A Real Turkey

by Bruce Schimmel

Hate turkey? You’re not alone in loathing the traditional centerpiece of the nation’s oldest holiday. Most turkeys suck. The white meat is mealy, the dark is stringy and it is all somehow too wet and too dry -- at the same time.

Blame the cook? Maybe. But it’s more likely the bird they bought turned out to be a turkey because it never was.

Most commercial birds are hardly turkeys at all. They are inbred and overbred, with breasts so distended they can barely walk if given the chance -- which most aren’t.

These symbols of America’s bounty have been so messed up genetically that they must be kept indoors. They’re typically put in crowded and filthy pens.

Wild turkeys, the birds of the first Thanksgiving feast, are elegant and far tastier than their commercialized counterparts. Wild birds are swift runners. And they can fly. A startled flock will launch, en masse, to protect themselves. They’re not simple to hunt.

This is the bird that Benjamin Franklin wanted as the country’s symbol. Now we have a national mascot that’s a thief and a scavenger, and a national dish that’s unpalatable and stupid.

Given the current political climate, this is somehow appropriate. Still, just as there are political alternatives, there are also culinary ones.

Celebrate being American by choosing an bird that’s been allowed to roam free -- one that’s not fed antibiotics and injected with saline solution. Better birds are not inbred. (To get one, you’ll probably have to ask someone at the supermarket. A well-known brand is Bell and Evans.)

And here are some cooking tips. Brine the bird yourself. Soak in a cool bath of sugar, salt, cut-up onions, celery and carrots, and whatever spices you like. Use enough salt and sugar so the solution tastes like sweet seawater.

Dry, season and oil the skin. Toss some more cut-up vegetables inside for flavor. Please don't stuff turkey, it screws up the cooking. It you want to flavor your stuffing, use the juices from the pan.

I like to cook birds upside down in a rack because the juices flow down into the breast, so try flipping the bird. Start at 425 degrees. If it starts to burn, turn it down. Baste. Figure 20 minutes a pound, but pull it when the thigh meat registers 175 degrees. If you don't have a meat thermometer, buy one.

Let the bird rest, covered, for at least half an hour before carving. This is critical. The result, I promise, will be a bird that'll make you proud for all kinds of reasons.