I'm not the type of food writer who tells you the perfect way to do something, 'cause frankly I don't know. I have a pretty normal kitchen — three pots, one of which I just got and haven't used. I learned pretty much everything I know about food from the Internet, the Food Network and reading more cookbooks than you'd ever imagine possible. Don't get me wrong — I'm a pretty darn good cook, but I don't claim any magic. I'm still learning and I still make mistakes.
If I were the perfect food writer, I'd tell you how to order your organic turkey weeks ahead of time, how to safely thaw it in the fridge (24 hours for every five pounds, not counting the Day Of), how to perfectly clean, season, truss, roast and baste your gorgeous bird. But in my kitchen, things never go so smoothly. So here's an ad hoc, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants version of a Thanksgiving bird that turned out pretty damn good. For the most part, I wouldn't suggest doing this at home.
Ingredients
Turkeys (2)
Butter
Garlic
Citrus
Equipment
Roasting pan
Oven-safe thermometer
Hair dryer (always useful in an impromptu kitchen)
Seven foolhardy friends unafraid of salmonella, one useless vegetarian, one even more useless vegan
Total time: 24 hours. Active time: Three hours. Wasted time: 13.5 hours.
The Night Before
7 p.m.
1. Go to the grocery store, and get yourself a Butterball. (Cook's Tip: When you're going to the trouble of making a turkey, it might be tempting to buy a big ol' fatty fat-fat just so you can bask in the glory. These birds can be quite heavy. Go for the Camry, not the Escalade.)
2. Lug your Butterbaby home. Hoist it into a sink full of cold water. Decide only really anal people change the water every 30 minutes, an unnecessary step that will severely cut into your lounging time.
3. Let an hour pass. Change the water. Repeat hourly.
Midnight
4. Lie down for a short nap. Totally pass out and forget about lil' Butta in the sink.
The Day Of
7:30 a.m.
5. Wake up, remember that your turkey is still soaking in the sink.
6. Google "help turkey overnight." Find a turkey webcam. Try to download Windows Media Player. Give up, cursing Microsoft.
7. Start the fuck over.
4 p.m.
8. Three hours before your guests arrive, jiggle Butterbaby II's wiggly breasts. Laugh a little bit, and then remove the yellow mesh bag from the bird.
9. Cut the wrapper off the turkey, accidentally slicing the skin in one spot.
10. Get totally grossed out by the fact that you're holding a dead bird — and you're holding it like a baby, your hands under its little arms. Consider suddenly holding the bird up to the window to frighten tree trimmer outside.
11. Reconsider.
12. Locate the bags of guck sealed inside Butterbaby II. If you timed this (im)properly, the guck will still be frozen hard. When you can't extract the bag, consider using pliers.
13. Rub the outside and inside of the bird under cold running water. The texture of your bird should be fatty and firm, with gigantic breasts suggesting modification of a genetic nature.
14. Conquering your inhibitions, plunge your fist into the gaping maw of the turkey hole. Note the texture of the interior of the bird — similar to the inside of your cheek, except with bones. With hand firmly inside the bird, realize that some activities will never be as much fun again. Remove your fist.
15. The inside of the turkey is still frozen. This is bad. Sit the thing up and run cool water into the cavity. This won't work.
16. Grab the trusty blow dryer, and insert into hole. Blow your turkey for five minutes, or until thawed. Pat dry with paper towels.
OK, here's where the chaos ended. From here on, I actually managed to get it right. I will definitely be repeating the following steps on my Christmas bird:
17. Insert your hands in between the skin and the flesh of the turkey, copping a feel at 10 and 2 o'clock. By slowly pushing your fingertips forward, you will be able to completely loosen the skin from the breasts.
18. Take a stick of room temperature butter, and combine with five cloves of minced fresh garlic. Rub the butter under the skin, and over the interior of the bird. Toss any remaining butter inside Buttahbaby. Juice fresh citrus over the bird: orange, lemon and lime. Sprinkle with sea salt and fresh cracked pepper.
19. Tuck the legs of the turkey into the flaps of skin in its … butt? Cover the breast with foil, and insert an oven-safe meat thermometer into the thigh.
20. Wipe off hair dryer, hide from guests in bathroom.
21. Roast turkey at 350 degrees for approximately three hours. Baste occasionally with pan juices, using either a bulb baster or a newfangled silicone brush.
22. Near the end of the roasting time, start checking the turkey for doneness. The trusty Internet says that the bird will be done when the leg of the bird hits 170, or the breast 180.
7:30 p.m. (Half an hour after guests were supposed to arrive.)
23. When the turkey reaches the appropriate temperature, remove from the oven and let sit for half an hour to allow juices to rest within the meat. Feel sad because no one witnessed your moment of glory.
24. Without a clear plan on how to get the turkey from the pan onto a plate, decide to go for broke. Risk dropping the whole thing on the floor by grabbing it directly from pan with oven mitts, sopping them with molten turkey fat. Make mental note to buy turkey-lifter thing next time.
25. Greet late guests without obvious resentment.
26. Spoon your luscious picadillo stuffing, made last night, into the bird, hoping someone will bother to dig some out. (No one will. But the Cuban beef hash makes great leftovers.)
27. Garnish the plate with sprigs of cilantro.
28. Invite someone else to carve the thing: they don't have to know you don't know how.
29. Congratulate yourself on a job well done, and a bird done just right.
30. Make plans to buy a new hairdryer.
Web Exclusive For a step-by-step tutorial of my entire Thanksgiving menu, go to Planet Turkey. Featured are a Cuban-style turkey stuffed with picadillo, roasted sweet potatoes and purple potatoes, ensalada de aguacate, and a host of holiday appetizers, including guava and Caribbean cheese sandwiches, fire-kissed walnuts and black bean hummus.
FEEDback: C'mon, you got better? How did you pull off your holiday feast? Drop me that info at food@weeklyplanet.com. Clue me into food events, restaurant openings and closings, and industry gossip.
This article appears in Nov 24-30, 2004.