On Thanksgiving Turkey...

Originally Posted on 11/30/08

I am subjected to Food Network. Subjected. Often. Usually we Femmes are the ones peeking around for new recipes. Not at my house. I believe myself to be a fairly accomplished cook. I spent nine years in the restaurant business before deciding to "save lives" (insert hearty chuckles as you see fit). I learned a lot. So needless to say, Food Network usually bores me. However it completely consumes and titillates my Hunny.


It's a fare estimate to say that 50% of the active TV viewing at our house is spent watching Food Network. Please keep in mind that of all the time the TV is on, I might wield the remote control for maybe 10-15% of viewing choices. Often I'm consumed with other household tasks, or well, honestly.... here, blogging or myspacing. So for every 10 hours the TV is being watched, I pick 60-90 minutes of programming, Hunny picks the remaining 8-9 hours, and of that - 5 hours is Food Network. I have heard of food addiction, but not Food Network Addiction. She knows I am just kidding.

My Hunny, my Bad Boi, is addicted to Food Network, often doting over Alton Brown's quick wit and humor on Good Eats. Honestly, if I had to be tied to a chair watching Food Network, Alton Brown would be my relief. I absolutely hate the other shows, but I actually find Alton's skits and pop-culture parodies to be very entertaining, refreshing, even stimulating.

Until my 8 year marriage to Grady EMS, Mom and I would be spend Thanksgiving with my grandparents at Myrtle Beach. My grandmother would cook all week long, only to pack their vehicles and cart this seriously massive feast off to their inter-connected hotel suites for the weekend. She would host and feed our family, as well as the hoards of friends attending the annual bluegrass festival. Every year her honored guests were: Charlie Waller & The Country Gentleman - serious bluegrass royalty!

One thing I have tried to perfect yearly is my Thanksgiving Turkey, since I've only had a handful of Thanksgivings in my own home in recent years. It's been mostly experimentation to say the least. For a few years, Candice was subjected to dry turkeys, undercooked turkeys, and even once... a totally burnt turkey. Note to self: When cooking overnight before Thanksgiving -- remember to set the alarm as a reminder to check the bird!

Thanksgiving last year was... ummm. Well, you know the old saying Too many cooks spoil the broth? It's true. Mom came to visit. And between Mom, Lenya, and me things were seasoned. re-seasoned. My OCD was kickin in. I easily distracted, and wanted to run everyone out of the kitchen, and eventually the entire house. That Thanksgiving, the green beans were too salty to even smile and tolerate. The bread burnt, and poor Mr. Turkey -dry as hell.

During the days leading up to this year's Thanksgiving, a Good Eats episode entitled "Romancing the Bird" aired. Okay. You have my full attention, Mr. Brown. Let's get this bird done right! I was glued to the TV. I even went so far as logging into Food Network's Homepage to find Alton's ROAST TURKEY RECIPE.

I purchased our fine 15 pound Butterball Turkey a week before Thanksgiving so it had the optimum opportunity to slow thaw in the refrigerator. Come thanksgiving morning, I awoke early to allow my Hunny to sleep in and drug my tired and half-asleep ass to the kitchen to begin the arduous task to cooking our feast.

I made sure to snap a quasi-pornographic shot of my hand up the bird's ass for a pix-message to Candice. Our Holiday inside-joke for years was from the commercial where an obvious bachelor is on hold with the Butterball help line. After receiving the advice, he nervously asks the representative on the other end, "you want me to put my whut up the whut-whut?" --Classic!!! So up the bird's ass I go, searching for the disgusting tid-bits that some folks savor for the flavors added to giblet gravy. To that I say, GROSS! I understand that 100 years ago, times were tough, you had to use every part to make something useful. This is 2008. Despite our recent financial hardships, there is no way in hell I plan on sorting out turkey organs and neck bones to make some disgusting gravy.

This was odd. I found that the neck bones had fallen out of the plastic pouch. After retrieving both, I concluded that there must have been a fowl up (lol) at the processing plant, and the bag o'goodies must have ruptured before the turkey was bagged, and the rest of the whut-whuts must be hanging on some conveyor belt, rotting away. Oh well, no worries here.

I decide to brine the turkey in a simple saline solution, skipping Alton's fru-fru aromatic herbs. Sorry, Alton... I want to keep this simple and work up to fancy later on. So Mr. Turkey soaked while the ham baked. Our feast was 75% complete when Hunny awoke to the yummy smells of a nearly completed Thanksgiving Dinner. I had calculated the approximate cooking time, and with the blessings Alton's recipe and the verifications of the meat thermometer, our turkey was done. While the carry-over finished the turkey, the only thing left to do was bake the sweet potato casserole and re-heat the rolls.

The sweet potato casserole, my prized dish, is from my grandmother's legacy of Thanksgiving recipes -- the only one I was granted (although with some experimentation I have learned to make her Southern Green Beans). These are the thick and creamy, mashed sweet potatoes, topped with brown sugared pecans and toasted marshmallows. I'd even made up my own tasty cranberry sauce recipe.

Our feast was Divine! The turkey was perfect. As was the ham, garlic smashed potatoes, MawMaw's Southern Green Beans, Mac and Cheese, Sweet Potatoes, Rolls, and homemade cranberry sauce. We both stuffed ourselves stupid.

At the end of the night, Hunny was thoughtful enough to pack all the leftovers in the fridge. We were both too tired to strip the bird. So the whole shebang, disposable pan and bird, were wrapped and shoved in too. Today I needed to repack the leftovers into smaller containers to make some space. Thus, it was time to strip the bird, and toss out the carcass for the possums to feast upon. Guess what I discovered! Packed deeply within the chest cavity, and tucked beneath the flap of skin from the neck.... yup... the rest of the whut-whuts. Still nicely packed in a small plastic bag. Our perfect bird was still not quiet so perfect.

Oh well... there is next year. I think I will let Hunny cook Christmas Dinner. Just a few years into this ordeal and I'm ready to let someone else have a go at it. :-)