Slow Christmas

A guest post from my sister Elly, The Turkey Whisperer:

Turkey has never been my favorite dish at Thanksgiving. With competitors like scalloped oysters, stuffing, and mashed potatoes, it is hard to focus on the bird. Its main purpose, to my mind, has always been as ideal vehicle for lashings of mayonnaise, cranberry disks, and white bread on the following day (who am I kidding? Late night on the day itself).

While I still prefer the oysters, turkey has definitely risen in my esteem over the past few years, ever since I started paying proper attention to it, and learned about brining and rotating. Also, happily raised turkeys, though a bit more expensive, put you in the spirit of giving thanks for a generous harvest (we often get Amish birds at the fancy deli in town). This process (or some variant of it) is perhaps familiar to many of you now, since space-age solutions for solving turkey problems seem to have multiplied like grape-nuts over the past few years. The following method was not invented by me. I learned it from Cook’s Illustrated magazine (November 2004). CI is a worthy publication in many ways, but ultimately too precious to be perused sans anxiety. They sure figured out turkey, though.

What we want here is crispy brown skin, juicy and flavorful meat throughout, and tenderness. The combination of brining, cooking temperature adjustments, and a bit of bird acrobatics gives you all of these, and it’s quite easy (and involves no basting!).

First, the brining. You will need:

• 1 turkey (not kosher or “self-basting,” since those are
already salted)
• Table salt
• Water
• A large stock pot or vat of some sort, large enough to
fit said turkey so that it can be completely immersed in
brine
• Refrigerator space for said vat (a garage is a good
alternative, provided it is cold enough to replicate fridge
temperatures)

Cook’s provides two ways: 4-6 hour brine and 12-14 hour brine. I’ve never tried the short one. The longer one is actually more convenient because you can begin to brine on Wednesday night, and be ready to cook by mid-morning on Thursday. Since there is always stiff competition for oven space on the day itself, this method allows you to get the turkey done and out of the way in time to put all the casseroles in before mid-afternoon.

So the 12-14 hour brine calls for ½ cup of salt per 1 gallon of water (Note: if you choose the 4-6 hour brine, the proportions are 1 cup of salt per 1 gallon of water). While it would probably be easier to dissolve the salt and water in the pot before adding the turkey, I never do this because I don’t want to have to figure out how much water to put in (i.e., too much and then it will overflow when the bird is put in – the whole thing just involves too much mathiness). I just put in the turkey, measure the water and salt accordingly til the bird is covered, and then use a long wooden spoon to slosh around the water and dissolve the salt. It is very important that the salt be fully dissolved. If you can’t find a pot big enough to immerse the bird completely, you can always flip it over halfway through the brine time. This is worth doing, since the brine does good things to the skin as well as the meat. It’s never a problem for me to get up at 4am to turn it over, as I am always awakened by a cat around then (time for breakfast!), but perhaps this will seem like a pain to you. Do it anyway.

The next morning, take the turkey out of the brine and rinse it well with cold water. Then you need to dry it off with paper towels. It’s important to really do this thorough over the whole bird, and get it the skin as dry as you can. Now you will need:

• 4-8 T of melted butter
• A roasting pan with a rack

Put an oven rack in the lowest position, then preheat the oven to 400˚ for a 12-18 lb turkey, 425˚ for an 18-22 lb turkey. (at this point, you may choose to secure or truss the wings and legs, since this helps avoid the singeing that can occur if they are sticking out. Trussing seems hard to me, so just tuck the wing tips underneath the breast, and tuck the drumstick ends into that big flap of skin surrounding the cavity)

Next, coat the bird with melted butter all over. Yes, the coldness of the bird means the butter will re-solidify to a certain extent—just keep at it and make sure you have full coverage, even if some butter bits flake off. At some point brushes started to seem less effective and I decided it was easier to just give the bird a butter massage with my hands. After all, she or he deserves it!

I also like to sprinkle pepper on it, top and bottom. But there is no need for salt, of course.

Now place the turkey breast side DOWN on the rack in the roasting pan, and place in the oven for 45 minutes to an hour, depending on size. I daresay this step is even more important than brining for creating excellent breast meat. First of all, you are hiding the most vulnerable part of the bird from direct heat for a significant chunk of time; second, gravity will be working with you for a change, as juices head south for the breast meat and keep it super moist, instead of draining away to the parts that need it the least. This step is also crucial for the well-being of the dark meat: by exposing the thigh/leg portion to high, direct heat, you are speeding along cooking and making this skin crispier. Remember, the thighs take the longest to cook, the breast the shortest.

By reversing them for a while you help both to meet in the middle, and be done and tasty at the same time.

Okay, after 45-60 minutes roasting in this high heat, take the pan out, close the oven again, and turn the heat down to 325˚.

Now here comes the only part of this method that can be a little tricky: flipping the bird! (hahaha)

There are a couple of issues to consider here. First is the possibility that the breast skin might stick to the rack and tear, thus leaving an exposed area of meat that will get dry as roasting continues. This has been known to happen. There are a couple things you can do that will most likely prevent tearing/sticking. One is to line the rack with foil. If you do, make sure to poke many, many holes in it, so that the rack can continue to perform its drainage/air-circulation function and doesn’t become a swamp of trapped turkey juices. Another thing that helps is to let the bird sit for a 4-5 minutes outside the oven before you flip. As with cookies right out of the oven, if you give them a little time, they come off the pan easier. I don’t know the scientific reason for this, but I imagine it has something to do with the rapid change in temperature in the air, which has the effect of contracting or expanding the food ever so slightly, making it adhere less tenaciously to a super hot surface. I’m totally making this up, but I think there is some truth to it.

Okay, now for the flipping. This is a two person job. Luckily, since it’s Thanksgiving, there will be someone else around. Each of you should put on oven mitts (ones you don’t mind getting turkified), then each gently lift one end of the turkey, and turn over in unison. Try not to turn in opposite directions, as this will confuse the bird. You need good heavy-duty oven mitts because that bird is damn hot, and there will be juices coming out of it. Quick but gentle, hands protected.

So then you’ll have the turkey situated in its conventional Norman Rockwell formation. If breast skin has been torn, or is receding from around the cavity hole, there is an easy way to fix this. If you have an old kitchen towel you don’t mind cutting up, or some cheesecloth, you can soak pieces of it in melted butter or oil, and apply these as “patches” onto the exposed areas. The meat will continue to be protected and lubricated. You must soak the patches, or they will burn.

You may choose to use these little turkey blankets on the tops of the drumsticks as well, as they can also become a bit overexposed. I don’t bother, and here’s why: while they possess great comic and aesthetic properties, I don’t find the turkey drumstick to be very good eating. Unlike the chicken drumstick (one of the world’s most perfect foods), turkey drums have this weird baliene/cartilage stuff embedded in the meat, and generally seem less tasty than the other dark meat, which is fantastic and plentiful. So I don’t really care if some of the drum meat ends up a bit tough: I say salvage the tender parts of them and use the rest to make soup stock. Or, if you need a prop for your next Tudor-themed dinner party, you’ll be all set.

Anyway, after repairing any breaches, put the bird back in and continue roasting on the lower temp for 1 to 2 more hours, depending on the size of the bird (60 minutes for a 12-15lb bird; 1¼ hours for 15-18; 2 hours for 18-22). Then take it out and let it rest in the pan for a good long while— at least 30-40 minutes. I never take the temperature of the meat, but if you are so inclined, the breast should be at least 165˚and the thickest part of the thigh should be at least 170˚. Really, though, if you cook it this way, it will be done.

Remember that it continues to cook for a while after it is out of the oven. A better indicator of done-ness is wiggling the drumstick. If it seems loose and moves independently of the rest of the bird, you are fine.

A note on resting: this is essential for juiciness and tenderness and cannot be sidestepped. Also, make sure NOT to cover the bird while it is resting, otherwise the trapping of moisture will turn crispy skin into rubbery skin. Don’t worry that it will get cold; it won’t. And really, it only needs to be lukewarm at serving time anyway.

Now for one more tip that I think makes the whole thing more enjoyable: the method for slicing the turkey. Perhaps some of you do the thing where someone stands at the table and slices, doling out measly portions to each person ever. so. slowly. In my food-crazed family, we have no time for these ceremonial shenanigans. Buffet all the way! Besides, the at-the-table carve is a vastly inferior way to slice a bird.

Instead, take the time to carve up the whole bird ahead of time, and everyone will be much happier.

First, place the bird on a large cutting board (not the eventual platter). Next, begin by removing the leg-thigh and wing portions completely. Use a good carving knife to get to the joint where they meet the breast, and work the knife through it (or, if the bird is cool enough, use your hands to just break it off). Put these aside. Then, carve straight down one side of the breast, as close to the breastbone as you can, as far down as you can. Now do the same thing from the side: as far down as you can, cutting in towards the breast bone at a 90˚ angle from the first cut. Then remove this large, juicy wedge of breast meat and place it on the board. Cutting against the grain (i.e., the opposite direction from the traditional carve), making slices any thickness you want. Do the same with the other side, then you can basically pull the tender thigh, leg, wing, and back meat off with your hands, dividing into appropriately-sized slabs. Then put all of your handiwork on the platter, ready to be devoured. It’s not as dramatic as the whole bird on the table, but it is far superior in every other way.

Why cut the breast meat like this? First, the on-the-bone way is ergonomically awkward, and produces these piddling, thin little slices that dry out faster. Plus, only the outer slice or two on each side will have skin, and everyone will be coveting those. My way, you have lovely, juicy, substantial slices, EACH with its own strip of yummy skin!

Don’t worry: even after taking all the major meat off the carcass, there will still be plenty of material for soup-making (especially if you use the aforementioned weird parts of the drumsticks). And did I tell you how delicious and plentiful the drippings are when you cook turkey this way? Enough to start an excellent gravy, and pre-seasoned to boot!

Plus, natch, this kind of turkey makes the best leftover sandwiches I’ve ever had.

I hope you’ll give it a try. Trust me, it really is easy. In keeping with Porter’s blog, it is, in a way, a slow turkey; but the initial time put in for brining can be incorporated into the rhythm of your day and night very easily, and in the end, the cooking actually takes less time. Ahhh…slow efficiency…

With visions of crispy skin dancing in my head,

Elly