On Saturday afternoon I picked up the phone to hear a child's voice that I didn't immediately recognize. "Do you want a turkey?" the voice asked. So many things ran through my mind. Is this a baby turkey that is looking for a home? Is it a full grown turkey looking for a home? Is it a Thanksgiving turkey that needs to go in the freezer?
Before I could go through all the scenarios in my head, I blurted out, "I'd love a turkey! Uh, who is this?" Well, it was my son's friend, Wyatt. Wyatt's dad is a hunter. In fact, we'd just gotten three duck breasts from him the week before. Wyatt informed us he'd be right over with his dad and the turkey.
Moments later a truck pulls up in front of the house full of men and boys wearing camouflage and three turkeys in the back of the truck. To be sure, these were very dead. Yes, ex-turkeys, if you will. After a quick photo shoot with kids holding up turkey tail feathers and posturing with the floppy, dead birds, we were offered some advice on how to quickly "breast out" the turkey.
I looked at the bird and thought it seemed like a shame just to split out its breast and throw the rest away. This bird gave its life so that we could live. (Okay, I know that's a bit over the top ... but it's really how I felt at the time). I said that I wanted to roast the whole thing. My naivete was met with chuckles and guffaws. I was told how there was no fat on these birds. They're working birds. They're dry and tough and gamy. I was even given a recipe for what sounded like wild turkey breast McNuggets.
How hard could it be? I'd just pluck it, have Michael clean it and roast that thing up and call it dinner.
So, like the white trash mom I am, I sat in the front yard plucking turkey feathers for quite a long time. I was amazed at how the body was still warm. This was fresh. As it started to cool down, I realized I forgot to "bleed" it. One thing I learned from reading Farm City was, you gotta bleed your game!
Yes, we strung that bird up, cut it's head off and it sort of bled into the bucket while I continued to pluck.
Fast forward to having gotten it all clean, washed out, stuffed with garlic, sage, rosemary and time and coated with olive oil, it looked like, well, TURKEY!
We stuffed about a stick of butter beneath the skin and doused it with red wine and vegetable stock. I also tented it with parchment paper.
Can I just say that it was amazingly delicious. Amira devoured an entire drumstick. I had a wing. We were told these extremities would be no good for eating. They were delicious. And I made a fine soup out of the rest of it.
We have to lay off for a few days as I'm pretty sure we'll be eating a more domesticated version next Thursday.
In other news, I've been continuing my Sunrise yoga and thoroughly enjoying everything but getting up while it's still dark out. Of course, this isn't really doing much to improve my bone density. So, I broke down and decided to try out a class at the gym.
By the way, the picture seen here was just too funny. I found it on the web while looking for yoga pix. Here is your basic Indian yoga and your basic Irish yoga:
Now, I am not known for my strength ... especially my upper body strength. So, I decided to take a "Forever Fit" class. This is a work out/strength/cardio training class for senior citizens. I figured I'd blow doors on it. I mean, how hard could it be?
OH MY GOODNESS!!! Now that was a humbling experience. These women who were clearly 20 or 30 years my senior (aside from being incredibly territorial about their mat space) could totally pump iron while keeping in step to this aerobic activity. I looked like a marching band reject (well, shhh! Don't tell anyone that I actually am!) That's right, I was out of step and having a hard time lifting that weight repeatedly. Lucky nobody got a concussion.
All those women have probably shot, plucked and cleaned their own holiday turkeys too. Well, they look like they could have.
Where I have been all these years? Some kind of fantasy land!
Well, off to my next caper: I'm going to sew some cloaks for the girls. I mean, how hard could it be?
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