Living a Spatchcocked Life
It was a Wednesday night, and I was uptown teaching a group of women about poultry. This advanced class was half-filled with former students, some from the semester before and some from semesters ago. I'm always thrilled to see old students return, hungry for another helping.
I was extolling the virtues of one of my favorite techniques, spatchcocking. Spatchcocking is exactly the same as butterflying, where you remove the backbone and flatten the bird to cook it evenly and quickly. But it's not nearly as fun to say, so I insist on calling in spatchcocking even though no one understands what I’m talking about. Use it in a sentence the next time you’re at a dinner party and see if the host doesn’t threaten to take away your wine. Spatchcock spatchcock spatchcock.
To prepare, we cut the backbone right out of the 12-pound bird, and laid that turkey flat on a sheet pan (with the aforementioned spine). We roasted that winged beast for 1hour and 20 minutes and guess what? It was perfect; the elusive moist turkey was completely cooked in less than 90 minutes (I love this technique – try using it to cook a 3 1/2 pound chicken in half an hour).
When the bird came out, one of the more vigilant students looked at the roasted backbone, crinkled her nose, and said, “What are you going to do with THAT?” I told her I was planning to eat it, and she shook her head.
I took out my cleaver, started hacking the thing into bite-sized pieces and said, “You know my rule, sugar. That means you get the first bite.” She turned to some of the newer students and warned them to keep their mouth shut when they didn’t want to try something.
We passed a platter of turkey poppers around the room, and soon I had a classroom filled with the slurping sounds of women sucking the marrow from a turkey’s backbone. They were trying something new, and they were into it. I just liked that they tried it – honestly, I’d be just as happy if they hated the thing. In my class, you get big points for trying.
Because for some reason, in our culture of plenty, we’ve decided that it’s perfectly acceptable to be closed to certain types of food. Not long ago I was cornered by a terrific home cook at a dinner party who confessed that though the smell of lamb is like perfume to her, she is surrounded by friends and relatives who refuse to even try it. This woman is not alone, and it's not just about meat; I’ve catered top drawer dinners where plates leave the kitchen with perfect roasted asparagus and return with denuded stalks. Was it insulting to ladies of a certain class to presume they might eat an entire vegetable?
I thought it was our responsibility, as humans, to enjoy the bounties of land, sea and air; to suck the marrow out of life! I mean, aren’t the children still starving in Africa? I thought we were supposed to be appreciative and thankful for what arrives on our plates.
Consider for a moment how you might react to the following:
“Oh no, Leo and I don’t like the ocean; we’re not water people. We love looking at the four walls of our home, where we can sit on the sectional and watch cable (we just upgraded). We were invited to the Vineyard once, but we declined. No, we try to stay away from the whole water thing; lakes, rivers, even small puddles just don’t agree with our constitutions. And let me tell you; the rain? No, we get terrible indigestion the next morning. Not that we’ve tried it, of course.”
“Music? Sure. I love Britney…and Christina. I used to be really into Menudo. Love the remake of “boots” by Jessica Simpson. I guess I don’t really know much that isn’t on the radio. Beatles were good in the beginning, but then they got, I don’t know, edgy. Early Motown was great, so peppy, but you compare that to rap, and ooooh…I don’t know, it just makes me nervous. Can’t listen to the stuff. Won’t even go into a clothing store where they play it. Classical? Jazz? No, never tried.”
And then there’s the most obvious of food metaphors, sex. Just ask a guy what he thinks when he takes a woman to dinner and she orders a salad: “No, I don’t need an entrée. I don’t eat that much.” Or to sushi: “Mmm..I’m not into raw fish. Never tried it, actually, but I guess I could order a California roll or some teriyaki.” Or at upscale café: “Lamb? It’s gamey. I don’t really like food with that much…flavor.” Observe as he softly sighs and checks his watch.
I remember going to a dinner with another couple, years ago, at this wonderful fish place in San Francisco. Oysters were on the menu, and so I suggested we order a dozen for the table. The other man at the table (clearly no one that I would date) said that he would prefer that we didn’t order them, as he didn’t like oysters.
Maybe it was the look on my face – like I’d been slapped, because in short order, out the story came…that in fact, he didn’t like anything about oysters; the way they looked, smelled; the texture that just freaks him out, and that briney sea flavor, yick!
By the end of his rant, he had loosened his tie, thrown off his collar stays, and thick streams of sweat were coming from his temples. If I could only lean across the table and lick his neck, I would have enjoyed that oystery brine I so desperately sought.
All I could do was look across the table at his girlfriend, soon to be wife, and mouth the words, “I’m sorry.” As he got increasingly heated on the topic of shellfish, it became clear that this woman would be in the cold regarding certain pleasures of the flesh.
Personally, I could never trust a guy who wasn’t into trying something new, especially in the raw fish domain. An appetite for food, for new experiences, is an appetite for life.
Spatchcocked Roast Turkey
by Allison Fishman, The Wooden Spoon
Serves: 10 - 14
1 12-pound turkey
5 garlic cloves, peeled and mashed (with the side of a knife or in a mini chop)
5 sprigs thyme, leaves reserved separated from sprigs
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper to taste
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1. Heat oven to 450 degrees. Put turkey on a stable cutting board breast side down and cut out backbone and reserve. Turn turkey over, and press on the keel bone to flatten (you will feel it snap). Place, breast side up, on a large sheet pan; tuck the wings behind the head (think like a cop: “put your hands behind your head!”), and turn the legs out so that the drumsticks look like their knees are knocking.
2. In a small bowl, combine garlic and thyme, and liberal amounts of salt and pepper. Add 1/4 cup oil to make a paste. Separate the skin from the breast and legs of the bird, and massage the seasoning paste into the flesh of the bird.
3. Tuck thyme branches under the bird and in the nooks of the wings and legs. Drizzle skin with remaining olive oil and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Season backbone, and place on the sheet pan with the turkey.
4. Roast for 20 minutes, undisturbed. Turkey should begin to brown. Reduce heat to 400 degrees (if turkey browns too quickly, cover bird with foil), and continue cooking.
5. Begin to check turkey’s temperature about 40 minutes later. (It is done when breast meat registers 160 on an instant-read thermometer.
6. Remove turkey from pan and let the bird rest for at least 15 minutes before carving.
TO MAKE A PAN GRAVY: Please see recipe for And Then We Made A Gravy.
I was extolling the virtues of one of my favorite techniques, spatchcocking. Spatchcocking is exactly the same as butterflying, where you remove the backbone and flatten the bird to cook it evenly and quickly. But it's not nearly as fun to say, so I insist on calling in spatchcocking even though no one understands what I’m talking about. Use it in a sentence the next time you’re at a dinner party and see if the host doesn’t threaten to take away your wine. Spatchcock spatchcock spatchcock.
To prepare, we cut the backbone right out of the 12-pound bird, and laid that turkey flat on a sheet pan (with the aforementioned spine). We roasted that winged beast for 1hour and 20 minutes and guess what? It was perfect; the elusive moist turkey was completely cooked in less than 90 minutes (I love this technique – try using it to cook a 3 1/2 pound chicken in half an hour).
When the bird came out, one of the more vigilant students looked at the roasted backbone, crinkled her nose, and said, “What are you going to do with THAT?” I told her I was planning to eat it, and she shook her head.
I took out my cleaver, started hacking the thing into bite-sized pieces and said, “You know my rule, sugar. That means you get the first bite.” She turned to some of the newer students and warned them to keep their mouth shut when they didn’t want to try something.
We passed a platter of turkey poppers around the room, and soon I had a classroom filled with the slurping sounds of women sucking the marrow from a turkey’s backbone. They were trying something new, and they were into it. I just liked that they tried it – honestly, I’d be just as happy if they hated the thing. In my class, you get big points for trying.
Because for some reason, in our culture of plenty, we’ve decided that it’s perfectly acceptable to be closed to certain types of food. Not long ago I was cornered by a terrific home cook at a dinner party who confessed that though the smell of lamb is like perfume to her, she is surrounded by friends and relatives who refuse to even try it. This woman is not alone, and it's not just about meat; I’ve catered top drawer dinners where plates leave the kitchen with perfect roasted asparagus and return with denuded stalks. Was it insulting to ladies of a certain class to presume they might eat an entire vegetable?
I thought it was our responsibility, as humans, to enjoy the bounties of land, sea and air; to suck the marrow out of life! I mean, aren’t the children still starving in Africa? I thought we were supposed to be appreciative and thankful for what arrives on our plates.
Consider for a moment how you might react to the following:
“Oh no, Leo and I don’t like the ocean; we’re not water people. We love looking at the four walls of our home, where we can sit on the sectional and watch cable (we just upgraded). We were invited to the Vineyard once, but we declined. No, we try to stay away from the whole water thing; lakes, rivers, even small puddles just don’t agree with our constitutions. And let me tell you; the rain? No, we get terrible indigestion the next morning. Not that we’ve tried it, of course.”
“Music? Sure. I love Britney…and Christina. I used to be really into Menudo. Love the remake of “boots” by Jessica Simpson. I guess I don’t really know much that isn’t on the radio. Beatles were good in the beginning, but then they got, I don’t know, edgy. Early Motown was great, so peppy, but you compare that to rap, and ooooh…I don’t know, it just makes me nervous. Can’t listen to the stuff. Won’t even go into a clothing store where they play it. Classical? Jazz? No, never tried.”
And then there’s the most obvious of food metaphors, sex. Just ask a guy what he thinks when he takes a woman to dinner and she orders a salad: “No, I don’t need an entrée. I don’t eat that much.” Or to sushi: “Mmm..I’m not into raw fish. Never tried it, actually, but I guess I could order a California roll or some teriyaki.” Or at upscale café: “Lamb? It’s gamey. I don’t really like food with that much…flavor.” Observe as he softly sighs and checks his watch.
I remember going to a dinner with another couple, years ago, at this wonderful fish place in San Francisco. Oysters were on the menu, and so I suggested we order a dozen for the table. The other man at the table (clearly no one that I would date) said that he would prefer that we didn’t order them, as he didn’t like oysters.
Maybe it was the look on my face – like I’d been slapped, because in short order, out the story came…that in fact, he didn’t like anything about oysters; the way they looked, smelled; the texture that just freaks him out, and that briney sea flavor, yick!
By the end of his rant, he had loosened his tie, thrown off his collar stays, and thick streams of sweat were coming from his temples. If I could only lean across the table and lick his neck, I would have enjoyed that oystery brine I so desperately sought.
All I could do was look across the table at his girlfriend, soon to be wife, and mouth the words, “I’m sorry.” As he got increasingly heated on the topic of shellfish, it became clear that this woman would be in the cold regarding certain pleasures of the flesh.
Personally, I could never trust a guy who wasn’t into trying something new, especially in the raw fish domain. An appetite for food, for new experiences, is an appetite for life.
Spatchcocked Roast Turkey
by Allison Fishman, The Wooden Spoon
Serves: 10 - 14
1 12-pound turkey
5 garlic cloves, peeled and mashed (with the side of a knife or in a mini chop)
5 sprigs thyme, leaves reserved separated from sprigs
coarse salt and fresh ground pepper to taste
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1. Heat oven to 450 degrees. Put turkey on a stable cutting board breast side down and cut out backbone and reserve. Turn turkey over, and press on the keel bone to flatten (you will feel it snap). Place, breast side up, on a large sheet pan; tuck the wings behind the head (think like a cop: “put your hands behind your head!”), and turn the legs out so that the drumsticks look like their knees are knocking.
2. In a small bowl, combine garlic and thyme, and liberal amounts of salt and pepper. Add 1/4 cup oil to make a paste. Separate the skin from the breast and legs of the bird, and massage the seasoning paste into the flesh of the bird.
3. Tuck thyme branches under the bird and in the nooks of the wings and legs. Drizzle skin with remaining olive oil and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper. Season backbone, and place on the sheet pan with the turkey.
4. Roast for 20 minutes, undisturbed. Turkey should begin to brown. Reduce heat to 400 degrees (if turkey browns too quickly, cover bird with foil), and continue cooking.
5. Begin to check turkey’s temperature about 40 minutes later. (It is done when breast meat registers 160 on an instant-read thermometer.
6. Remove turkey from pan and let the bird rest for at least 15 minutes before carving.
TO MAKE A PAN GRAVY: Please see recipe for And Then We Made A Gravy.
posted by Allison Fishman Task at 1:13 PM
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