Photograph by Lucia Bell-Epstein, Food Styling by Pearl Jones, and Prop Styling by Erica Lutz
If you’re reading this it means I finally cooked my very first turkey, an activity I successfully put off for more than 10 years. In that time I enrolled in and graduated from culinary school, cooked in restaurants with Michelin stars, hosted six Thanksgiving dinners, became an editor at this food magazine, and developed hundreds of recipes. Through all of it, I managed to dodge The Big Freaky Chicken (as I had taken to calling it) at every turn. Turkey remained a nemesis I couldn’t bring myself to face. I’ve never been sure exactly what accounts for my fear of this particular type of poultry. Is it the way the bird slithers disturbingly out of its plastic sheath? Is it the disproportionately large breasts? The severed neck stuffed into the cavity like the calling card of a brutal hit man? Or maybe because the first time I ate turkey I was 10, on holiday at Disneyland, and a group of people walked by wielding smoked turkey legs and I begged my parents to buy me one of these objects that I was fascinated by but didn’t yet know the name of. My dad hunted one down for me and I took a bite and immediately hated it but felt too guilty to admit it, so I choked it down with a lemonade, and that taste memory of excitement combined with disappointment and liquid smoke still haunts me. Who can say. All I know is that a few months ago I was eating oysters and I stopped to marvel that a human being, many centuries ago, saw this algae-encrusted shell and tried to eat it, not knowing if they would live or die at the end of this experiment. How brave. How very bold. I, too, desire to be brave and bold. I decided I must wade into uncharted territory. And what better way to exercise my resolve than facing the bird that everyone seems to care so much about this time of year.
And so I combed our vast archive for a recipe. As an otherwise confident cook who has roasted many a chicken, I knew what I was looking for. I wanted a dry brine, infinitely easier than soaking the turkey in a salty, makeshift bath. I also knew I didn’t want to cook the animal whole. Sure, it looks very Norman Rockwellian that way, but I wouldn’t be able to achieve juicy breasts and tender thighs with a bird of this size—it’s simple physics. The only way for me to comfortably deal with this overgrown chicken would be to break it down into manageable parts.
I settled on a recipe we published in 2016 from Ann Redding and Matt Danzer, the chefs of Thai Diner in NYC. It checked every box and came with some additional bonuses, like a bourbon-and-soy glaze that I knew would bake onto the skin like the glossy coat of a tempera painting, and an ingenious confit method for the legs.
On the chosen day I hoisted my 12-pound turkey onto the counter, took a very deep breath, and summoned the indomitable spirit of that pioneering Oyster Woman. Yes, there was pink liquid and that eerie neck, but disposable gloves and a few squares of paper towel helped a lot. I butchered it, seasoned it, and waited. The next day I simmered the legs on the stove with a head of garlic and slid the breasts into the oven to cook. I glazed them dutifully as they roasted, watching the sauce drip lazily over the meat before caramelizing. And just like that, almost anticlimactically, I had roasted my first turkey.
Sliced and arranged on a platter, it nearly brought a tear to my eye. Shiny, deeply browned skin against pearly flesh. Dark meat so tender it was falling off the bone. I rallied some colleagues to come coo over my efforts. We ate the turkey standing up, splashing it with Frank’s hot wing sauce because I couldn’t be bothered to make gravy, and let me tell you, I have never felt more accomplished than in that moment.
It’s hard to say if I’ll ever really be a certified Turkey Person. But if this big freaky bird taught me anything, it is that the only thing you can do is try. And some fears really can be conquered.
Turkey Takeaways
This year I cooked my first Thanksgiving turkey which means I walked away with plenty of insights to share. Here are my main takeaways that can help you tackle the turkey whether you’re doing it for the first time or you’re a seasoned pro looking for a few smart tips.
Smaller Is Better
Much of my fear around turkey stemmed from its hulking size. I couldn’t help but compare it to chicken, a bird whose gentle curves I was more familiar with, and then being shocked at its exaggerated proportions. Getting a smaller bird allayed these irrational fears immensely. A 15-pound turkey is the sweet spot. It’s manageable, feeds more than a dozen people, and you can always cook a second bird if necessary.
Setup Is Key
I know someone will roll their eyes at me for admitting this but sticking my hand inside a wet, cold, dead bird and excavating its plastic wrapped organs gives me the ick. How to get past this sensory nightmare? Having all my tools (paper towels, kitchen shears, knife, rimmed baking sheets and wire racks) and ingredients (salt and spices) arranged on the counter (and a trash can nearby!) before taking the bird out of the fridge helped me feel cool and confident. When it came time to deal with the innards, I rolled on a pair of disposable gloves and pretended to be a hotshot doctor on an episode of The Pitt. The delusion worked wonderfully.
Break It Down
A big brown turkey that looks like it walked off a magazine spread or glossy bird parts arranged on a platter? The desired visual of your Thanksgiving turkey is highly personal but my answer is always flavor over looks. It is for this reason I cut up my turkey into sections instead of roasting it whole. Separating the white and dark meat is always going to be more foolproof than trying to get both to the ideal temperature at the same time.
Don’t Stress the Temp
By the time everyone sits down to dinner, they’ve likely filled up on their fair share of mixed nuts, sweaty charcuterie board cheese, and family gossip. No one will care if the food isn’t piping hot (except for the mashed potatoes–those always need to be served steaming). So roast that turkey early and get it out of the way; uncarved, it will stay plenty warm for a surprisingly long time. A good rule of thumb is to pull your turkey out of the oven right when your first guest arrives. As a bonus, the oven is now free for baking garlic bread biscuits or cabbage wedges.
I came, I saw, I conquered. I am so proud of myself for finally roasting a turkey. If this year will be your first time too, know that I am right beside you in spirit, cheering you on. And in case you decide to chicken out at the last minute (see what I did there?), I’ve put together a turkey-free menu for you to celebrate with.
Originally Appeared on Bon Appétit
