Devour this

Reinventing the game

I was just happy to have turkey.  When you’re dining with a vegetarian family at Thanksgiving, it’s not a given.  When I heard we were butterfly-ing a 30-pound hunker that had days before been running around a Maryland farm, I was more than a little shocked.  But when I saw the thing, when I actually laid eyes on its bulging, plucked body with sizable black feather nubbins stuck in its large pores, I was flabbergasted. 

At an event I covered the previous week for TimeOut New York (where I sat next to Jeffrey Steingarten!), Oxford Companion to American Food and Drink editor Andy F. Smith said 99% of Americans would be eating a turkey that had been frozen.  Was I happy to be in the 1% that wouldn't?  I wasn't so sure.

Oh, it was all I could do to stand back and stifle nervous laughter while my boyfriend’s mother wrestled the beast with a pair of kitchen shears and a pile of black plastic-handled knives.  She was consulting a Washington Post article showing 4 demure images of two hands gently cutting through turkey skin to remove the backbone and completing the butterfly process by pressing down on the breasts to break the bones and lay the bird flat, making it all the more quicker to cook through.

Well, the first pair of kitchen shears broke within the first 2 minutes.  The woman in the article obviously wasn't dealing with the type of monstrosity we had on our hands.  I couldn't let my Thanksgiving kitchenmate hack away while I flip-flopped between hysterical laughter and nauseousness.  I grabbed a pair of scissors and flung them into the flesh with determination.

I could hear cartilage crunching between the blades, but the backbone wasn't budging.  It was time to get the hammer out. 

After a series of arm- and hand-strengthening exercises, wrists deep in turkey innards, gagging at dark red coagulation and inch-thick flabby skin, we’d removed a huge hammer-handle sized bone, along with the entire cavity of the bird and most of its right leg to boot. 

I don't have to tell you that "gently applying pressure to flatten the turkey" didn't do the trick.  But that hammer sure did.  Julia Child did say that hardware tools were handy to have in the kitchen.  I bet she conquered more than a few oversized Broad-breasted Whites in her day.

We rubbed our mangled bird with fresh herbs, salt, and butter and stuck her in the fridge to marinade overnight.  The poor thing had gone through hell and so did we.  Believe it or not (and you'll have to do it on faith alone because I don't have any "after" shots), the turkey ended up looking just fine in the end, despite the trauma it went through.  And miraculously, come dinnertime, my appetite for turkey made a comeback as well.  The Man Who Ate Everything would be proud.

I'll make you a cake

Making birthday cakes for friends has become my own little tradition.  I'm one of those freaks who enjoys baking just as much as cooking as cooking just as much as baking.  From what people tell me, many prefer one or the other.  I adore both.  My sweet tooth never grew to its full potential, but it's present.  I like to share my baking creations, and what better way to express friendship than with birthday cake?  Throw my new Kitchen Aid into the mix, and I'm covered with batter and ready to whip.

My go-to cake book has been this one:

The recipes are easy to follow and so far, all have turned great.  Full disclosure: I work for the publishing company that publishes this book.  But I don't give cookbooks preferential treatment.  In fact, I pretty much love them all.  Except for the insufferable ones.  (I'll be nice and won't link.)  For my friend Ryan's birthday, I made Sour Cream Chocolate Cake Layers and slathered them with Creamy Peanut Butter Frosting.  I must admit, the cake layers themselves didn't have enough chocolate oomph for my taste so I sprinkled some semi-sweet chips on top.

I didn't say it was always pretty.  The cake came out lopsided and you can see I didn't put nearly enough frosting between the layers.  But those December birthdays will be happy I had the practice.

Dinner for one

I've been reading tidbits lately about dining and eating alone.  Of course there is a difference between dining and eating as dining connotes pleasure, while the act of eating can take the form of harried face-stuffing, tasting nothing.  I taste my food.  I'm enthralled with eating.  I enjoy good food and am almost as happy sitting down alone to a meal I lovingly prepared as when I'm in the company of others.  Almost.  As much as I smile and daydream in the kitchen and snap a hundred blurry photos of beautiful water droplets on broad kale leaves or bright purple squiggly lines of a taut head of cabbage...[insert evidence here]

when I sit down to the meal I've prepared, I don't like to be entirely alone.  I like a good book, a food magazine, a silly show, a great movie, a food blog...something! 

I've read M.F.K. Fisher's essay on dining alone and this post recently and I think I'd like to try spending quality time with my food--just us, no distractions.  Warm kale, creamy chickpeas, chewy bread, and me.  Or sweet and tangy cabbage, robust chicken and apple sausage, salty pan-fried potatoes, and me. 

Want to join me?