Wishing on a Bone: Thanksgiving Cranberry Sauce

Last week, I taught a pre-Thanksgiving poultry class to a group of advanced cooking students. We spatchcocked, because I love saying the word, and because it's a tremendous timesaving technique. Plus, I love watching folks who are unaccustomed to getting jiggy with a bird get in there and snip that backbone out. Nothing shakes a poultry phobia like shoving your fist deep into the recesses of a carcass.

Unfortunately, instead of the 10-pound bird I ordered, I was face to beak with a 17-pound turkey. A little culinary math (15 minutes per pound, or 10 minutes if you're spatchcocking) would confirm that this bird couldn't possibly cook in the magical ninety minutes I had promised my students.

But I've never been a big believer in science. We wrestled that monster into submission, took out the backbone and wishbone, cracked the keel bone, and wiping the sweat from our brows, seasoned that bad boy and tossed him into the oven to roast.

At the appropriate time, we removed the beast and presented our thermometers to one another as if we were unsheathing swords. The lovely woman overseeing this bird kept referring to hers as a temperature stick. I was baffled, and asked why she was using the term. "Thermometer; it's too weak a word for what this is and what we're doing with it." Remind me not to run a fever near this woman.

And the temperature: 80 degrees. Not even close to the 160 we'd need to start breaking this guy down. And I had about 30 minutes before class was over. There was no way we would make it.

But I could not disappoint my students! And in a moment, my brain was taken over by some other force, we can call it creativity, inspiration, or force of will. Quite simply: I lost my wits.

"The thermometers are wrong!" I shouted. "Give me another!" We went through four. They all read 80 degrees.

"It cannot be true! Quick, boil me a pot of water, we will determine by how much these thermometers are incorrect and then we will pierce this fallen fowl." We boiled. In fact, a few temp sticks were wrong, reading 190 degrees. But one was on the money, hitting 212. Fuel to my fire.

We put big bird in for a bit longer; I used the working thermometer and when it hit 150F I decided we were close enough and that the thing would rest to 165.

Now there's temporary insanity, and then there's the plain error of ignoring science.

You see, when looking out at a group of faces, people eager for a "ta-da!" this teacher does not want to disappoint. So when I'm faced with a bird that's twice the size of I hoped to receive, I should have realized that it would have taken twice as long, instead of forcing the thing.

And this Thanksgiving, when you're entertaining, please take a note from my book. Entertaining? It is a pain in the neck. The cleaning, the shopping, the worrying, the timing. The aftermath, everything is a fuss. Don't let anyone tell you it's easy; it's not. It's a whole lot of work. That's the science of the thing.

So why do we put ourselves through it? Because we like to have those we love around us. We like to make something for them -- a gift, a celebration, a moment to nourish and fuss over them.

So what became of our turkey? I cut deep and was faced with the undeniable fact that it was cooked about 80% of the way. I sliced off the good parts, enjoyed them, and the students took home the rest to be cooked through. My students made due, like good guests with a host who is trying too hard.

And the lesson boomeranged back to me: their patience and kindness, well that's the art of the thing. A hearthy thank you to my students, and to you, all my best for a loving and delicious Thanksgiving!


Foolproof Cranberry Sauce
Serves 8 - 10

OK so I lied. This recipe really is that easy. When I was young, I distinctly remember a cranberry sauce at my aunt's house that came straight out of the can. It stood tall and stately on the dish it was placed, can rings and all. I was completely confused and afraid by this food; I abstained.

But now there's no need to go the can route; here's a recipe for an easy cranberry sauce. If it's too complicated, try the one on the back of the cranberry bag (usually something like 1 cup sugar, 1 cup water, 1 bag of cranberries...cook until soft), it's just as simple.

1 10-ounce bag fresh cranberries
1 10-ounce jar currant jam
1 teaspoon zest from an orange, lemon or lime (optional)

Place cranberries and jam in a small saucepan over medium heat. Cook until cranberries have burst; 15-20 minutes. Add orange zest; serve warm. If the sauce is too thick, thin it with 1/4 cup water.