Thanksgiving 2023

 There is always a little bit of pressure when it comes to Thanksgiving and cooking. The holiday really revolves around the iconic meal so, of course, people want to get that just right. This year, we traveled to Chevy Chase, Maryland, just outside of DC, to be with all three of my wife's brothers and their families. The final tally for Thanksgiving dinner was 18 of us (not including the 3 dogs). With my background as a chef (that is another story), I usually volunteer to do some of the sides and to help pull the whole thing together. I thought this year had an interesting twist, and that is the subject of this story.

 

 

Spatchcock versus….

“OK, who’s ready to spatchcock a turkey?” I didn’t actually say it that way, but I may as well have judging by the funny looks I received when I proposed this cooking method for the Thanksgiving turkey this year.  My relatives were probably wondering if I had lost my mind. Suddenly I'm in one of those movie scenes; a hum of conversation, glasses clinking, maybe some music playing in the background, and then suddenly you can hear a pin drop. The person speaking is in a spotlight and theirs is the only voice that can be heard. I was the one in the spotlight, in case that wasn’t obvious.  I faced the wall of blank stares, some mouths slightly agape.

I just read an article about spatchcocking and a quick search on YouTube yielded a short video demonstration. It purports to solve the age-old conundrum of cooking a whole turkey well enough without drying out the always desirable white meat. 

I’ve tried other things in the past. For a couple of years, I went with the ever-popluar brining of the turkey. Gallons of water are added to a container big enough to hold the bowling ball size bird. Select herbs, citrus and salt are added in inexact amounts. The bird is submerged overnight. The day of roasting comes and you plunge your hands into the icy water to extract the bird. It’s a messy process and, in my opinion, clearly not worth the effort. You still have the same problem of just right dark meat (reaching the recommended 165 degrees) and dried out white meat. Plus, you have all that brine to get rid of and a huge, unwieldy container to wash out.

Next attempt at turkey perfection was using roasting bags. These are amazing products of modern chemistry and manufacturing that look like regular clear plastic bags, but amazingly, don’t melt in the heat of the oven. They seal in all the moisture coming off the turkey, while still allowing it to come to a nice golden brown color. The bottom of the pan ends up with several cups of flavorful stock made from the roasting bird and the cut up carrots, celery and onion on which it was placed. This has been our go to method for several years.  The white meat is still a bit dry, however, so when I heard about the “perfect way to roast a turkey”, I was intrigued.

Spatchcock is such an odd term for what I did to that poor bird, although it was way past feeling a thing. A quick internet search indicates that is of Irish origin and has been around since the 18th century. It is a contraction of “dispatch the cock” and describes the method of flattening out a chicken, turkey or other fowl to cook it more quickly and evenly. After my announcement and some resigned silence, I explained what I would attempt. I was greeted with more skeptical silence and then the gathered family members left it in my hands. No pressure. Just 18 people who traveled from all over the country to be together for this meal. I didn’t want to think about what failure would look like. At least we had the side dishes if it ended as a complete disaster. We did have two turkeys, so that offered some reassurance. My brother-in-law Bill said that he would cook the smaller bird on the grill. We knew this could be done because last year, when Thanksgiving was held in Massachusetts, that was the chosen cooking method. The competition was on.  It was the great 2023 Battle of The Birds. Spatchcock versus Grill. Bill and Jon face off in an epic epicurean battle. Spatulas and meat thermometers are wielded like swords and shields. 

Luckily, everyone decided to go out for a walk while I prepared my bird. Spatchcocking isn’t for the faint of heart or for those with weak arms. Thank goodness I’d been keeping up on my gym routine, pumping up my biceps and shoulders. I didn’t realize I was training for culinary warfare. Ideally, I would have used kitchen shears, but lacking those, I went for the 8 inch chef’s knife. I flipped the bird over to access the backbone, which needed to be removed. The first few inches are easy enough, but then I’m into some bone and gristle that really tax my strength. I peel off my outer layer and use my sleeve to wipe the sweat from my face. Finally, I made it through the bone. The video made it look a lot easier. I turn the bird over for the final step, leaning over it with both hands, like I’m giving it chest compressions to revive it from a heart attack. I hear a satisfying and simultaneously nauseating crunch as the breast bone breaks and the bird flattens out. I check the video and feel like I’ve pretty much achieved what I was supposed to. I ready the bird on the pan and slide it into the oven, cleaning up the crime scene in the kitchen before everyone gets back from their walk. 

 As the afternoon wears on, the crowd mills around anxiously, not really caring who the victor is as long as there's food on the table at the end. Bill has a brief moment of panic when the grill isn’t reaching the target temperature. Speculation about uncooked meat slightly dampens spirits but then I open the oven and people catch sight of the golden brown skin of the splayed-out bird on the center rack. The odor of cooking turkey adds to the array of side dishes in progress and salivary glands go into overdrive. Cooking onions and the steam from two pots of boiling potatoes is edging the crowd towards a literal feeding frenzy. 

Trays of appetizers disappear almost as soon as they are set on the table. Mixed drinks are handed out in an attempt to calm the throng. Dull the senses a bit and avoid an unpleasant stampede. A fire is started outside and games are provided as further distractions to keep people from looking at the clock or crowding around the two turkey venues. The drone of overlapping voices in the kitchen reaches an excited crescendo. The timer for the spatchcock bird goes off and the crowd surges as the pan is pulled out of the oven and set down on the table. “Oohh, that looks really good,” says Anita. “Is it done?” asks someone else. I feel people pressing in as I pull the thermometer out of the drawer. A dog yelps as someone carelessly steps on a paw trying to see the result. Did it work? Was it cooked to perfection? The meat thermometer is inserted and recordings are taken. A hush falls over the room as the red dial slowly but steadily ticks its way upward - 130, 140, 150. 160. The room has changed to pin drop silence as the needle reaches the vaunted 165 and then a little beyond. Another part of the bird is tested successfully. The tension in the room rises, but it seems that the turkey is done. I breathe a sigh of relief and hope that nobody noticed the moment of panic on my face. Butter drops into a pan to mix with flour and is whisked into the base of what will be the gravy. The grilled bird has made an exciting comeback. The crowd is fickle. Going with whatever bird will be ready first. Team Spatchcock seems to have an advantage but Team Grill corrected their earlier mistake and are feeling confident. There's some question about whether spatchcock is actually done despite the thermometer readings. The noise is ratcheting back up. There's a brief tussle among the crowd. Voices are raised but then the dispute is settled amidst laughter. The side dishes are ready. The gravy steams satisfactorily. The tables are set, arranged cleverly in an attempt to avoid conflict among the participants. Bottles of wine are opened with the new electronic gizmo that promises no stuck or broken corks. The wine flows and toasts are made. People line up in the kitchen to load up their plates. The noise drops as plates are filled and the verdict is reached. Everyone is a winner. Maybe we'll try deep frying next year.