Yeah, that's like telling a Pediatrician that children are just small adults.
When I came to, the turkey (thankfully) was not on the floor, though I was, shaking at the thought of pulling a turkey's head out its ass with my bare hands. Now I've always been a bit squeamish about what my friend calls "Food with a Face", regardless of how ugly or cute that face is. Hypocritical, I know, but it is a problem I face every time I cook a lobster or avoid a whole fish.
The trouble started the night prior to Thanksgiving. Being used to dashing into Whole Foods or some other market, and getting a cute, but dead, 3 pound chicken, I left the turkey purchase until the day before. Unfortunately one of my patients decided to come into the ER bleeding, and I didn't get out of work until midnight the night before Thanksgiving. So instead of a lovely, free-range, organic turkey, I was left staring at mass-market birds perched, frozen solid as rocks, under fluorescent lights bearing names such as Hickory Hills and Green Acres.
Being rather sure that my turkey had never seen hickory, hills or any sort of green acre, I walked home, lugging the equivalent of an 8 pound ball of ice, back to my apartment, muttering curse words at the store manager who had not thawed the birds the night before Thanksgiving, and not really placing blame on the person who deserved it most... me.
A quick google search, and I came upon the cold water method of thawing a turkey. This involved sticking your turkey in a pot and rinsing it with cold water, frequently changed, until the bird was in a state where it would no longer shatter when dropped from 10 stories. Now this all sounded good and easy, but google failed to mention that as my turkey thawed, my fingers would freeze.
I proceeded to mutter more curse words, this time at google, at 1am.
At approximately 2:30am, I had the turkey thawed to the point where I could remove the giblets from its rear. I reached one of my numb and frozen hands into the turkey's rear and with a quick snap of ice, a bag of giblets and a turkey head went flying into my sink.
I proceeded to mutter more curse words, this time at google, at 1am.
At approximately 2:30am, I had the turkey thawed to the point where I could remove the giblets from its rear. I reached one of my numb and frozen hands into the turkey's rear and with a quick snap of ice, a bag of giblets and a turkey head went flying into my sink.
I don't really remember what happened next.
When I came to, the turkey (thankfully) was not on the floor, though I was, shaking at the thought of pulling a turkey's head out its ass with my bare hands. Now I've always been a bit squeamish about what my friend calls "Food with a Face", regardless of how ugly or cute that face is. Hypocritical, I know, but it is a problem I face every time I cook a lobster or avoid a whole fish.
By 4am, I felt fairly comfortable that the turkey, sans head, that had frozen my hands and given me a heart attack, was thawed to the point of being cookable that afternoon.
After 4 hours of fitful sleep, dreaming of turkey heads falling from the sky like hail, I awoke and consulted the world of the internet on how to cook a turkey... because clearly everything on the internet is true. In A Cook's Bible, Christopher Kimball had eschewed brining chickens, and since his recipes had never let me astray, I eschewed all recipes involving brine. And since "Mon Poulet Roti" is my favorite Thomas Keller recipe (and perhaps the only one I make with any regularity), I went for high heat until my turkey's thigh was of the appropriate temperature.
Did I mention that turkeys are not big chickens?
Well, thank goodness for gravy, and the good patience of my guests. That Thanksgiving was a dark meat Thanksgiving and the breast meat ended up simply being the butt of future turkey jokes. (What's tougher and harder than Courtney's turkey? Joan Rivers.)
Two years later I was forced into yet another turkey episode. Determined not to face another Great Turkey (are not big Chickens) Debacle, I started researching turkey roasting methods a month ahead of time. I had a new boyfriend of only a few months, and I was determined not to have him make turkey jokes for the rest of our relationship, regardless of how long or short that time was.
"Why don't you braise your turkey? Mark Bittman does it. Turkeys are really not built for roasting, " said my Smart Wine Friend (SWF), whom I've known since I was 4 years old. Of course at that time, he was not a Smart Wine Friend, he was just a Smart Friend.
"I know," he continued. "You want that Norman Rockwell moment when the big fat turkey comes to the table."
In theory I did, even though my "dining room" table was merely a 36 inch round piece of particle board coated with cheap beige laminate, circa early 1990's K-mart. But determined to conquer my Turkey-Phobia, I moved forward.
Dry brining, as it happened, had become de rigueur in the years since the Great Turkey Debacle, and so dry brining it would be. Oddly, the concept of dry brining came to most people's consciousness via Judy Rodgers' Zuni Cafe Cookbook recipe for, of all things, chicken. Several people immediately espoused the idea, including Russ Parsons of the LA Times. Every year since 2006, Mr. Parsons had written about, added and tweaked his version of a dry-brined "Judy bird", starting with a full on, LA Times turkey-roast-off in 2006.
http://www.latimes.com/theguide/holiday-guide/food/la-fo-turkeycontest,0,3586629.story
Needless to say, the dry-brined turkey won the LA times turkey contest, neck and wings above the rest. (Sorry, I couldn't resist that one.) And with Martha Stewart dry brining and Cooks Illustrated dry brining... really, how could I say no? (Even if the recipe came from a chicken) And so I embarked upon a 3 day salting expedition of a 12 pound bird, using a bit more than the recommended 1 tablespoon of kosher salt per 5 pounds of turkey rule.
It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. I ordered an organic, free-range turkey from Gramercy Meat Market and followed the Parsons' recipe to the letter, with the exception of adding a bit of bay leaf and sage to the salt brine a la Martha.
http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/roasted-dry-brined-turkey
Once again, turkey disappointment. The skin looked a pale and uneven, and the breast meat was pretty dry again despite my rigorous thigh temperature checks. Turkey 2. Me 0.
This year my turkey anxiety started after the Fourth of July. I found out that, once again, I was on-call over Turkey weekend, and thus would not be leaving the isle of Manhattan or my 400 square foot apartment for Thanksgiving. I started reading, studying, reviewing, and taking notes. I've been watching turkey videos the way college boys watch football, living vicariously through someone else's poultry. And I've been having turkey nightmares.
This year, Mr. Parsons will again, be dry brining his turkey.
http://www.latimes.com/theguide/holiday-guide/food/la-fo-calcook18-2009nov18,0,4954438.story
Martha, on the other hand, will be making a turkey that looks like roadkill
http://www.marthastewart.com/how-to/how-to-spatchcock-a-turkey
(Though, this method will likely lead to a more evenly cooked turkey than anything that I make).
Dean and Deluca will be serving the breast first and putting the thighs back in the oven, and I, well... I was going to give the dry brined turkey another try, fiddle with temperatures, tin foil and flipping. Basically the poultry equivalent of Mary Lou Retton dressed like Liberace in my oven.
However, I ordered my turkey from DiPaola's turkey farm, and it is arriving the day before Thanksgiving essentially nixing the dry-brining option. (From all my research, if you dry-brine for only a day or two, you will end up with a dehydrated bird that never got to rehydrate itself.) And so, this year, I shall be wet brining in my 20 square foot kitchen. My boyfriend (yes, the same guy, stayed with me despite my dry turkey last year) has been laughing at my turkey nightmares, my turkey video watching and my basic obsession over November 26th. But Big-Chicken be damned.
This year, I will win.
After 4 hours of fitful sleep, dreaming of turkey heads falling from the sky like hail, I awoke and consulted the world of the internet on how to cook a turkey... because clearly everything on the internet is true. In A Cook's Bible, Christopher Kimball had eschewed brining chickens, and since his recipes had never let me astray, I eschewed all recipes involving brine. And since "Mon Poulet Roti" is my favorite Thomas Keller recipe (and perhaps the only one I make with any regularity), I went for high heat until my turkey's thigh was of the appropriate temperature.
Did I mention that turkeys are not big chickens?
Well, thank goodness for gravy, and the good patience of my guests. That Thanksgiving was a dark meat Thanksgiving and the breast meat ended up simply being the butt of future turkey jokes. (What's tougher and harder than Courtney's turkey? Joan Rivers.)
Two years later I was forced into yet another turkey episode. Determined not to face another Great Turkey (are not big Chickens) Debacle, I started researching turkey roasting methods a month ahead of time. I had a new boyfriend of only a few months, and I was determined not to have him make turkey jokes for the rest of our relationship, regardless of how long or short that time was.
"Why don't you braise your turkey? Mark Bittman does it. Turkeys are really not built for roasting, " said my Smart Wine Friend (SWF), whom I've known since I was 4 years old. Of course at that time, he was not a Smart Wine Friend, he was just a Smart Friend.
"I know," he continued. "You want that Norman Rockwell moment when the big fat turkey comes to the table."
In theory I did, even though my "dining room" table was merely a 36 inch round piece of particle board coated with cheap beige laminate, circa early 1990's K-mart. But determined to conquer my Turkey-Phobia, I moved forward.
Dry brining, as it happened, had become de rigueur in the years since the Great Turkey Debacle, and so dry brining it would be. Oddly, the concept of dry brining came to most people's consciousness via Judy Rodgers' Zuni Cafe Cookbook recipe for, of all things, chicken. Several people immediately espoused the idea, including Russ Parsons of the LA Times. Every year since 2006, Mr. Parsons had written about, added and tweaked his version of a dry-brined "Judy bird", starting with a full on, LA Times turkey-roast-off in 2006.
http://www.latimes.com/theguide/holiday-guide/food/la-fo-turkeycontest,0,3586629.story
Needless to say, the dry-brined turkey won the LA times turkey contest, neck and wings above the rest. (Sorry, I couldn't resist that one.) And with Martha Stewart dry brining and Cooks Illustrated dry brining... really, how could I say no? (Even if the recipe came from a chicken) And so I embarked upon a 3 day salting expedition of a 12 pound bird, using a bit more than the recommended 1 tablespoon of kosher salt per 5 pounds of turkey rule.
It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. I ordered an organic, free-range turkey from Gramercy Meat Market and followed the Parsons' recipe to the letter, with the exception of adding a bit of bay leaf and sage to the salt brine a la Martha.
http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/roasted-dry-brined-turkey
Once again, turkey disappointment. The skin looked a pale and uneven, and the breast meat was pretty dry again despite my rigorous thigh temperature checks. Turkey 2. Me 0.
This year my turkey anxiety started after the Fourth of July. I found out that, once again, I was on-call over Turkey weekend, and thus would not be leaving the isle of Manhattan or my 400 square foot apartment for Thanksgiving. I started reading, studying, reviewing, and taking notes. I've been watching turkey videos the way college boys watch football, living vicariously through someone else's poultry. And I've been having turkey nightmares.
This year, Mr. Parsons will again, be dry brining his turkey.
http://www.latimes.com/theguide/holiday-guide/food/la-fo-calcook18-2009nov18,0,4954438.story
Martha, on the other hand, will be making a turkey that looks like roadkill
http://www.marthastewart.com/how-to/how-to-spatchcock-a-turkey
(Though, this method will likely lead to a more evenly cooked turkey than anything that I make).
Dean and Deluca will be serving the breast first and putting the thighs back in the oven, and I, well... I was going to give the dry brined turkey another try, fiddle with temperatures, tin foil and flipping. Basically the poultry equivalent of Mary Lou Retton dressed like Liberace in my oven.
However, I ordered my turkey from DiPaola's turkey farm, and it is arriving the day before Thanksgiving essentially nixing the dry-brining option. (From all my research, if you dry-brine for only a day or two, you will end up with a dehydrated bird that never got to rehydrate itself.) And so, this year, I shall be wet brining in my 20 square foot kitchen. My boyfriend (yes, the same guy, stayed with me despite my dry turkey last year) has been laughing at my turkey nightmares, my turkey video watching and my basic obsession over November 26th. But Big-Chicken be damned.
This year, I will win.
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