Ok, so I don't have to cook a turkey this year. Since the husband's
parents are in Arizona and mine are still soaking up all the rain
that's falling currently in Texas, we're staying here. Hence we have
Thanksgiving with friends. Now, I highly recommend this option if you
don't like your family. I, however, do like my family, it's just this
way I get to sleep off the resultant tryptophan overdose in my own bed.
Last year, the husband and I hosted our friends. This year, the friends
are hosting, so instead of cleaning the Cake Eater Pad from top to
bottom, ironing napkins and tablecloths, shopping, polishing the silver
and then
cooking a feast, I'm just making my fabu sweet potato recipe and a
salad. And that's it. We'll head over to ML's and the Doctor's on
Thursday afternoon and we'll eat. It will be good. Even though I'm off
the hook this year, for some strange reason, I feel I should be doing
more. I'm probably going to make a pumpkin pie sometime this week
because the husband and I like it and we'll want our own. I might even
cook up some cranberry dressing to go with the turkey that will be sent
home with us. (They've got a 20 pounder!) While I'll probably only wind
up making the pie (mmmmm...pie),
I still feel like I should be doing more. So, instead of actually
cooking a turkey, I'm going to give you instructions on how to cook
one. Because, amazingly enough, I'm told some people don't know how to
do this. It's way back in my memory, but I vaguely remember a time when
I didn't know how to either. Fifteen years ago, when I was a freshman
in college, my family was having a very busy November. We'd all gone to
Austin for Tim and Darlene's wedding at
the beginning of the month. Then my sister Susie who, at the time,
lived in Dallas, gave birth to her second son, Denver. Mom, of course,
flew off to Dallas to help and it fell to me and my sister, Christi, to
cook Thanksgiving dinner for the family. When we were presented with
this task, Mom told us there wasn't an easier dinner to cook than
Thanksgiving. "It just takes a lot of time. It's not hard at all," is
what she said. Her assertions notwithstanding, we were still skeptical
and told her that we needed line by line instruction. She agreed. And
being true to her word, Mom wrote out everything we needed to know.
Pages and pages worth of everything my mother did at Thanksgiving but
you might have been afraid to ask. Which, when we were done, I stupidly
threw out. I say this was stupid because they could have come in handy
later on. Like after I got married and found myself cooking
Thanksgiving dinner. If only I'd kept that stack of legal paper, I
wouldn't have found myself calling Mom all the damn time. Alas, I
eventually figured it out. And she's right: Thanksgiving dinner is
an easy meal to cook; it's just time consuming. So, for the rest of the
week, I will become your very own Butterball hotline, only without the
1-800 number. You'll basically be getting everything Mom taught me
about how to cook a bird. An excellent idea for a Thanksgiving present,
no? Well, it should be until she reads this and then calls me to tell
me I've got something wrong.
Work up your courage, kids. It's really not all that hard. First things
first: go and purchase a turkey at the grocery store. Do not feel the
need to get a turkey with a pop-up button. You don't need it. I'll
explain my reasoning for this later on, but mostly, it's because I
think people get suckered into spending more per pound for the
Butterball, thinking they need the pop-up button when they don't. Now,
the biggest turkey we've ever cooked was the fourteen pounder we had
last year. That was a big bird. My general rule of thumb when
purchasing a turkey is to---ahem---always go for the smaller bird
you're contemplating purchasing.. The more experienced turkey shopper
will know what I'm talking about: you will see one bird, it's probably
just about the right size and you're just about ready to buy it, but
then you get to thinking. You think about all the people you've got
coming over and how they're going to be starving themselves all day
long and will be ready to gorge themselves, like a lion gorges itself
on raw antelope, and then you start to doubt yourself. You think you
might actually need the fifteen pounder instead. THIS IS A MISTAKE.
Do not do this. Always opt for the smaller bird. It will save you weeks
of eating leftover turkey sandwiches. And even if it does turn out to
be too little, well, think of it this way: your relatives won't be
sleeping dinner off on your sofa; they will actually have the energy to
leave and your liquor cabinet will still have something in it. My
general rule of thumb for picking out a turkey? Well, it depends upon
how many people I've got coming over. Last year we completely overdid
it: a fourteen pound turkey for six people. I broke my own rule and as
a result, we were swimming in turkey, even after we gave a lot away.
Think about how much turkey you actually eat when you're at the table
on Thanksgiving Day: I eat about half a cup's worth, total, because
there's so much other stuff to eat as well as turkey. But I eat a lot
less turkey than other people. In general, I find that about a pound
and a half per person is a good rule of thumb to go by. You might be
like me and eat less; you might have some guests that will eat more. It
all evens out. This option leaves you with some leftovers, but not so
much that you won't want to see another turkey until next Thanksgiving.
As far as price per pound, well, most turkeys are alike, it's the
extras---like the popup button and the gravy packet---that cost more.
Do you need this? Well, it's up to you, but I never have. I go for the
cheapo turkey: I never buy the Butterball unless it's on sale. Does
this mean that I buy the turkey that costs $0.29 a pound? Nope. While
cheap, I still have my standards. My price range lies between $0.39 to
$0.59 a pound, but then again I live in the Midwest, where food is
cheap. Prices might be different where you live, so go for the midrange
and you'll be fine. Now, you're asking yourself, how do I make sure I get a good
turkey? Is there a special way---like when I idotically thump on a
melon in the middle of the produce aisle and block everyone's passage
by leaving my cart in the middle of the aisle---that I can use to make
sure my turkey will turn out juicy? Well, ah, no. It's pretty much
luck of the draw. After all, it's a massive frozen bird wrapped up in
plastic and netting. How could you know? The only person who's got a
chance is Karnak, but he's retired. Fortunately for you, however,
there's not a really big difference from brand to brand on turkeys.
They're all pretty much the same. Just go for it. Tomorrow: Prepping
the Bird!