Food; Alice Waters Cooks Her Turkey Too Long
copyright New York Times Sunday Magazine
By JONATHAN REYNOLDS
Now that the suicide-and-euphoria holidays of late '99 are a distant memory (like childbirth, the pain of which is forgotten or no one would ever go through it again), and no one wants to hear how to really cook a turkey, it is probably the perfect moment to do exactly that. Procrastinators can rejoice that they have 249 (or 281) days to plan but not execute, and the better-adjusted can analyze leisurely instead of rushing to the stove, ripped magazine recipe in hand, on Thanksgiving or Christmas morning. And tortured perfectionists like Barbra Streisand can practice, practice, practice.
But a superbly roasted turkey (or any other poultry, for that matter) is as welcome at any time of year as it is unusual. The difficulty, as we have been told almost daily for the last quarter-century, is to cook the bird's drumsticks and thighs sufficiently without turning the white meat into flannel.
All sorts of well-intentioned tricks are urged to moisturize the breast meat. Julia Child is said to massage butter between the breast and the skin, which lubricates the breast but makes the texture of the meat greasy and the taste overly buttery.
Martha Stewart dips cheesecloth in melted butter, then drapes it over the white meat, but the melted butter fails to penetrate the more-or-less waterproof turkey skin. When not piously obsessing over the genealogy of those annoying little vegetables (and their farmers), Alice Waters soaks the entire fowl in a home-concocted brine for 72 hours. This step is indeed helpful, and I recommend it. Unfortunately, Waters then defeats herself by keeping the bird in the oven far too long. No one, it seems, can remedy this quandary but me.
There are two solutions. For those with successful Nasdaq portfolios, it's simple: buy two turkeys and cook one for the white meat and the other for the dark, then discard the overcooked white of one and the undercooked dark of the other. For the rest of you, listen up. Your 12-pound dinner will be out of the oven in two hours, your 16-pounder in two and a half and your 20-pounder done perfectly in three.
Based on Karen Hess's method, which appeared in The New York Times 26 years ago, a 12-pound turkey is stuffed, slathered with a stick of butter, roasted at a very high temperature, first on one side, then the other, and basted every 20 minutes or so. True, all the basting is a nuisance, and the smoke caused by the high temperature may result in a call from the Fire Department, but this is a small price to pay for a standing ovation, fan mail and, if you're single, date requests. Your bird will have juicy breasts, pinkless legs and skin as crisp as U.P.S. paper. (The highest compliment my Quincy, Mass., grandmother could give a turkey was to say that its skin was ''just like wrapping paper.'')
Two important don'ts. First, don't truss the animal whether you stuff it or not. For years, I thought trussing was a matter of aesthetics: the perfectly bound, coquettishly trussed bird reminded me of a 50's debutante at a cotillion, not a hair out of place; untrussed, it looked like a ravished hooker, disheveled and eager for more. But by binding the turkey legs together, 15 to 30 minutes must be added to the cooking time so the insides of the thigh and leg can reach the proper temperature -- and at that point about the only thing you can do with the white meat is to use it as Spackle. If the purpose of trussing is to contain stuffing in the body cavity, a simple pin through the skin flap will do that; if the butcher has removed the flap, cover the hole with foil.
Second, don't, as some suggest, pour water into the roasting pan to prevent it from scorching or you'll inadvertently steam the bird. Two tablespoons of oil will prevent this -- as well as neutralize the burning properties of the stick of butter.
To serve 8 people and have leftovers for sandwiches, here's what you do: strangle and pluck a 12-pound turkey, preferably an anarchist that has been allowed to run around and eat grain whenever it wants. Remove whatever is inside (usually a neck and giblets) and cut off the wing tips.
Twenty hours before cooking, swish two cups of kosher salt in two to three gallons of cold water until dissolved (no need to heat it) and submerge the turkey for 12 hours in this brine, using a weight to keep it underwater. (Waters suggests a more complicated mixture, but since the bird is rinsed thoroughly after brining, it just adds unnecessary work.) Either put this brining turkey in the fridge, or if there's no room and the temperature is 33 degrees Fahrenheit and you live on a low floor, put it on the windowsill; or put lots of ice cubes in the brine, adding more when they melt.
After 12 hours, rinse the bird thoroughly, pat it dry and put it in the fridge for seven hours to completely dry its skin -- this will help make it crisp.
Meanwhile, begin your stock by deeply scoring whatever was inside the turkey (except the liver, which may be chopped, sauteed and added to a stuffing) and the wing tips and tossing them into a pot. Add a sliced carrot, a sliced celery stalk, a large quartered onion and a handful of parsley and cover with water or with poultry, veal or beef stock. Simmer for three hours, replenishing the liquid if it gets low or too salty. Because you are in charge, when the stock is done you get to eat the neck, which is delicious. You may also eat the vegetables, which are pretty tasty, too.
One hour before cooking the turkey, remove it from the fridge and let it sit to bring it up to room temperature.
It is now time to turn your oven on to 450 degrees. Pour a couple tablespoons of oil into a roasting pan and either oil a V-shaped, nonadjustable rack or use one that is nonstick. (Adjustable racks are too unreliable and may collapse under the turkey's weight.)
Stuff the turkey and rub its skin with a stick of softened butter. Place it on its side on the rack, place the rack in the roasting pan and the roasting pan into the blistering oven. Roast for 30 minutes. If smoke filters out of your oven, enjoy its spiritual qualities unless something catches on fire. (If, however, your kitchen, the pan juices or the turkey's skin ever approach blackness, turn the oven down to 400, or even 375.)
Baste the turkey with the pan juices. Then take the pan out of the oven, and with wads of wet paper towels (or large forks) placed at either end, turn the turkey over onto its other side, baste it and put it back in the oven. (Turning the thing can get pretty ungraceful, so try not to be photographed right now, and don't try to turn the turkey at oven level unless you're wearing a truss. Instead, lift the pan from the oven rack, closing the oven door with your left heel; place the pan on a steady surface and wrestle the bird to its other side however you can.)
Set the timer for 20 minutes and baste every 20 minutes, four times -- your total cooking time will now be 110 minutes. Again, rotate the by-now-mahoganied beauty back onto its original side, basting everything in sight.
Take the turkey's temperature in the fattest part of its thigh. It should read 135 to 145 degrees. (If it doesn't, leave it in a few more minutes.) If it does, take it out immediately and put it on a platter -- it will continue to cook for the next 20 minutes or so while you make the sauce.
No flour or thickener is used in the sauce because it tastes better without. Pour off half the fat from the bottom of the roasting pan and place the pan over high heat (possibly two burners). Add a cup of the strained turkey stock and deglaze the pan, dislodging everything with a wooden spoon. Taste for saltiness and intensity -- sometimes the sauce can go in those directions. If it does, add another cup of stock and reduce. If it is still too intense or salty, thin with a little water. Add half a cup of Cognac, white wine or dry sherry and bring to a boil or set it afire to cook off the alcohol. This will not make more than one and a half cups of sauce -- a tablespoon or two per serving, which is all that's needed. Some strain this concoction, but I prefer being surprised by tasty little scraps on top of my white meat.
By roasting the turkey on its sides, gravity drips what little fat exists in the dark meat into the white; in addition to the basting, this moistens the meat. Some suggest cooking the bird breast side down until the last 30 minutes, then browning the breast, but this makes basting about six times as difficult and the back of the turkey the brownest part of the body. Don't do it.
Instead, use the technique above. You'll be out of the kitchen an hour earlier than you have been at previous feasts. Your turkey will be sensual with juice. And you'll be a most impressive host for the next national holiday -- the Academy Awards, March 26.
Karen's Sausage, Black Olive and Walnut Stuffing
(Adapted from ''THE TASTE OF AMERICA,'' BY JOHN L. HESS AND KAREN HESS, VIKING, 1977.)
1 pound bulk pork sausage
1 turkey liver, minced
1 cup onions, peeled and chopped
1/2 cup celery, very thinly sliced
1 teaspoon fresh thyme, chopped
1 loaf good bread, sliced
1 cup mild, pitted California-style black olives, sliced
1 cup walnut pieces
1/2 cup Italian parsley, chopped
2 tablespoons Cognac or 4 tablespoons Madeira, port or dry sherry
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1/2 to 1 cup stock, depending on desired moistness.
1. Cook the sausage and the minced turkey liver in a large heavy pan over medium heat, stirring until cooked and making sure the sausage meat is well broken up, about 12 minutes.
2. Add the onions, celery and thyme and cook, stirring frequently, until the onions are tender and pale yellow, about 10 minutes.
3. Toast the bread slices and dice; you should have about 3 cups. Place the sausage mixture in a bowl and add the bread.
4. Add the olives, walnut pieces, Italian parsley, Cognac, salt and pepper.
5. Add enough stock so the stuffing will hold together in the bird.
Yield: About 4 cups.
