A Thanksgiving story
by Jan Hostyn
I heard car doors slam.
My doorbell would be chiming at any moment now. But what would usually be an altogether normal, fairly low-stress occurrence wasn’t exactly worry-free today. Something crucial was missing. My kitchen and my home did not smell. At all. And that was not a good thing.
You see, my guests had come for dinner. Thanksgiving dinner.
Growing up, there was no escaping the smell of Thanksgiving. Everywhere you turned you were met with the swirling, heady, exquisite aromas of thyme and sage, onions and butter, sugar and cinnamon and then, more butter (my mom adored her butter). There were copious pies and trays of pyrohy to make in the days leading up to Thanksgiving, and there was always a massive pot of rich and fragrant turkey stock bubbling away the day after. The aromas tucked themselves into every nook and cranny possible, reluctant to eventually drift away.
That, however, was not what was happening in my small, could we say newlywed, bungalow. No wafting aromas, no smells of thyme and sage.
This was going to be the very first Thanksgiving dinner I had ever hosted. Not that I was a complete rookie—I had always pitched in with all of the preparation and cooking when I was growing up. That helping, though, included everything but the turkey.
So the whole let’s-roast-a-turkey thing was new to me. Both my mother and my mother-in-law had been turkey-cooking wizards and, to be honest, I had zero interest in the whole thing. I hadn’t even touched a raw turkey before. Handling raw meat of any sort did not rank up there with my favourite things to do, and heaving around twenty pounds of raw, slippery flesh didn’t add to the appeal.
But parents get older and circumstances change. If I wanted Thanksgiving dinner this particular year, I was going to have to cook it myself. And Thanksgiving dinner called for guests. Just a few, mind you, to make it more manageable: my mother-in-law, along with my brother-in-law and his wife. I was nervous but excited. Was this my entry into the grown-up cooking world?
Even though I grew up with way too much food and far too many dishes on Thanksgiving, I knew enough to show restraint. The pyrohy and nachynka, annual staples, were ditched, along with most of the other side dishes I was used to. But what terrified me the most was the thought of roasting an actual turkey, so I decided to take the whole simplifying thing even further: I would cook a Butterball Boneless Stuffed Turkey Breast.
That decision still baffles me. You will not find any of the things I love—crispy turkey skin, juicy dark meat and, most of all, my mom’s can’t-get-enough-of stuffing—in a frozen mass-produced, stuffed turkey breast. Maybe it came down to that old adage that you always want what you can’t have. Every turkey I had ever dug into had been carefully roasted and stuffed by someone I knew. In comparison, the stuffed turkey breast seemed innovative and intriguing, not to mention easy. A stuffed turkey breast it was.
I honestly don’t remember much about the actual cooking process. I know that I followed the instructions meticulously (I was an obsessive instruction-follower back then), and I know that I built in an extra half hour of cooking time, just in case. I had learned something from watching my mom.
Once I popped the frozen breast into the oven, I went to work on the sides: a simple salad, some mashed potatoes and plain old peas and carrots. There was also homemade cranberry sauce waiting in the fridge and some fresh buns from a nearby bakery. Nothing elaborate. I didn’t even make gravy. (I know. Gasp!)
So I guess there must have been a bit of a smell when my guests arrived. Not anything resembling turkey, though, the supposed star of the night. But I put my trust in the instructions and the process. I mean, how hard could it be to cook a frozen turkey breast?
When my oven timer dinged, I pulled open the oven door only to discover absolutely no sizzling and practically no browning. It was almost like I had forgotten to turn on the oven (I hadn’t). Further investigation revealed a still partially-frozen turkey breast.
I was horrified, not to mention mortified and puzzled. After a muffled conversation with my mother-in-law (who had poked her curious head into the kitchen), it became readily apparent that my very first Thanksgiving dinner was going to be a turkey-free one.
Thankfully my brother-in-law gallantly stepped in to save the day. My husband’s family had grown up on Kentucky Fried Chicken, and my brother-in-law’s suggestion that he run out and pick up some KFC was warmly embraced. A bucket of fried chicken it was (along with an unexpected side of gravy). I have a feeling my guests were secretly delighted.
That episode ended my brief relationship with frozen stuffed turkey breasts. On my next attempt I went straight for the real thing, and I haven’t looked back since. I can’t say the end result is ever beautiful (a spatchcocked, splayed-out turkey never is), but it always tastes pretty darn delicious and my house smells like I’m actually roasting a turkey. Yes, I even make gravy.
Make-Ahead Turkey Gravy
I love making this gravy—it makes the last-minute rush of trying to get everything finished and on the table so much easier. Adapted from a recipe in Cooks Illustrated. –Jan Hostyn
| 6 | turkey thighs, trimmed, or 9 wings, separated at the joints |
| 2 med | carrots, coarsely chopped |
| 2 med | celery ribs, coarsely chopped |
| 2 med | onions, coarsely chopped |
| 1 head | garlic, halved |
| vegetable oil spray | |
| 10 c | low-sodium chicken broth, plus extra as needed |
| 2 c | dry white wine |
| 12 sprigs | fresh thyme |
| unsalted butter, as needed | |
| 1 c | flour |
Adjust an oven rack to the middle position and heat the oven to 450 degrees. Toss the thighs, carrots, celery, onions and garlic together in a roasting pan and spray with vegetable oil spray. Roast, stirring occasionally, until well browned, 1½ to 1¾ hours.
Transfer the contents of the roasting pan to a large Dutch oven. Add the broth, wine and thyme and bring to a boil, skimming as needed.
Reduce to a gentle simmer and cook until the broth is brown and flavorful and measures about 8 cups when strained, about 1½ hours. Strain the broth through a fine-mesh strainer into a large container, pressing on the solids to extract as much liquid as possible. Discard the solids. (The turkey broth can be cooled and refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 2 days or frozen for up to 1 month.)
Let the strained turkey broth settle (if necessary). Spoon off and reserve 1/2 cup of the fat that has risen to the top (add butter as needed if short on turkey fat). Heat the fat in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat until bubbling. Whisk in the flour and cook, whisking constantly, until well browned, about 10 minutes.
Add to the broth and heat until bubbling and thick and glossy.
Serves 10 to 12 (makes about 2 quarts).