Thanksgiving Weekend News & Notes
First of all, thanks to Tomato Casual.com for the incoming link. The site is “everything tomato for people who love tomatoes,” so if you’d care to make a lycopene hat trick in your bookmarks with TN and Rotten Tomatoes, now’s your chance.
Second, I hope everyone is having a safe, fattening holiday. I spent mine at the Gen family’s house, stuffing my face with, among other things, a turkey successfully brined by Mr. S and Gen, so if you’ve been thinking about trying that, I encourage you to do so. It was delicious. My system only deals with creatures of land once a year (on purpose, anyway), so the “atmosphere” in the car was pungent on the way home. Loving, but pungent.
(Ma appears in the comments all, “Except for the ‘loving’ part” in three…two…)
Other things I learned, besides that brining is awesome: 1) it is possible to wreck a boat on the Jersey Turnpike, because some foolio totally did so on Thursday evening at around Exit 10; and 2) my habit of narrating complex/unpleasant tasks aloud is genetic, right down to prefacing a particularly tricky sub-task with, “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” My mother spent part of Thursday morning doing this in the service of a Tunnel Of Fudge Bundt cake, and I asked her, “Ma, do you always — give yourself a voice-over?” “…Yes.” “Me too.” “Heh.” “Heh.”
Anyway, I apologize for the radio silence in the days leading up to the holiday, but I was buried in Bachelor-ionics. Oh, Brad.
Coming up: the Guyz Nite tour/DVD clip ‘n’ save; and lots and lots of Ask The Readers gift-help goodness. I had it half in mind to devote most of the Vine month to that, and then I spent an hour online last night trying to find a facsimile of a clothing item a family member already owns, loves, and needs replaced for Christmas, and after demanding of the Hobe, “What is with all the half-zips?”, I realized, it can’t just be me with this problem. So, if you just don’t know where in the Sam Hill you’re going to find a wicker basket that fits your sister’s girls’ bike, send me an email and we’ll try to help you out.
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Brining yes! So totally yes! A word to the wise, though: doing this may get you elected Thanksgiving Hostess FOR THE REST OF YOUR NATURAL-BORN LIFE by your in-laws. Five years down, sixty-five to go.
This year I found someone else to brine for me. Griggstown Quail Farm (also available in dot-com flavor) is near Princeton NJ, raises turkeys which are free-range and exceedingly tasty, and will happily sell one to you pre-brined & oven-ready for the winter holidays. Pre-Thanksgiving travel plans were messing with my brining window, which was making me a little OCD, but outsourcing the job turned out really well.
Note also, if you are tempted to conclude that a kosher turkey is more or less the same thing as brined? No. Not even some. Or anyway that’s what I heard from my mother-in-law, following the one Thanksgiving I managed to be on another continent—one very far away from my kitchen.
What, am I the only American who hasn’t been sucked into the cult of brining? I mean seriously–I bought a good fresh, farm-raised, no added broth or anything turkey, and it came out JUST FINE because I was careful not to overcook it. I cannot possibly be the only person out there with heart and blood pressure issues.
wrecking a boat on the Jersey Turnpike? Why does that not even make me BLINK IN SURPRISE? heh.
Lucy – no, you’re not. To my knowledge I have never even eaten brined turkey. (deep fried, on the other hand…) I only really heard of it, like, last year. I probably will try it at some point just to see what the fuss is about…
Keight–brining is easy and as others have pointed out, once you make a brined turkey once, you will never do it any other way. BTW, I have a flip-top-lidded cooler that I use just for brining. The night before Thanksgiving I boil together a cup of kosher salt (is there any other kind?) and a half cup of sugar in a saucepan of water. Dump that into the cooler, then add lots of ice cubes and additional water…..stir to blend in the brine and lower the cleaned turkey into the bath until it is covered. I usually add more ice on top. Then I close the lid and secure it against the @#$%! crafty squirrels with a hunk of duct tape and set the cooler on our deck overnight. Even if it is freezing outside, the bird will not freeze. ALso it gets the damn turkey out of your fridge; always a good thing. Next day, preheat the oven, dump off the brine (wash out the cooler with antibac detergent) and roast as usual. Prepare for compliments and fewer leftovers.
forget a boat, I was stuck in a traffic jam on the turnpike once because a plane landed. On the turnpike.
Boat wrecks on the New Jersey Turnpike.
Planes landing on the New Jersey Turnpike.
All of the New Jersey folk here are reading this and quietly nodding to themselves.
Ironically, part of how I got to know Sars was being able to spot her driving on the NJT, heading into the Holland Tunnel, by noticing a Tomato Nation sticker on her car. I later emailed and asked if that was her, and she said yes, it was.
These should be added to the 28th reprinting of this:
http://www.amazon.com/Looking-America-New-Jersey-Turnpike/dp/0813519551/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1196083889&sr=1-2
Forget brining. (yummy, yes…but…)
We southerners would rather cajun deep fry the entire turkey.
Ooooh, yes ma’am.
Ooh! Your mom has a Tunnel of Fudge Cake recipe that works?! Would she share? That was a childhood favorite at my house, but once they stopped making boxed frosting mix….
Brining is totally awesome. I don’t like turkey, as a rule, but I brined the turkey last year and it was actually GOOD. Having done it successfully once, though, I reverted to other meat items this year.
I’m not sure how much salt the turkey actually absorbs during brining; however, I suspect not that much extra sodium in the meat is required for the retention of extra juice during cooking. Most of the salt stays in the brine and gets poured off.
Also, Other Katherine, I have to respond to your plane anecdote. Once, on the way back from San Antonio on IH-35, my friends and I saw a giant traffic jam on the other side of the freeway because a HELICOPTER was landing. IN THE ROAD. (I assume it was StarFlight coming to pick up an accident victim for airlifting to a trauma center, which is more explicable than a PLANE landing on the damn freeway, but it was still really weird to see.)
I am a recent brined turkey convert. I have a specially purposed “brining bucket” (a generic white hardware store purchase with a lid) that I, too, fill with kosher salt, sugar, and water. I also add some apple cider vinegar, whole bay leaves, whole peppercorns, and whole allspice. There’s no need to get fancy, but you can really add any kind of spice or seasoning to the brine to kick up the flavor.
Not only do we brine, but I don’t even eat turkey (not even once a year for this vegetarian) and I’m the assistant briner. This year’s challenge was adapting our recipe for 14 lb turkey to 20 lb turkey. My mom was so proud that I remembered fractions and percentages well enough to convert everything, she told everyone at the dinner and everyone we met for the next two days.
According to the reviews, it did work out and was, oddly enough, our best turkey yet. (5 years of brining and counting! Also, another family that will never go back apparently. I honestly have no idea since, as noted, don’t even eat it. It smells good, though!)
I’ve never heard of brining – maybe it’s just not a Canuck thing to do, or maybe just not in my family (do you still stuff it? My mum’s the queen of turkey stuffage). I have, on the other hand, heard of deep-frying a turkey, and to those who claim it’s the best way to cook the beast, I’d like to ask how you manage to do it safely. The following story illustrates my skepticism.
I was in New Jersey (Morristown, for all you Jersey-ites going “Really? where?”) visiting the fam for Thanksgiving one year, and the boys announced that “you ladies are off the hook for the turkey; we’re on the job”. Not trusting this statement, the women asked how they intended to cook it, fully expecting someone to say he was going to spit-roast it in his monster grill (‘cos that _always_ works so well when you’re not Jamie effin Oliver), and were somewhat concerned for both the bird and the boys when informed that the men intended to deep-fry it in someone’s brand-new turkey-frying pot thingie.
Apparently (I didn’t see this part; it was at the house of one of the men), they set up the apparatus on a deck, studied the guide intensively, heated up the oil, and dropped in the bird. It bubbled merrily away for some time, until it started banging the side, whereupon the oil overflowed & the whole shebang caught fire. Someone who had had the forethought to a) bring the correct extinguisher & b) watch the pot the whole time managed to put it out before it set the deck on fire, but of course the turkey was good & poisoned, leaving them wondering if they were going to have to stuff themselves on marshmallowed yams that year.
Thankfully not, since the women, highly distrustful of this idea (“who the hell tries something this insane when you’ve got 40 hungry people coming?”) & justifiably doubtful of the cooking skills of their men, had bought & cooked another turkey, and the day was saved. Apparently the turkey pot is now a holder for paint rollers or something in someone’s garage, which seems safest for everyone.
Down where I’m from, we eat smoked turkey every year (and usually for weeks after thanks to family members getting waaay too big of a turkey). The turkey is always incredibly moist and flavored all the way through thanks to the smoking techniques. We always get them from Greenberg Smoked Turkeys and used to be able to just walk in and get one, but ever since damn Oprah added them to her “favorites” list we have to order ahead of time. Oprah ruins everything.
I’ve had brined turkey, turducken (blech), and smoked turkey, but I’ve never had deep fried turkey before. I’d try it myself but I’ve seen too many of those “turkey explodes, killing man and burning down house” stories on the news.
Count me in as another briner. Usually, I add citrus to the brine (oranges and lemons) along with herbs, but this year I followed Saveur Magazine’s lead and used apples, apple cider, garlic and ancho chile powder. SO GOOD.
Does anyone else have Simon & Garfunkle in thier heads now, singing:
“Counting the boats on the New Jersey turnpike…”
No? Just me?
Carry on, then. I’ll try to keep the noise in my head.
I just came in to sing the praises of brining, but it seems I would be redundant. I do find that the gravy comes out pretty salty, though, because of the saltiness of the drippings.
Yeah, I don’t know what it is about this holiday, but it is also when I realize that I completely self-narrate. And make snarky comments. Alone. To: myself.
cayenne, we’ve deep fried one every year for the last 5 years (we also roast one, but we usually have 20+ people around). Here’s the keys: 1) make sure the oil is at the right level by putting the still-wrapped turkey into the pot and filling it with water so the bird is covered by about 1″, then take out the bird and mark that level on the pot. 2) dry the turkey thoroughly before adding it to the hot oil. 3) use a thermometer, watch it, have help for lifting the turkey, and don’t drink while you do it. 4) never EVER fry near a building, on a wood porch, or near anything remotely flammable.
I’m guessing what happened was the oil level was too high, which allowed the turkey to float (thus the banging), and the oil probably also got too hot, bubbled over, and caused the fire. You’re really lucky that they were at least smart enough to have an extinguisher. Basically, it’s a good way to cook a turkey, but only if you’re smart about it and use common sense.
Which is probably why so many people burn their houses down.
Sars, you must meet my dad, the King of All Self-Narration. He narrates his entire solving of the crossword puzzle each and every morning. He has sayings and expressions for everything he does, such that my sister and I cannot open certain sections of the paper (“SPORTS!” and “Bidness!”) without hearing his voice. We both have “Dad Tourette’s” whereby upon hearing certain Pavlovian cues, we must slavishly respond with the corresponding Dadism. There is no hope.