Turkey most fowl

You know those feelings you just can't shake?  Like, say, you're trapped in some sort of infernal turkey machine?  I do too, but I'm much better, thank you, now that my wife and I have finished the last of our eighteen pound Thompson turkey.

To my loyal readers (whoever you may be), I invite you to recall the torture that was cooking a Thompson turkey (click here to refresh your memory).  It was at least ten hours of shopping and chopping, dicing and stirring, and pasting and basting.  And the turkey was good, don't get me wrong, but eighteen pounds of it (does it sound more intimidating when I call it 8172 grams?) is way, way too much.  Imagine, if you will, chocolate; heck, imagine your favourite food in the whole, wide world.  Now, focus, and imagine having to eat eighteen pounds of it in a week.

It actually got to a point where I felt like some sort of cross between Bubba Blue (the shrimp-loving soldier in Forrest Gump) and Sisyphus (the rock-rolling character of Greek myth).  In my version, I wasn't condemned to futilely roll a rock uphill, I was condemned to eat turkey, and to keep having to come up with new ways to prepare the damn thing: turkey cheddar sandwiches, turkey stock (which we now have so much of we're kind of the turkey stock equivalent of Saudi Arabia), turkey stuffing casserole, turkey jook, turkey quesadillas, turkey bacon sandwiches, turkey pot pie....

That shit really wears a man down, especially since I'm not exaggerating when I say I ate every damn one of those things, most of them more than once, and the sandwiches at least four or five times.

That's not to say there weren't some highlights during this "learning experience."  The turkey pot pie was my wife's creation, and she really did a fantastic job preparing a dish I generally don't enjoy.  What's her secret?  Well, aside from using generous amounts of onion, carrot, celery, and green beans, my wife substituted mashed potatoes for the pastry and added a scant teaspoon of smoked paprika to the sauce.

Note to hardcore foodies: the sauce my wife made for the pot pie is technically a turkey velouté (that's French for "tasty sauce that makes pot pie bearable"), one of the five "Mother Sauces."

The leftovers lowlight is definitely the turkey stuffing casserole. That was entirely my bad, and I don't know what made me think it might be palatable.  The dish is leftover turkey and Thompson turkey stuffing mixed with a can of cream of mushroom soup, and topped with some panko bread crumbs and shredded cheese.  I have no photos of this dish, and even if I did, I'd never show them.

The turkey jook (aka: congee) was pretty good.  The recipe came largely from The Ulimate Rice Cooker Cookbook, and is made with turkey stock, turkey meat, carrots, cabbage, and ginger, which is then topped with a little green onion.  I made this dish using my fancy-pants, Japanese rice cooker, a device so cool that it merits its own post (wait for it!).  Unfortunately this is the last of the turkey dishes, so I probably didn't appreciate it to its fullest, but I still found it immensely satisfying, especially on a cold, wet day.

Truth be told, I have to admit I still have one more serving of jook left, and I plan to have it for lunch tomorrow.  Nonetheless, as I gaze upon the turkey-free horizon, I'm reminded of a convict the night before his release.  The walls of his cell must begin to feel somewhat illusory, freedom must seem so close it can be tasted.  Well, I too am beginning to taste freedom, and let me tell you, it sure as hell tastes nothing like turkey.

Comments

[Jill]

I love turkey and even I can not fathom trying to eat that much of it. Or trying to think of 8 million different ways to use the leftovers. At least you two are creative - I would have just made soup! And I'm excited to hear about your fancy pants rice cooker.

[Rachel]

Rob has kind of glossed over the congee. It's a traditional Chinese rice porridge/gruel (wow, why didn't our friends take us up on our dinner invite when they heard that description?). It's a terribly comforting dish, but the texture can be a little challenging. I've had traditional congee prepared from someone from the north of China, where they don't season it very much, and I couldn't deal with the viscous mouthfeel. I started gagging. However, zestily seasoned with lots of tasty things in it and sprinkled with some sesame salt, it's great. I've really enjoyed the conggee I've had in several Toronto-area restaurants, where they often serve it with long churro-like fritters for dipping.
Leftover congee, if prepared on the dry side, can be formed into little cakes and pan-fried the next day, similar to Italian arancini.
Sesame salt is coarse salt ground with toasted sesame seeds, a very Asian flavour.