This is one of the columns I wrote for my local newspaper back in the day. I thought is would make an appropriate preview of my forthcoming book, a collection of my columns, given the time of year and…
Since Thanksgiving is just around the corner and Christmas is in the not too distant future, thoughts of family gatherings around the table bring mostly happy memories to mind. This made me think it was time for a Chef Boyardee story. This man, single-handedly, almost turned me into a vegetarian but because of my personal fortitude, I still love turkey and all the trimmings, as long as Chef B. is nowhere near the kitchen.
This story took place at Christmas time some 25 odd years ago when we got a copy of Pierre Berton’s turkey recipe. Special costly ingredients are required and preparation is lengthy. Most would agree it is worth it. However, with Chef B. on the job, it is debatable. He insisted on preparing the turkey and I saw no point in arguing with a chef in a creative mood. The following is the result.
Chef B. followed the instructions to the letter then put the turkey in a 550 degree oven to brown. Once browned, he coated it with a special paste and returned it to a 325 degree oven. The paste dries quickly and the procedure is repeated until the paste is finished. This method cuts the cooking time in half. A special warm basting mixture is then applied every 15 minutes until it too is finished. Chef B. also managed to paste and baste himself to the floor and the oven. The result was that halfway through the cooking process, the oven began to smoke. Soon our eyes were watery as we coughed and spluttered. Solution? Open all doors and windows to clear the air but it was one of the coldest, snowiest days of winter. We soon began to freeze while throwing snowballs in the house. We had to close the doors and windows, but we were faced with the smoke problem again. We alternated between opening and closing for the remainder of the cooking time.
Finally the masterpiece was ready and at first glance our hearts sank. It was burned beyond recognition or so we thought, but once the black paste was peeled away, there lay beneath a golden brown, succulent, aromatic turkey, the like of which you have never tasted.
Chef B. removed the turkey from the oven but because it was very hot, heavy and slippery, he had a difficult time controlling the movements of the bird and himself. The turkey slithered off the pan which caused the chef to do contortions, just to keep it off the floor. This is obviously where the Macarena originated. He barely got it to the counter when the legs came apart (the bird’s, not the chef’s). Down it plopped and he was left with the legs in his hands. He then tried to maneuver the turkey onto a plate but because it was so tender and juicy, it kept slithering. As more and more turkey fell to the floor, our faithful dog, ever at the ready, went for the kill right under Chef B’s legs. The chef tripped over her and suddenly the turkey wings took the bird on a flight of fancy. Chef B. managed to catch it but as he banged it down on the counter, my good china crashed to the floor along with more of the turkey. The dog hastily retreated but with so much turkey on the floor, she quickly advanced again. Chef B. and the dog ended up on all fours battling it out over our dinner.
Suddenly the rest of us lost our appetites. The look on Chef B’s face told us we were going to eat turkey which we did. It was indescribably delicious.
Now because I am not a selfish person, I am willing to share this magnificent grease stained recipe with anyone desiring to taste this epicurean delight. There is only one stipulation – Chef B. goes along with it.
Rita Writes 