The great turkey adventure, part two.

My folks were properly aghast when presented with the monster bird. After we ooh’ed and aah’ed over it for a bit, the refrigerator was reconfigured and the turkey was introduced to its new temporary home. We adjourned to the living room with beers in hand, where I outlined my doubts about the practicality of brining it. My dad, sensing a challenge, overruled my objections, and a couple of hours later, the turkey was resting comfortably wrapped in a giant plastic bag filled with water, salt, and sugars, and nestled into a Coleman cooler surrounded by ice. I bade farewell to the bird and my family, and headed back to civilization to worry some more.


Brine. I think we used 12 gallons or so.


Who knew giant prehistoric turkeys could swim?

On Wednesday, when I was off work, the preparations commenced. Rob and I went to Home Depot, turkey measurements on hand, in the hopes of finding a charcoal grill that could accommodate Tomzilla. Failing that, another plan was hatched. We would employ two Weber kettle grills, and Rob, bless his soul, would handle the pre-cooking decapitation. All seemed well. We spent the evening prepping foodstuffs, and replies to invites rolled in all day- around 20 people were expected at this point, so I was confident that the bird would be well enjoyed.

Thanksgiving morning, pouring rain, everyone’s late… And then, suddenly…. It all came together. The bird was halved, the grills were situated under umbrellas, the smoke started rising… And it was beautiful. Everything fell together, people came, they drank wine, they snacked, they laughed, and finally, they Ate.


Rob takes apart Tomzilla


And people say I have big, uh, never mind.


Solution. Beauty.


Yes. yes. YES.


So. Was it worth it? Could the experience of eating this bird possibly justify the driving, the cost, the stress, and the problem-solving needed to bring it to the table? Will the great turkey adventure bear repeating next year?

Two words: Hell. Yes. Besides all the reasoning I outlined in the initial turkey blog, that was easily by FAR the best turkey I have ever had in my life. The texture of the breast meat was unlike any I’ve had from my grocer’s freezer- somehow denser, and so incredibly moist. The flavor was amazing, and the meat literally melted on my tongue. People were swooning and crying, offering up their firstborn in exchange for a second serving, swearing to never eat again- it was like a poultry Apocalypse of deliciousness. Maybe I exaggerate here, but seriously, not by much.

If you’re curious, come by next year when we do it all again. I doubt you’ll be disappointed.

The great turkey adventure, part one

Let’s follow up on that turkey, shall we?

I drove up to Kimber’s on the Saturday before Thanksgiving with high hopes and a giant cooler. When Kimberly brought the bird out to my car, I thought it looked pretty big- but it wasn’t until it was nestled into the cooler that I realized just how big it was. It was like a relic from prehistoric times (when squirrels were big enough to take off your arm in one bite, and the cockroaches were so big they stepped on YOU*). The legs were each easily as big around as my calf; the whole bird was bigger than my torso. We looked at the tag attached to the top of the bag- 30 pounds, on the dot. I had been expecting a bird 2/3 that size, at most, and I have never seen a hunk of poultry that large that wasn’t still squawking and trying to peck out my eyes (I was very nearly killed by an ostrich once, but that’s a story for another blog on another day). I imagined, just for a second, that perhaps there had been some mistake; maybe they had butchered an emu for me instead… Hmm, I wonder what an emu would taste like on the Weber? But no, no, those were real wings, not the vestigial appendages of a giant flightless bird.


Note the tag...


My brief emu fantasy shattered, I stared at this monster for a moment, trying to take it all in, and goodness knows what my face was showing, (panic? fear? lust?) because Kimberly glanced at me for less than a second before quickly explaining (in reassuring tones) that ‘the birds didn’t cooperate this year, you actually got one of the smaller ones’. I laughed with her and handed her my check for the balance. As she walked away I commenced staring into the cooler again, trying to comprehend how on earth we were actually going to COOK this thing.

On the drive out to my personal poultry storage facility (AKA mom & dad’s giant new refrigerator) my mind brimmed with possibilities and doubts. Were we going to have enough people to eat this thing? How were we going to brine it? It was barely going to fit into the fridge already. Dry-brining was a maybe, but I was nervous about trying a new method on this precious adventure. How were we going to cook it? There was no way it would fit on the grill in its current configuration, and my oven at home has nowhere near the capacity for such a robust beast. My experience with deconstructing raw poultry is limited, and the thought of me clumsily destroying the crowning jewel of our Thanksgiving table before it had touched heat or flame was depressing at best. I was starting to wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew. Panic set in as I thought of the vast array of possible disasters, and my eyes brimmed with tears.

By the time I pulled into the driveway at Casa de Schultz, my nerves had calmed considerably. Between the folks on hand, with our many years of Thanksgiving successes (mom & dad), mad technical cooking skills (Rob), and unquenchable optimism (me, most of the time), we would beat this thing into submission. And deliciousness. Oh, yes.


Me, a torso-sized bird, and my dad, another big turkey :)




*I am scared to death of squirrels, and I’m overly fond of Yakov Smirnoff jokes