In the last episode of Mountain Kitchen, we smoked fresh trout. In this episode we'll be roasting a turkey, since we now know that smoking is a time-honored and painstaking way to ruin good meat. (No wonder the Surgeon General has issued so many warnings against smoking!)First I retrieve the turkey from the fridge where its been thawing for the past five days. "Five days!?" my mom says, "Isn't that overkill?" Then I remind her of the time she needed an ice pick to prepare the family turkey. I should also pause and point out that this episode of Mountain Kitchen is actually coming to you from Dallas, not the mountains. In the mountains we keep our turkeys in the snow bank outside the kitchen door. (no joke) Although that may be more of a Park City thing, as our Rollinsville neighbors seem to frown on using Nature's Big Deep Freeze because of the large black bear population...
Once the turkey is in the pan, I split the wrapper open and an inch of bloody water immediately gushes out. I congratulate myself on putting the turkey in the pan first. Yes, I celebrate small victories. I remove the wrapper and stare in a state of shock at this cold, pale, naked thing. In five hours we're all supposed to be gathered around it with a festive sense of warmth and family straight out of a Norman Rockwell. Right now it looks more like an alien autopsy scene. My mind wanders to such a scene from the movie Independence Day. I picture a tentacle shooting from the turkey, wrapping around me and slamming me against the kitchen window, "Release me!" the creature utters, using me as its voice. A meow and a paw patting my leg brings me back. A small furry crowd has gathered on the kitchen floor to witness the autopsy, uh, I mean turkey preparations. We were cooking here weren't we?
Now for the really horrible part. I must REACH INTO THE BODY, FEEL AROUND IN THERE, and take out the giblets. As a child I used to admire my mother's stoicism as she performed this task. I would watch for a minute or two and then run away in horror. It is amazing the lengths a mother's love will go. Times have changed though. These days you will find the giblets neatly enveloped in a small body bag inside the turkey. Feeling around for a ransom note, I find the neck instead. I toss all of these little treasures into a pot of boiling water and proceed with making the stuffing.
The secret to making great stuffing is to include the most disgusting parts of the turkey in addition to the most random collection of ingredients you can round up from your kitchen/yard. (Don't worry, I couldn't find any mushrooms.) Pile them all into a bowl until the bowl is too full to mix, then mix it it with your bare hands. Once again, this is an incredible sensory experience for anyone who enjoys touching wet, mushy things.
After scraping all the stuffing from the counter top, I go ahead and stuff the turkey and tent it. It takes a moment recover from the disappointment of learning that this tenting has nothing to do with camping. Jeff arrives to help me put the turkey in the oven. This is an exciting moment, as we also learn that the turkey won't fit in the oven. After chasing each other around the kitchen with hot oven racks, the problem is soon remedied.
So, that folks, is how you roast a turkey. I'll keep you posted on how it turns out. Wish me luck. For your viewing pleasure, I've included the alien autopsy clip below. You're welcome Lexi.
From our family to yours,
Happy Thanksgiving
This link starts just in time for the autopsy or the embeded video shows the whole clip with lots of cool explosions.
No comments:
Post a Comment