if consumed individually. But it deserves huge cred as a novelty Thanksgiving day centerpiece, supplanting the dull, old turkey.

So, what do you have for dessert after a turducken? This year, apparently, the answer is a heaping helping of piecaken.

In the spirit of stuffing things into other things, a piecaken is one or several pies baked inside a cake. The idea has caught on, and the Internet reportedly features thousands of variations on this theme.

One pictured on the Internet is an apple pie on top of a blueberry pie baked inside a vanilla cake slathered in cream cheese frosting and decorated with chocolate kisses. It is a towering, grotesque mutation of a real dessert.

A piece of this thing looks like a core sample from Candyland. It seems impossible to approach it with a fork. Instead, you’d have to grab big handfuls of it and smear it on your face.

I have nothing against layers of things. Nothing wrong with, say, a layer cake, alternating cake with cream filling. Very civilized. Your can eat it with your pinky in the air.

But this idea of cramming smaller things into ever larger things seems both decadent and stupid. It gives decadence a bad name.

The ancient Romans did it, serving lambs stuffed with pigs, and pigs with pheasants, and pheasants with chickens, and chickens with fish, ending up with a hummingbird or some other tiny, unexpected treat. Then they all trooped off to the vomitorium.

In most cases, these bizarre concoctions seem more for show (a freak show) than an effort to really arouse our appetites. I love all the things in a piecaken – but not all mixed together.

If you’re going to stuff something into something else, it should be stuffing.

There is, however, one beautiful melange, one combination of disparate ingredients that actually melds to become something larger than the sum of its parts. I call it a sandwich.

Specifically, because this is the day after Thanksgiving, I call it a leftover sandwich. Everybody has a favorite variation of the leftover sandwich, but mine involves trying to utilize as many pieces of the Thanksgiving feast as possible while adding new stuff.

My basic leftover sandwich usually includes turkey, of course, with cornbread stuffing (and gravy if available), cranberry sauce, Swiss cheese, a dab of sweet potato casserole, mayo, lettuce and, duh, bacon, all stuffed between two pieces of oatmeal bread.

However, there are no rules, and if your philosophy is “less is more,” you can make do with a slice of turkey and a biscuit.

For many, Thanksgiving leftovers can be a tastier banquet than the one presented on the big day itself. But the food has to be good to start with.

Leftover turducken? Which way to the vomitorium?

This story was originally published November 26, 2015 at 9:00 AM with the headline "Some combinations are best left uncombined."