Another milestone was reached as we hosted our first dinner party at the cottage last weekend. My sister and her family, plus Gypsy the dog, arrived on the noon ferry for a first look at our new place. Luckily, the weather was a little bit better than forecast: We managed a chilly walk along the beach to the village for gelato, and spent a little time on the deck and in the garden before the wind and rain set in. My sister was even able to identify some of my plants. That tree in bondage? A really well-established peiris is the verdict
In honour of the occasion, I agreed to set aside a long-standing, self-imposed prohibition on the cooking of festive turkey dinners. I wish I could say this edict – known in the family as my ‘Turkey Fatwa’ arose from some deep compassion for the birds, but in fact, I just find preparing a turkey a huge hassle and the resulting meal generally over-rated.
Trying to ‘time’ the bird – it always does a lot faster or a lot slower than one expects - with side dishes, extraction of stuffing, gravy prep and carving - well the only thing that ever seemed to arrive hot to the table was me. And dealing with the greasy carcass afterward. . . !
Now a ham. . . that is what I call a fine festive meal. I buy a large bone-in butt portion. There is no washing, drying, removing nasty parts from cavities or lengthy massaging (a family turkey tradition – don’t ask!)
Almost impossible to mess up – I just baste my ham a few times with a mixture of dijon mustard and apricot jam. Carves in a jiffy. Next day, there are rashers of fried ham for breakfast, and later in the week, a divine pea soup.
Still, Easter is a time for making peace and for renewal. So I renewed my efforts, and with a few short-cuts, made peace with turkey. A quick rinse, foregoing the ritual massage and the use of a stuffing bag made the initial prep pretty painless, though I spent about half an hour decontaminating the kitchen from imagined pathogens afterward. Gravy was made from a mix, side dishes were kept to a reasonable number, Sis carved and plates were filled from the kitchen. And it tasted pretty good.
So what if I forgot to remove the giblet bag from the neck cavity? If I’m not mistaken, discovering it midmeal is actually considered ‘lucky’ in some cultures.
