Blackened Turkey
Here's the recipe I've used for years. I found it on the internet about 15 years ago:
1 turkey
salt
garlic
4 eggs
1 apple
1 orange
1 large can crushed pineapple
1 lemon
4 large onions
6 celery stalks
buncha preserved ginger
2 cans water chestnuts
3 packages unseasoned bread crumbs
3/4 pounds ground veal
1/2 pounds ground pork
1/4 pounds
butter
onion juice
1 quart apple cider
Spice List:
basil
bay leaf
caraway seed
celery seed
chili powder
cloves
ground coriander
mace
marjoram
dry mustard
oregano
parsley
pepper, black
poultry seasoning
poppy seed
sage
savory
Tabasco
thyme
turmeric
This is a recipe that has been around for so long, cherished all the while, that it has acquired a considerable gloss, in the classic sense of the word. As scholarly medieval monks studied and interpreted their precious hand-copied books, they made notes in the margins and between the lines, to enhance the content of the book for the next reader. When the document was copied, much of this "gloss" found its way into the new book.As the books grew with gloss, so has this recipe grown. When I first saw the recipe, thirty-one years ago, it had been transcribed by Morton Thompson from God-knows-where, and it bore the gloss of Robert Benchley and an Unknown Scribe. In my custody, it seems to grow like a warm yeast dough, from my efforts and those of Bill the Great Dane.
Each time it's transcribed, including this time, I see something that needs clarification or correction. If this were an orderly world, the various levels of the recipe would be distinguished by stacked norkies (>>>), or wakas, if you will.
No such luck here, though. Up to now, this has been pure Bob Brunjes. After the asterisks, some notes are identified; some are not. Some are me; some may go back to ancient Egypt.
This ambiguity saves me. I've been chastised before in this group for sanctioning alcoholic excesses in the kitchen, but it's not so. I was just following the recipe, this recipe. And if you have an ounce of respect for tradition in you, so will you.
For about a dozen years, at the approach of turkey-eating season, I have been trumpeting to all who would listen, and to a good many who would rather not, that there is only one way to cook a turkey. This turkey is not my turkey. It is the creation of the late Morton Thompson, who wrote "Not as a Stranger" and other books.
This recipe was first contained in the manuscript of a book called "The Naked Countess" which was given to the late Robert Benchley, who had eaten the turkey and was so moved as to write an introduction to the book. Benchley then lost the manuscript. He kept hoping it would turn up-- although not as much, perhaps, as Thompson did, but somehow it vanished, irretrievably. Thompson did not have the heart to write it over. He did, however, later put his turkey rule in another book. Not a cookbook, but a collection of very funny pieces called "Joe, the Wounded Tennis Player".
THE ONLY WAY TO COOK A TURKEY!!!!!!!
This turkey is work... it requires more attention than an average six-month-old baby. There are no shortcuts, as you will see.
Get a HUGE turkey-- I don't mean just a big, big bird, but one that looks as though it gave the farmer a hard time when he did it in. It ought to weigh between 16 and 30 pounds. Have the poultryman, or butcher, cut its head off at the end of the neck, peel back the skin, and remove the neck close to the body, leaving the tube. You will want this for stuffing. Also, he should leave all the fat on the bird.
When you are ready to cook your bird, rub it inside and out with salt and pepper. Give it a friendly pat and set it aside. Chop the heart, gizzard, and liver and put them, with the neck, into a stewpan with a clove of garlic, a large bay leaf, 1/2 tsp coriander, and some salt. I don't know how much salt-- whatever you think. Cover this with about 5 cups of water and put on the stove to simmer. This will be the basting fluid a little later.
About this time I generally have my first drink of the day, usually a RAMOS FIZZ. I concoct it by taking the whites of four eggs, an equal amount of whipping cream, juice of half a lemon (less 1 tsp.), 1/2 tsp. confectioner's sugar, an appropriate amount of gin, and blending with a few ice cubes. Pour about two tablespoons of club soda in a chimney glass, add the mix, with ice cubes if you prefer. Save your egg yolks, plus 1 tsp. of lemon -- you'll need them later. Have a good sip! (Add 1 dash of Orange Flower Water to the drink, not the egg yolks)
Get a huge bowl. Throw into it one diced apple, one diced orange, a large can of crushed pineapple, the grated rind of a lemon, and three tablespoons of chopped preserved ginger (If you like ginger, double this -REB). Add 2 cans of drained Chinese water chestnuts.
Mix this altogether, and have another sip of your drink. Get a second, somewhat smaller, bowl. Into this, measuring by teaspoons, put:
2 hot dry mustard 2 caraway seed 2 celery seed
2 poppy seed 1 black pepper 2 1/2 oregano
1/2 mace 1/2 turmeric 1/2 marjoram
1/2 savory 3/4 sage 3/4 thyme 1/4 basil
1/2 chili powder
In the same bowl, add:
1 Tbl. poultry seasoning 4 Tbl parsley 1Tbl salt
4 headless crushed cloves 1 well crushed bay leaf 4 large chopped onions
6 good dashes Tabasco 5 crushed garlic cloves
6 large chopped celery
Wipe your brow, refocus your eyes, get yet another drink--and a third bowl. Put in three packages of unseasoned bread crumbs (or two loaves of toast or bread crumbs), 3/4 lb. ground veal, 1/2 lb. ground fresh pork, 1/4 lb. butter, and all the fat you have been able to pull out of the bird.
About now it seems advisable to switch drinks. Martinis or stingers are recommended (Do this at your own risk - we always did! -REB). Get a fourth bowl, an enormous one. Take a sip for a few minutes, wash your hands, and mix the contents of all the other bowls. Mix it well. Stuff the bird and skewer it. Put the leftover stuffing into the neck tube.
Turn your oven to 500 degrees F and get out a fifth small bowl. Make a paste consisting of those four egg yolks and lemon juice left from the Ramos Fizz. Add 1 tsp hot dry mustard, a crushed clove of garlic, 1 Tbl onion juice, and enough flour to make a stiff paste. (This is a procedure that seems to need clarification. Make the paste about the consistency of pancake batter for the first coat. After a couple of coats, I thin the paste a little, with water or any other fluid taht falls to hand. After a couple more coats, I thin a bit more, so that the final coats have about the consistency of whipping cream -REB) When the oven is red hot, put the bird in, breast down on the rack. Sip on your drink until the bird has begin to brown all over, then take it out and paint the bird all over with paste. Put it back in and turn the oven down to 350 degrees F. Let the paste set, then pull the bird out and paint again. Keep doing this until the paste is used up.
Add a quart of cider or white wine to the stuff that's been simmering on the stove, This is your basting fluid. The turkey must be basted every 15 minutes. Don't argue. Set your timer and keep it up. (When confronted with the choice "do I baste from the juice under the bird or do I baste with the juice from the pot on the stove?" make certain that the juice under the bird neither dries out and burns, nor becomes so thin that gravy is weak. When you run out of bast, use cheap red wine. This critter makes incredible gravy! -REB) The bird should cook about 12 minutes per pound, basting every 15 minutes. Enlist the aid of your friends and family.
As the bird cooks, it will first get a light brown, then a dark brown, then darker and darker. After about 2 hours you will think I'm crazy. The bird will be turning black. (Newcomers to black turkey will think you are demented and drunk on your butt, which, if you've followed instructions, you are -REB) In fact, by the time it is finished, it will look as though we have ruined it. Take a fork and poke at the black cindery crust. Beneath, the bird will be a gorgeous mahogany, reminding one of those golden-browns found in precious Rembrandts. Stick the fork too deep, and the juice will gush to the ceiling. When you take it out, ready to carve it, you will find that you do not need a knife. A load sound will cause the bird to fall apart like the walls of that famed biblical city. The moist flesh will drive you crazy, and the stuffing--well, there is nothing like it on this earth. You will make the gravy just like it as always done, adding the giblets and what is left of the basting fluid.
Sometime during the meal, use a moment to give thanks to Morton Thompson.
There is seldom, if ever, leftover turkey when this recipe is used. If there is, you'll find that the fowl retains its moisture for a few days. That's all there is to it. It's work, hard work--- but it's worth it.
