Dont be squeamish this Thanksgiving — learn to…
I admit: Never in a million years may I put the “butch” in “butcher.”
But there’s something more genuine, probably fulfilling and perhaps even enjoyable about going full Pilgrim and throwing your self into Thanksgiving preparations in one of the most old-school methods doable. Who wants a Butterball when you may even have a ball by prepping your vacation chicken from scratch?
Still, when I agreed to a one-on-one turkey-butchering demonstration by the Thanksgiving-forward foodies at Leland Eating and Drinking House in Brooklyn — I used to be unexpectedly served a heaping facet of horror.
“We have an apron for you, and wear non-slip shoes or sneakers of some sort,” the restaurant’s rep warned me in an e-mail.
What in the blood-splattered depths of Freddy Krueger’s “A Nightmare on Elm Street” was I getting myself into?
Post Deputy Lifestyle Editor Eric Hegedus and Delfin Jaranilla, associate and chef at Leland Eating and Drinking House, pose before getting to work. Stefano Giovannini
Sure, I like to cook, but I’d never tried critical surgical procedure on a carcass before; slathering butter on a freshly unwrapped, intact Cornish hen and tossing it into a 400-degree oven was the sum complete of any experience I might need.
And while I do come from a household of hunters — cousins in my native Pennsylvania have bagged many a turkey and buck before giving them a remaining kitchen send-off — I’d never volunteered to decide up a shotgun and be part of them as they went traipsing through the woods in search of dinner.
I believe they have been good enough not to invite me, too. That primal pastime would be means an excessive amount of for a metropolis boy like me, who usually wears seven rings scattered across his two palms and only dons an apron to keep away from the splash of simmering pasta sauce.
I’m also a klutz who has cut through the tip of his left thumb thrice — two requiring stitches — while dicing onions and peppers. And I attempted not to take it as an omen that I broke a consuming glass at work just 4 hours before my scheduled turkey tutorial.
Yet I needed to earn at least a little butchering cred — and perhaps even inspire others to give it a self-satisfying shot — quite than just boasting about basting a chicken.
And, actually: How off-putting — and harmful — may it probably be?
Jaranilla shows a Heritage turkey, prepared for its reckoning by knife. Stefano Giovannini
Jaranilla prepares for his poultry’s reckoning by knife. Stefano Giovannini
When I arrived at the Prospect Heights eatery and ventured to the basement bakery-cum-butcher station, where I used to be surrounded by trays of fresh-baked bread and containers of sugar and flour, I rapidly realized — with a lot aid — I wouldn’t be dealing with a fresh-from-the-farm turkey with feathers, gnarly talons, snood (the weird nostril overhang) and wattle still intact. That’s left to farms and processing plants with staff who are paid to deal with the most grisly slaughtering eventualities.
Let us give thanks!
Instead, my affected person instructor — restaurant associate and chef Delfin Jaranilla — introduced me with a almost 16-pound, plucked and cleaned Bronze turkey (let’s affectionately title him Tom), raised by Frank Reese at Good Shepherd Poultry Ranch in Kansas and supplied by the famed Heritage Foods.
But after tying on my apron and donning a camouflaged cap to match one worn by my teacher, I also fearful it wouldn’t be a simple slice-and-dice scenario.
“This is a little daunting,” I said while gazing at my blessedly headless Tom, to which Jaranilla assured me, “Well, you’ll go slow. It’s easy to teach you a couple of really important lessons about poultry.”
Jaranilla demonstrates correct cutting approach. Stefano Giovannini
Hegedus then tries his hand at butchering his turkey, Tom (RIP). Stefano Giovannini
Keep in thoughts, this operation wasn’t going to resemble that traditional, Norman Rockwell portrait of a complete, cooked turkey being served tableside by grandpa in a swimsuit and tie and grandma in a frilly apron, prepared to slice it up for an overly enthusiastic household.
Instead, we might be making ready Tom in a turketta fashion — related to the Italian pork-roasting approach identified as porchetta, in which the meat is eliminated, flattened and then rolled into a log form, with darkish meat on the skin and fast-cooking gentle meat on the inside.
I used to be first tasked with snipping Tom’s tied legs and then used my proper hand to take away the neck, which was saved inside its cavity, surrounded by an avalanche of ice that rapidly froze my fingers, making extraction less nimble.
Worse, the bony, angled construction that I finally yanked from the poor chicken’s butt was disturbingly formed just like the creature that burst from John Hurt’s chest in the film “Alien.”
In space, no one can hear you scream — but in a kitchen, other cooks might hear you shriek.
The neck was formed like that terrifying film alien, Hegedus swears. Stefano Giovannini
Before we bought into full-on culinary carnage, courtesy of my exceptionally sharp Victorinox model knife, Jaranilla provided a good security tip about holding one: Position your hand a little larger so that you may place your thumb against the bottom of the blade, not on the deal with itself, for better control. (It works — attempt it.)
After posing for a photograph with our “weapons” — Jaranilla’s cheeky time period, not mine — it was time to take away meat from bone, which I had anticipated to be a more forceful, fervent course of.
“Using gravity is a big part of it, and making sure your tools are sharp,” Jaranilla said.
It was a helpful reminder that I’m clumsy and ought to steer my fingers far clear of the blade.
“Number one is you take shortcuts. Never take big, sweeping cuts,” I used to be instructed. “You’re going to take small, little precise cuts to find out where the joints give way.”
Jaranilla lends a watchful eye as our decided editor digs in, slowly but certainly. Stefano Giovannini
Newly topped chef Hegedus makes headway. Stefano Giovannini
The deboning approach concerned eradicating the wings, then rigorously slicing close to the breastbone and ribs to separate that meat before shifting on to the legs and thighs.
The course of was slow, meticulous and only minimally bloody — to my aid.
Plus, no lie: It made me respect the precision that surgeons need in an working room.
Granted, we weren’t dealing with life and death right here; sorry, Tom, but your destiny was sealed by others a number of states away. However, correctly cutting through turkey flesh isn’t a haphazard operation either, I discovered.
It takes effort, focus and endurance — as opposed to the slapdash enthusiasm of a horror-film serial killer.
Surprisingly, Tom’s surgical procedure lasted an hour and a half — the restaurant’s expert kitchen employees can get it performed a lot faster than that, of course — yet the method went by in a blur, leaving one steel tray crammed with discarded components and my picket butcher block holding the all-important, thinly-sliced meat I’d extracted.
And all of my fingers have been blessedly intact.
In the end, I sprinkled and massaged the meat with a seasoning of salt, pepper, Italian spices, and paprika, then rolled it into a tight log, tied it with six items of twine, and moved it to a steel tray for roasting.
The efficiently butchered turkey will get seasoned. Stefano Giovannini
Proud second: Hegedus and Jaranilla current the ultimate turketta-styled chicken. Stefano Giovannini
The roll approach is one that the restaurant swears by. For Thanksgiving, Leland prepares and serves about 16 turkeys at the restaurant, with the power to feed about 250 people, so it’s a time-saver.
“You’re basically going from a four-hour roast when you’re doing it whole to a 45-minute roast,” Jaranilla said.
“It’s a lot of front-loaded work like this in the beginning. But the reward later is when you are basically done cooking it, after we’ve rolled it up, roasted it properly — you don’t have to carve around any bones.”
The remaining roasted turkey roll, prepared for eating. Stefano Giovannini
Plus, there’ll be fewer fights over breast versus thigh.
“You don’t have to worry about, ‘OK, who’s going to get this part, who’s going to get that part?’ Every part of this bird is going to have a little bit of breast and a little bit of dark meat,” Jaranilla said.
The remaining product, I can attest, was juicy and scrumptious. And while it might not have the gravitas of a Rockwellian turkey — it frankly resembled a sleeping bag that was left too close to a campfire — at least it wasn’t almost as scary to prep as I’d feared.
Freddy Krueger would be disillusioned — but I undoubtedly was not.
Leland Eating and Drinking House is internet hosting its first-ever turkey-butchering class and five-course tasting dinner for 16 people at 6 p.m. Wednesday, Nov. 12. Cost: $125. Details at LelandBrooklyn.com.
The restaurant will also offer classes in pig butchering (Dec. 3) and duck butchering (Dec. 17).
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