How To Cook A New Fangled Turkey

My turn this year to cook the official Christmas turkey. Those things a slippery....

How to Cook a New Fangled Turkey

By Angela Posey-Arnold

Sending my husband to Super Wal-Mart seemed like a good idea because I knew they would have turkeys left on Monday. He came home with what appeared to be a nice big fat one!! Ahhhh, the Christmas turkey had officially arrived, only this year, it is my turn to cook it.

I am many things, but a great cook is not one of them. I do try and if you look at my husband, Bear, you will see he is not underfed or undernourished. But, this year the turkey and dressing are my job.

Placing the bird in the fridge to thaw on Monday morning until Tuesday around noon I remained confident of my responsibility to cook the official Christmas turkey. Whoever said a turkey will thaw in there in 24-35 hours is wrong. They do not. This bird had been cryo-preserved somewhere in a biosphere.

I called my Momma cause I knew to cook the turkey yesterday and make the dressing today. After all, it is Christmas Eve.

“Hey Momma. This turkey is still frozen. Now what am I going to do. It is hard as a rock.” I lamented.

“It is okay. You are going to slow cook it anyway. So just take it out of the wrapper and netting and put it in the roaster. Cook it all night, slow cook and it will be falling off the bone in the morning. See, Angela, why I just buy a turkey breast. It is much easier……” She continued

“Ugh, ok. I know I want to do a whole turkey Mother.”

“Ok. Well just cook it. It will be fine. Okay?” she said with such confidence.

“Alrighty then, I better get started. Talk to you later. Later, Love You.” I hung up the phone. I even put on my Grandmother’s apron to really get into it.

Sounds easy don’t it? Just cook the turkey. I thought it sounded easy. I have cooked them before but I have never seen a turkey bird like this one.

 Rummaging around in the pots and pans in the back of the pantry, with the help of Bear we found the bottom and the lid of the roasting pan. I washed it carefully as I listened to Bing Crosby croon on my White Christmas CD. Only snow could have made it a more perfect day before Christmas Eve.

 Carefully drying the pan I remembered how my Grandmother always put Mason Jar lids in the bottom of the pan to set the turkey up on it. I found some wide mouth Mason Jar rings and carefully placed them in the bottom of the pan. So proud of myself for remembering this little tip.

The turkey proudly sitting on the chopping block in the middle of the kitchen seemed so innocent. Sitting there in all its netting and plastic wrapped so tight I actually think the plastic had some spandex content to it. I took my knife and removed the netting. The plastic more difficult to remove since the turkey stuck frozen to it. I finally successfully removed it, never considering reading any instructions. Besides, a turkey is a turkey, right?

Well, I got the bird out of its array and there it lay in all its splendor, froze stiff. The fowl glistening with ice crystals in tune with the season. Its little feet tied up with little plastic handcuffs. And a big pouch of plastic sticking up out of its, well, its hind part.  This is a new thing and by the writing on the plastic frozen packet I discovered it appeared to be some sort of gravy. Knowing my Grandmother never had a plastic bag of gravy stuck in her turkey I decided I did not need this appendage in my turkey either.

As I tried to remove the bag of probably yucky gravy I flat lost control of the bird. It slid off of the table and hit the presents under the Christmas tree on the other side of the kitchen like a bowling ball. It made a strike between packages and took out the dancing Santa.

The turkey firmly still under the tree I crawled under there to retrieve it. It stuck to the Tree Skirt. Working diligently I removed the last strong hold and as I did I promise you the bird flew out of my grip again and flew across the kitchen this time taking out the dog bowl and narrowly missing the dog. Now, not only frozen with red felt stuck to it but it was wet, frozen and had picked up some glitter as well.

I wrestled with it until I just picked the thing up like a baby and threw it in the sink. At least it remained stable and contained. I thought about placing it in the dog’s carrier just to make sure it didn’t get away again.

Washing it with warm water helped the situation. I still needed to get the gravy packet out before I could put the thing to bed in the stove. So, I thought, ‘alright you bird, I will pry it out of you. And maybe in the process I will find the giblets.’ So, I found the trusty sharp K-Bar Marine knife and began to pry the somewhat thawing bag out of the hind part of the active bird. Oopppsss. I poked a hole in the bag and this gravy prematurely came ooozzing out of the bag. I called Momma.

She told me she too had never seen a gravy bag in this part of the bird. And I should just get it out and cook it. I let it sit, hoping the bird would stay put for 30 minutes.  I finally got that blasted gravy bag out and threw it in the garbage. Good Grief—whoever thought of putting that there did not carefully consider the southern woman who cooks her own giblet gravy. After all, my Mother and her mother before her did. Who am I to break such a trend?

With the gravy bag out I began a cavity search to find the giblets. They were not in there. I stuck my whole arm down in the bird and there were not giblets to be found. Wiping my hands on my vintage inherited apron I did not know how I could possibly make proper giblet gravy without the giblets. I do not know where this bird lived and died but it would be hard to convince me that it lived and died south of the Mason Dixon line. No southerner in their right mind would have taken the giblets. I mean, what did they do with them? I needed them.

Oh well. No giblets. I just had to live with it. The turkey now sufficiently sanitary enough to cook but still frozen hard as a rock I put it in the oven and took a nap. Exhausted from all the activity of chasing a turkey all over the kitchen I could rest for a while. As I fell asleep I thought about the women of old who had to de-feather and all of that yucky stuff. Feeling pretty good about my accomplishment I woke and called Momma back and told her the bird had landed.

I only burned my hand once while basting the bird. It will heal in a few months.

Upon awaking this morning I could smell the aroma of a slow cooked turkey. Oh!! I had done well, worth all the harrowing experiences of the day before!! Yeah me.

While waiting on my first cup of coffee, I removed the roasting pan from the oven and carefully set it on the kitchen counter. When I opened it there inside lay a beautifully cooked, perfectly browned, complete Christmas turkey bird.

I noticed a white apparatus peeking out from the area where the head of the turkey had once resided. With a fork I removed a paper bag. I found the giblets. They were in the wrong end.

Today, I will attempt to make dressing. Not stuffing, thank goodness we do not stuff turkeys in Alabama. Trying to stuff a bird as hyper as this one might get someone hurt. We eat dressing and it is made from cornbread. I can do cornbread. So, I am feeling okay about this endeavor today.

So, glad I found the giblets.

Merry Christmas

©Angela Posey-Arnold 2008

 

 

Author's Note

Just enjoy the story.