Recipe for a stress-free holiday
Writing by treason on Friday, 25 of November , 2005 at 6:13 pm
Yesterday went well. My plan was to avoid supermarkets, so I had the majority of my menu purchased more than a week before the holiday. All I needed was some produce and a turkey. I got to the grocery store on Monday and discovered that the advertised Butterballs were gone. This always happens when I wait too long to buy my bird. The Brand X birds come out at this point, so a person must choose between a bird from a company they’ve never heard of or buy the “expensive” turkey. I don’t want a half-frozen bird taking up valuable real estate in my fridge day after day, so I usually end up paying more for a turkey because I want one as close to Thursday as possible and I don’t want to drive all over town to find the best price.
So I ended up choosing a bird that weighed 18.23 lbs. Much bigger than I’d wanted, but it spoke to me. A fine shaped, free range bird who - according to the label - lived happily on a farm in Utah, sucking up fresh air and sunshine, before it was brutally murdered for my consumption.
We had spent most of Wednesday at the vet’s office because the diabetic dog has been having issues. I’m reminded of my high school friend, Jean, who invited a group of us to meet her aunt Ardyth. Ardyth lived in a woodsy area outside of San Francisco and was an artist. I remember pulling my car into a long driveway and seeing the most ancient collie I’ve ever seen in my life. It was as if Lassie had a portrait up in attic, a la Dorian Gray, and this dog looked like the portrait. She must have been 127 years old. Ardyth appeared and her first words to us were:
“We’re going to have a fabulous lunch. If she (the ancient collie) approaches you and shows any interest in what you are eating, you are to give it to her immediately. If she wants to be petted, you are to stop whatever you are doing and pet her. Whatever she wants, you will make sure she gets it. Understood? Perfect. Now let’s go in and have our lunch.”
Like the Martha Stewart holiday special, this experience made a lasting impression. Ardyth loved that dog more than anything and she knew that her time was limited. If the dog showed any interest in anything, it was hers. No questions asked. So T and I decided that if our dog wanted turkey, we would hand it over - no hesitation. He’s at the point, we think, where he could live three more years or die at any moment. This has created more stress than we need, so I decided there was a good way to deal it. Cook a big turkey.
Our dogs get dewy-eyed when we’re in the kitchen preparing food. I knew the scent of a bird roasting in the oven would be therapeutic. So I began my day with a pot of strong coffee, then switched immediately to beer. I started with dessert: I baked a carrot cake, then carefully placed bourbon soaked raisins in the cream cheese frosting to create a portrait of a free range turkey strolling under a big sun. A couple years ago I made two bourbon cream pumpkin pies with lots of 101 proof Wild Turkey. A fantastic recipe, but no one ever has room for dessert, so if I don’t eat it it’s wasted. Note to self: Do not make a dessert next year unless you want to start wearing pants with elastic waists and no zippers.
I wanted to keep it simple this year. I made my cornbread stuffing (and yes, I always stuff the bird) with onion, celery, cranberries, and apple. I thought I had a golden delicious in the fridge, but I couldn’t find it. Used the usual Granny Smith instead. Cranberry sauce. I like to add chunks of peaches and pears and season it with cinnamon and nutmeg. Mashed potatoes? Yukon golds with lots of half & half and sour cream. Candied yams were a little different this year. If I bake an entire casserole with brown sugar and marshmallows, I have to eat the whole thing. T won’t touch sweet potatoes. Instead, I made just enough to make my mother happy but made them super easy. I poured maple syrup over the potatoes, then cooked them in a skillet with butter, cinnamon, and nutmeg - then tossed them around in vanilla extract before serving. Smoke and mirrors.
I won’t drive all over town looking for a turkey, but I have been known to scour the city for fresh Brussels sprouts. I must have fresh sprouts. This year I changed it up. I sliced them in half, steamed them, then sauteed them in olive oil, butter, and garlic. Sprinkled pepper over them and voila! Gravy. I took what was inside the turkey and cooked it in lots of butter with black pepper and a bit of chili pepper…and lots of bourbon. It all went into the gravy.
I remember that when my stepfather was alive, he liked his leftover turkey in sandwiches made with that staple of the seventies: Hawaiian bread. That was a tasty combination, lemme tell ya. So I picked up a package of Hawaiian rolls to have with dinner and I was done.
I usually like to experiment and make at least one exotic dish, but this year I went with traditional and easy. And lots of beer. I did something a little different with the turkey. Usually I stuff it, massage it all over with oil, then put it - uncovered - in a 400 degree oven which I immediately turn down to 325. If I feel the breast is browning too quickly, I’ll tent the bird during roasting. But this year I started with a foil tent, then removed it after three hours. T said he wanted to try brushing the bird with honey so it would have that beautiful brown glaze. It worked well!
In keeping in line with a free range bird (which was wonderful, by the way), I had soy nog on hand to complete the holiday. Tasty! Like dessert and candied yams, if I buy egg nog, I’m stuck with all of it. Figured soy nog wouldn’t be as oppressive. (It tastes like egg nog but doesn’t stick to your ribs in quite the same way.)
T chose the dinner music: jazz before the meal, and the Brandenburg Concertos during the meal. It worked. (I heard the Concerto No. 2 in F Major, Third Movement and thought Firing Line was on the air again. Now that would be a reason to give thanks!)
And I’d like to thank that bird for the ultimate sacrifice. I’m always a little conflicted about the Thanksgiving turkey, but I remember the words of my high school Health Ed teacher who had been raised on a turkey farm in Turlock, California.
“Never,” he said,”feel guilty about your Thanksgiving turkey. I know turkeys. I grew up with turkeys. Turkeys are vile, evil animals and they deserve to be roasted. Trust me on this.”
He was a very nice man, but he knew his fowl. Whenever I think of turkey I think of the song in 1776, when John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and Benjamin Franklin were trying to decide on the symbol for their new nation. Jefferson suggested the dove. Adams insisted on the eagle. Franklin went with the turkey.
We know who won that argument.
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