How to Cook a Turkey

How To Cook a Turkey¹

¹with holiday tips

By Amanda Tackett                                                           

 

Congratulations, you’re about to cook a holiday turkey.  Perhaps your first.  Perhaps not.²

Either way, I’ve perfected an idiot-proof way to cook a bird.  Join me in this culinary adventure.³ 

 

Ingredients:

 

What you will “need”:

 

• 1 turkey.⁴  (duh)  (Stick with a 10-15 lb bird unless you hate your family and want leftovers until March.)
• 1 roasting pan. (If you got one for a wedding gift, measure your oven to make sure it fits.)  (duh)  (I recommend one of those disposable aluminum things.)⁵
• Water.  (Don’t ask me to give you an amount, I’ll explain later.)
• A shitload of tinfoil.⁶

 

Optional:

 

• Browning sauce.⁷
• A stick of butter.⁸
• Salt and pepper.⁹

 

Suggested:

 

• Margaritas.

 

Directions:

 

Three days before you plan to eat this bitch:¹⁰  Defrost it.  (duh) ¹¹

 

The day before, get ready.  You’re about to be a superstar. ¹²

 

The evening before the big meal, relax, have a margarita.  Then, cut the plastic off the turkey, and wash it.¹³

 

At 9:30 p.m. (sharp), preheat your oven to 500 degrees.  Then, have another margarita.

 

While you are copping a buzz, put the turkey in the roasting pan.   If you want the turkey to be brown, just for aesthetic reasons, rub the skin with the browning stuff that I said was optional, otherwise skip it.  If you are going to make real giblet gravy, then shove the stick of butter up the turkey’s ass.   If not, skip it, and leave the turkey’s ass alone.   Including the butter now will save you time tomorrow.

 

Now, you’re looking at a roasting pan with a dead bird in it.  You’re thinking, I’m not sure I can pull this off. ¹⁴

 

So, here’s where you put the water in…it depends on your turkey and the pan.    You want an inch of water in the bottom of the pan.  An inch is about the length of the tip of your thumb. ¹⁵

 

Now comes the foil part.  Spread out a length of foil on your counter.  It needs to be long enough to center the whole turkey in the pan on the foil, cover the top, and have an inch or two to crimp it shut.  Don’t scrimp.  If you went horizontal the first time, go vertical the next time, or vice versa.  Basically, you are going to build a big foil tent over the turkey.  Keep doing this on the diagonals until the entire turkey and pan are tented and fully covered, and pinch all of the seams closed.¹⁶

 

At 10 p.m.  Put your turkey/foil sculpture in the oven.  If it’s a 10 lb turkey, you cook it for 2 hours.  For a 15 lb. turkey, it’s 3, and adjust accordingly, try doing the math.  So, depending on the weight of your turkey, you can watch the news, Letterman, and a cheesy re-run while you have another margarita.  If you have a time cook setting on the oven, use it.  Go to bed.  Stop drinking.  You should be ashamed of yourself.  If not, you have to stay awake long enough to turn the off.

 

Here is the most important part of this helpful holiday cooking guide:

 

DO NOT OPEN THE OVEN DOOR until after 10 a.m. the next day ¹⁷

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND PUTTING A NOTE ON THE OVEN DOOR THAT SAYS, “IF YOU OPEN THIS DOOR, I WILL KILL YOU.”

 

At 10 a.m. the next day, take an Advil and some B vitamins for your margarita hangover.  Swear under your breath that you will never drink again.  Liar.  Remove the turkey tent from the oven.  Unwrap the foil.  When you get down to the bird, you will notice it is very delicate, hence my “no ceremonial carving” recommendation.  Lay out a platter or cutting board.  CAREFULLY, with both hands, lift the turkey and set it on the platter or carving board.  (It will be warm, but not so hot that it will burn you.)  At this point, you will realize that it is so tender and juicy, it will literally fall off the bone.  With your hands, you will be able to remove almost all of the meat.  You can sort it between dark and light, although I just pile it up in a turkey meat free- for- all.  You can discard the skin…see, that’s why you don’t need that browning stuff unless your parents are there, and they fear initially ugly food.  Save the juice in the pan.  This is what you will use to make gravy.

 

 

Amanda’s Commentary and Holiday Tips:

 

²Which means you can’t cook.  Why you’ve asked me for help is a mystery.  Can I suggest catering?

³Unless you are smart, and choose catering.

⁴Just get a cheap one.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a “designer” turkey.  Serve booze.  No one will know the difference.

⁵Okay, moment of truth, the first year I made a turkey, I got an awesome 32 inch roaster as a wedding gift, and only figured out on Thanksgiving Day my oven was 28 inches wide.

⁶Look, you don’t want to do more dishes than are absolutely necessary.  Don’t even recycle that crap.  (Alternate:  if your family is really annoying, use a “real” pan, don’t wash it, and they will leave by 10 a.m. Saturday, guaranteed.)

⁷Screw the “green” people.  This is no time to worry about the environment, or aluminum residue in food.  You have people coming, and they’ll be hungry.  And, by the time memory loss sets in, you’ll be old, and you won’t care.

⁸You can get this on the grocery aisle where they sell “instant” gravy.  Be advised, there will be geriatrics on this aisle.  Only do this if your family has some kind of ceremonial carving thing.  Otherwise, skip it.  I don’t recommend ceremonial carving.  You’ll understand why later.

⁹It’s turkey.  It tastes like turkey.  No matter what you do, you won’t be able to overcome that fact.

¹⁰For Thanksgiving, that’s Monday.  For Christmas, that’s either the 21^st or 22^nd.  If you buy the turkey within a week of your event, you can just stick it in the fridge.  It will be okay.  I would like to take this opportunity to tell you that the first time I tried to make a turkey, I didn’t defrost it.  Don’t be like me.  Your whole family could die.  If you had my family, that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  IJS.

¹¹I’m guessing you’re young.  To prevent death by salmonella, take it out of the freezer, and put it in the fridge.

¹²I would like to take this opportunity to say that Martha Stewart SUCKS.  This ain’t brain surgery.  Anyone with a staff of 50 people can make a cute wreath with crap hot glued on other crap.  This turkey recipe?  It’s easy.  Plan your wardrobe accordingly.

¹³I only recommend this because I’m a little OCD.  Don’t use soap.  When you do this, take the plastic bag with “giblets” out of the turkey.  This can be found up the turkey’s ass.  True story, the first time I made a turkey, along with being not defrosted, I also left the plastic bag in the turkey with the giblets.  Experts will tell you this can poison your family.  I attribute any dain bramage my husband has to our first turkey.  Throw away the instructions that came with the turkey.  They are hard, they don’t work, and they will make you feel inferior.

¹⁴ I’m here to tell you, yes, you can.  Get a hold of yourself.

¹⁵Don’t over-think this step.  It’s just water.

¹⁶Tap into your inner Girl Scout.  You want that bitch sealed up tight in the foil.  Got it?

¹⁷ Look, I know you.  You want to peek.  You figure one little peek won’t hurt, right?  WRONG. DON’T DO IT.  The intense heat of the initial cooking period brings the meat to the core temp necessary to “roast” the meat and kill bacteria.  It’s the STEAM that makes the turkey edible.  If you open that door, you’ll ruin the bird, and I’m not responsible for the outcome.  Remember when your mom told you not to touch the hot stove?  That the boy in 7^th grade with severe acne and braces would break your heart?  This advice is given in that spirit.

The Doctor is In

“You weren’t there, Karen,” he said, “she tried to kill me.” He would be Todd, from Boston. 

Todd and Karen, my sister in law, were newly married, and at that precise moment were in the midst of a heated discussion in a tiny bathroom in a typical OKC home.  Todd was balancing himself on the toilet, not using it, but had shimmied onto the seat to close the window in the event Karen’s family, my family, a bunch of lunatics, had escaped the asylum and could hear him from the yard.  He feared they were closing in on all sides. They’d retreated to that tiny nook in the house because it was the only door with a lock.  Todd was scared out of his wits.

Bob

“Don’t you know who I am?”

The answer to that question is almost always, “No.” And, can usually be followed by one of the following phrases, and stop it, I don’t care, or get the hell out of here.   Most of the time, when someone says it, it means, I’m a nobody, and I want to be somebody. Pay attention to me.  I’m a midlevel cube farmer in the valley, but I want to be more.  I heard a man say it once, and he was a somebody.  His name was Bob.

I was 19 years old, and a student at Richland College.

It had all started with a panicky phone call from one of my gay friends, and by gay I don’t mean happy.    Back in the day, before cell phones and text messages, at any moment, I could get one of those calls.  Liza Minelli was in rehab again, there were size 15 pumps on clearance somewhere, Tina was coming in concert, I need a ride Hunky’s Burgers…  It was always something. 

“Get over here right now,” he pleaded. 

“I’m busy, I have to study.  I don’t have time for this right now.  Like, no…” These were my standard responses to Warren.

“Please,” a dramatic begging tone tinged Warren’s voice, “I don’t know if I can hold him off much longer.”  I heard the sound of breaking glass and a loud male voice in the background.

The Bait and Switch

I perched smugly on the patio of Primo’s one evening a few years back listening to my Girl’s Night crowd complain in stereo about the general “maleness” of their husbands and significant others.  “Now, football season is starting again,” one said with frozen margarita dripping down her chin, “and baseball, never seems to end…”  “Hockey!” exclaimed a member of the sisterhood to no one in particular.  “And, the endless golf…”  “And what’s the deal with extreme fighting?” They suddenly turned their attention to me, “You’re awfully quiet for a change…”  “Girls, please,” I shook my head, “my man doesn’t watch sports or any of that.  He’s not that way at all.” 

“Is he gay?” Their mocking chorus drilled into me.

Madonna and Child

There’s got to be a burgeoning 12 step program somewhere for me.  I know better than to go to Neiman’s to shop for cosmetics.  Like a moth to a flame, I just can’t help myself. Remember this?

It started last month.  It’s all Frederic’s fault.  Back in June I was suckered lured, enticed into meeting the legendary celebrity stylist at an in-store event.  I wasn’t insulted, not even once.  He even said I had great hair and beautiful eyes.  I blame that one complimentary phrase for what happened next.

While basking in the glory of my gorgeous hair and peepers, one of the Barbies mentioned casually, that Madonna’s personal make-up artist, , would be in Dallas on June 19^th, at the store, giving advice.  I was further informed that Gina Brooke (pictured) is coincidentally the artistic director of Shu Uemura.  (Can you say cha-ching?) I like Shu Uemura so much I blew my whole stash of InCirlce points last year on a kit that came with Swarovski crystal in-laid feather eyelashes and a gold eyelash curler.  Just the thing every stay-at-home mother needs, don’t you agree?

Moth, meet flame.  I booked an appointment post haste. 

Let me pause and say this, I don’t really like Madonna.  At all.  I used to, I think, a long, long, long time ago…back in her “Lucky Star” days.  But that was a long, long, long time ago.  She pushed me over the Borderline.  My subsequent attempts to embrace The Material Girl…eh, not so much.  Oh, let’s see, I’ll sum it up for you, there ‘s been:  Enough Black Rubber Bracelets to Destroy Life on Planet Earth, Mousse and Perms: Don’t Try This at Home (aka Why My Yearbook Pictures From 1986 Suck), Simulated Sex at the MTV Awards (aka Nice.Dress.), The Black Jesus (aka Getting Dumped by Pepsi), Can’t She Afford and Orthodontist Yet? Aka (Seriously? Is She British), Could You Leave Your Hair Alone (aka Cuffs and Collar Don’t Match), Sean Penn, Dick Tracy (aka, She Never Met a Dick She Wouldn’t Tracy), Warren Beatty, Truth or Dare (aka Why Amanda Should Never Say “You’re So Fired” to Her Boss), Dennis Rodman (aka Seriously, You Didn’t See That Coming?), her book Sex (aka Oh My Eyes), There Are Some Things I Don’t Need to Know About Sandra Bernhardt, Your Trainer (aka, Couldn’t You Find a Better Sperm Donor), What Ever Happened to Her (aka That’s Some Good Peeing, alternate title, There’s No Crying in Baseball), There Are Some Things I Don’t Need to Know About Rosie O’Donell, Who The Hell is Trudie Styler (aka Sting is Still Hot), Who The Hell is Stella McCartney (aka Oh, She Moved to England), That Explains the Teeth (aka Stereotypes Have a Shred of Truth), Cougar Alert (How She Scored Guy Ritchie), They Can Have Her, Why We Should Require Parents to Take a Qualifying Test (aka Rocco, Are You Sure About That), That Always Happens to Me at Clubs (aka Ray of Light), Oh, Now She’s an Expert on Kids Too, What’s the Deal With Kaballah (aka I’m Confused, if She’s So Religious Why is She French Kissing Britney Spears), What Now She’s a Designer? (aka, Nordstrom Will Never be Neiman’s and Here’s Why), Alex Rodriguez  (aka At Least It Wasn’t Derek Jeter), Homewrecker…and in three simple words:  Too.  Much.  Drama.

A waste of my time, a life so completely contrived it makes me nauseous.

But as usual, I digress.  I’ll hand it to Madonna, she’s been around for a long, long, long time.   

I used this analysis to justify my impending consultation with Gina Brooke.  After all, if Madonna, nearing 50, can look like that, I needed to do this.  I had to do this.  For you.