I read an article that detailed the rising popularity of prepared Thanksgiving dinners from supermarket delis. Most folks buying these ready made feasts give the excuse that they don't have the time or don't have the culinary skill.
Bullshit.
We make time for what is important to us. Holidays are time set aside for us to do things we don't usually do, like roast a frickin' big bird or spend an afternoon watching relatives get obnoxiously drunk. I would prefer that people simply admit that they don't want to make the time to cook or to learn to cook. The whole "we don't have time to cook like we used to" mantra plays like a meme planted by corporations trying to convince us that whatever they sell is the solution to our hectic lives.
So if you have better things to do for Thanksgiving, go ahead and do them. If you avoid dead animal, by all means tuck into your Tofurky. If you just don't want to cook and still need to feed masses of friends and relatives, order the ready made stuff, but for godsakes don't pass it off as home cooked. Why bother deceiving yourself and others with a synthetic family-meal experience? (That Thanksgiving Day is an almost completely synthetic and commercial myth is something I don't want to take space for now.)
As for me, I'm no Julia Child. I'm shorter, male, and not dead. Still, I have for the last four years produced a doozie of a bird for Turkey Day.
For those inclined to roast their own bird, I'd like to share my insights.
I start with the cheapest damned bird I can find. It looks like some producers are trying to get you to go for a boutique turkey by appealing to nostalgia ("This is the way turkeys were meant to be!"), iconoclasm ("Don't you dare put a bland, factory bird on your table!"), misguided environmentalism ("We let our turkeys forage for themselves across acres of land instead of cramming into factory farms!"), or hypocritical animal advocacy ("Our turkeys could have sex because of their smaller breasts, so they were at least marginally satisfied before we killed them for you!"). If you need to cook up an expensive, gamey tasting bird, be my guest.
To preserve a little sanity, get a meat thermometer. They're available at any supermarket kitchen gadget section.
Following some common guidelines, I aim for about 1.5 pounds of turkey carcass per person. This year, optimally, I would've roasted a 15-pound turkey. With the "cheapest damned bird" requirement, I was left digging through a picked-over bargain bin of remaining 11-pounders and monsters of 20+ pounds. I stood guard over a lone 17-pounder as my wife ran off to get a shopping cart.
Another common guideline is 24 hours of thaw time in the refrigerator for each five pounds of turkey. This is utter crap in my experience. Two years ago, I left a 15-pound bird in the fridge for three days and was left with a 15-pound block of ice. I spent an hour hurrying the thaw along with cold water instead of cooking the damned thing. This year, our bird got six days in the fridge. The giblets junk was still icy, but otherwise the carcass was perfect.
One bit of advice that isn't complete dross is allowing 15 to 16 minutes per pound to cook the bird. I baked this year's 17-pound gobbler for 4.5 hours (about 16 minutes/pound) and it turned out perfect. I use the meat thermometer as a measure of safety rather than doneness. Prudence demands that the thermometer read at least 170 degrees before you declare the bird done.
Now that you have an intimidatingly huge, floppy bird in your kitchen, rinse it down with cold water to clean it off and wash out any remaining ice. Pull of any ugly pinfeathers. Dry the inside and out with paper towels. You'll need to change your kitchen trash after you're done prepping the bird.
Preheat your oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.
Gather the following ingredients:
3 or 4 medium onions, chopped
5 or 6 stalks of celery, chopped
Salt
Garlic powder
Olive oil
Turmeric
Ground coriander
1 stick butter or margarine
1 Tbsp sage
5 Tbsp thyme
1 tsp tarragon
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp garlic powder
4 bay leaves
Sprinkle lots of salt and garlic powder to coat the inside the bird.
Set your turkey breast-up on a rack. My mother-in-law provides me with a sturdy, V-shaped rack. If you have a good, sturdy pan to hold your turkey, I congratulate you. We make do with two, cheap aluminum pans. Double the pans or you run the risk of springing a messy leak.
Stuff the bird with the chopped onions and celery. Anything that doesn't fit gets sprinkled into the pan around the bird.
Mix the butter, sage, thyme, tarragon, salt, and garlic powder until you have a uniform paste.
Separate the skin from the breasts by running your hands from the rear of the turkey. You don't have to be too gentle, but try not to puncture or tear the skin. I get my large, male hand up past the wrist so that it looks like I'm wearing a massive turkey glove.
Divide the butter mixture in half.
Pack one half of the butter mixture under the skin of each breast. You can flatten the butter out a bit, but try to concentrate it near the top of the breast.
Place two bay leaves on top of the butter mix under the skin of each breast. Again, place them in line near the top.
Spray or brush the entire turkey with olive oil. I use one of those pump-it-yourself kitchen spray cans.
Sprinkle your bird with the turmeric and rub it in. Don't get too spastic with the turmeric as it stains. If you do manage to get the orange/yellow stuff all over the kitchen counter, I've found that bleach cleans it up nicely.
Salt your yellow bird heavily. I tend to go very light with salt if I use any at all, so I really have to force myself to pour it on. You don't want a white crust of salt, but you also don't want to give it only a few shakes.
Sprinkle your yellow, salty bird lightly with the coriander.
Insert the meat thermometer into the fleshy part of the thigh. Try to make sure the tip of the thermometer isn't resting against the bone as it'll skew your readings.
Bake the turkey for 20 minutes uncovered.
Cover the turkey with aluminum foil. Make sure the foil doesn't extend past your pan or you might have a mess in the bottom of your oven.
Bake the turkey that is now impervious to alien mind-control waves for half the remaining time, minus the 20 minutes. This ended up being a little under two hours for our 17-pound turkey at 16 minutes/pound.
At the halfway point, haul the bird out, uncover it, and baste it lightly with a basting brush. If there's not enough liquid in the pan, melt some butter/margarine to brush on. Cover the bird with the foil and return it to the oven. If you have an oven with a window, make sure to leave the thermometer visible.
When the clock says you should be done, check the thermometer. It should read at least 170 degrees. Last year, I pulled the turkey out at 170 degrees and it was almost underdone. This year, I ran it up to 180 degrees and it was cooked perfectly.
If you pass the temp test, haul the bird out and let it rest for at least 30 minutes. This allows the bird to finish cooking and for the juices in the meat to set.
The only objections I've had with this recipe is the wad of spices left on the breast and the slight discoloration of the meat. A gentle swipe with a fork get rid of the spices. Usually, folks are too busy enjoying the moistness and tastiness of the meat to complain about the discoloration. Next year I might try using cotton gauze or some such to contain all the planty bits.
As a final gourmet-like touch, I highly recommend using some of the pan drippings to augment any gravy. It can transform salty brown goo into something that kicks your mashed potatoes into overdrive… if that's your thing.
Pakeha