Flaherty Wines

I’ve mentioned our caretaker, Don Ismael, who lives near our property and helps us out with odd jobs. His wife, Sra. Zunilda, often sends Ed home with a gift of farm eggs or homemade bread for me, since I rarely get all the way down there myself. This past weekend she very kindly offered Ed a turkey—either live or slaughtered, whichever he preferred. He opted for slaughtered since he didn’t want a pet turkey (it wouldn’t have lasted long with our dogs, anyway). A few hours later, the deed was done, and Ed was on his way home with Sunday’s dinner.

It was quite an experience. Farm turkeys are quite different from the plump frozen balls one finds in the supermarket. First, the bird was much, much smaller, weighing in at a mere 2.7 kilos (about 6 pounds). Second, there were feet sticking out of the bag. I quickly hid the bag in the fridge to be dealt with the next day, but was then haunted by the thought of zombie turkeys. On Sunday, I put off dealing with the turkey as long as possible—prepping the stuffing, making turkey stock for the gravy (using wings and drumsticks from the store), and starting a lemon meringue pie.

Eventually, I could put it off no longer. I hesitantly pulled the carcass out of the bag, and then promptly dropped it in the sink when I discovered it still had the head attached. The long neck flopped around as I tried to figure out what was what. I avoided eye contact as I pulled out the giblets. Sra. Zunilda had left me the liver, the gizzard, and… alien eyeballs? Seriously, six or eight bright orange orbs of varying sizes came tumbling out along with the liver. Between that and the head, I was seriously freaked out. I later learned that these were partially developed egg yolks—ovary follicles, I guess—which one boils and serves like hard-cooked eggs. So my turkey was a hen.

Next, I examined the neck to figure out where to cut it off. Using poultry shears, I snipped it off at the base and then quickly removed the feet, as well. Once the head was disposed of, my scientific curiosity kicked in, so cleaning out the rest of the carcass was less traumatic. The heart and lungs were still attached, along with various other bits I was unable to identify.

When the bird was thoroughly cleaned, I stuffed it, trussed it, and slid it into the oven to roast. I have quite a history of undercooking roast chicken, so I made sure this bird was very well roasted—about two and a half hours at 350 F. It was beautifully browned when I brought it out to carve (though I was still too traumatized to remember to take a photo).

The flavor of the meat was excellent, and the breast was moist and tender. The legs and thighs were tough, with a gamier taste than store-bought turkey. We had plenty for the four of us for dinner, plus leftovers for turkey sandwiches the next day.

Basic stuffing recipe

Butter
Onion, diced
Celery, diced
Garlic, minced or pressed
Bay leaf
Salt and pepper
Sage, finely chopped
Stale baguette, cut into cubes

I learned to make stuffing from a James Beard cookbook, and his general rule for just about everything is, When in doubt, add more butter. So, melt a generous glob of butter in a pan (I used a good 4 to 6 tablespoons for this small bird, so double that for a commercial bird). Sauté the onion, celery, garlic, and bay leaf until the onion is translucent. (Be careful not to burn the garlic.) Remove the bay leaf, season generously with salt and pepper, then stir in the sage. Toss with the bread cubes, and stuff the turkey.

For this small bird, I used 1 medium onion, 1 stalk celery, 4 cloves garlic, 1 or 2 tablespoons of sage, and about five cups of bread cubes (the better part of a whole baguette); double everything for a commercial bird.