The Proper Post Thanksgiving Turkey Sandwich

Of course the best part about Thanksgiving is the leftovers.

Turkey soup, and turkey sandwiches, turkey potpie, and turkey omelets and turkey…

You know, now that I think of it, it doesn’t take me long to get sick and tired of turkey leftovers.

Which is why this year we didn’t do a whole turkey. There’s just three of us and we weren’t having anybody over, so instead of a whole bird we just did a turkey roast. No no no, not a turkey “loaf,” gah, a roast. A turkey roast is basically a whole breast and some darkmeat - say about half a good sized bird - deboned. You cook it the same way as you do a whole bird, it takes about three hours.

What? Stuffing?

I don’t stuff a thanksgiving turkey anyway.

I always make the dressing, as opposed to stuffing, in a separate roasting pan. I make my dressing with ground hot sausage and I want to make sure that it’s cooked all the way to 160F. If it’s inside the bird, the outside of the Turkey is usually dried out jerky by the time the middle is done, and the stuffing tends to absorb the juices and turn soggy if it’s inside the bird. So, I make dressing in a separate dish, and fill the inside of the turkey with a mirepoix of aromatic vegetables - celery, onion, carrots – and garlic, sage, and butter.

In this case, since we were doing a roast, I packed the mirepoix and spices around the outside of the meat and covered the whole thing in foil. It worked like a charm and the resulting juices, mixed with cream, flour, parsley, spices, and white wine, make the best turkey gravy ever.

The roast came out excellent and gave us just enough turkey leftovers for two or three days.

Perfect.

Now I know what you’re thinking, Woot! Pass the mayo and the Wonderbread, it’s turkey sandwich time.

It seems some folks just don’t know how to make a good sandwich.

Allow me to enlighten you.

Start with flatbread. Add turkey and good Swiss cheese like Tillamook.

Place in the sandwich press until the bread is hot and crispy. If you don’t have a sandwich press (and really, why don’t you?), press between a pair of pre-heated cast iron skillets (don’t tell me you don’t have a pair of well seasoned cast iron skillets, you culinary Philistine).

Open the sandwich and spread the inside with a bit of leftover cranberry sauce (you make yours from scratch, right?) mixed with an equal amount of cream cheese. Add fresh spinach leaves or a good dark lettuce such as romaine (no Iceberg, ever). Little salt and pepper.

Eat while making nom nom nom noises.

Leftover dressing on the side is optional.

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Dressing:

2lbs hot ground sausage – Jimmy Dean will do in a pinch, better yet find a local artisan butcher shop that makes their own. The better the sausage, the better the dressing.

1 1/2 lbs of seasoned and dried bread cubes. Homemade or store bought, it’s stale bread, it really doesn’t matter.

1 cup turkey or chicken broth.

3 cups chopped celery and onion, sweated in olive oil or butter with 2 tablespoons fresh ground garlic until softened, and then allowed to cool.

Sage, rosemary, thyme, basil, and cracked black pepper to taste - or rather to smell, I add spices until it smells right to me. But if you need numbers, say 1 tablespoon of the sage, rosemary, and thyme, 1 pinch of basil and black pepper.

Mix it all together in a large mixing bowl. Make sure to break up the sausage into small pieces. It should be loose, not packed together, we’re not making sausage balls here.

Place loosely in a large covered and greased casserole dish and bake at 350F for an hour and a half or until the middle reaches 160F on an instant read thermometer. Remove from heat. Now if you like the crunchy browned stuffing from along the edges, serve as is. Otherwise, stir inner to outer, and fluff with a large fork, cover and allow to sit for twenty minutes.

Cranberry Sauce:

12 oz fresh cranberry berries, picked and washed.

1 cup water.

1 cup sugar.

2 tablespoons lemon juice.

Mix it all together in a medium sized saucepan, bring to a boil, boil for twenty minutes. Mix with a fork, breaking up the berries. Remove from heat, transfer to a glass dish and allow to cool, then refrigerate until cold.

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We spent the rest of the day putting up our Christmas tree. You remember the Christmas tree, right? This year I bought a new ladder, one of those huge articulated Warner jobbers, that made setting up the tree a whole hell of a lot easier.

Yesterday it snowed. Nearly a foot here at Stonekettle Station and I spent most of the day dealing with that and a dead truck battery.

Today, my wife and son have gone off Christmas shopping, leaving me home to finish up a home improvement project by myself (damn right, leaving me home – no way in hell am I venturing out this weekend thankwewveddymuch, I rather do drywall or light my hair on fire).

So, what are you guys doing with your long weekend?

A (pointless in retrospect) Conversation With My Child

Me (calling from work, after my son texted me letting me know he was home safe from school): How was your day?

Son: Fine.

Me: Study for two hours. Math. Science.

Son: OK.

Me: Two more things.

Son: Yeah?

Me: Go to the big chest freezer, get out the whole chicken.

Son: uh…

Me: Whole frozen chicken. Says “Whole Chicken” on the label. It’s on top. Looks sort of like a big bowling ball at this point.  Get it.

Son: uh…

Me: (sigh) are you at the freezer?

Son: Yeah.

Me: Really?

Son: No.

Me: Go there now.

Son: (thump, bump, bang, slam, shuffle, shuffle [freezer is in the garage, it requires movement from the couch] bump bump thump [and I finally hear the correct door open over the phone]) OK.

Me: …

Son: …

Me: …

Son: …

Me: …

Son: …

Me: Open. The. Lid.

Son: OK.

Me: Do you see it?

Son: uh…

Me: (sigh) Chicken. Whole. Frozen. Chicken. On. Top. Looks. Like. A. Bowling. Ball.

Son: Oh…riiiight.

Me: Get it.

Son: OK.

Me: Go to the kitchen.

Son: OK.

Me: Wait!

Son: What?

Me: Close the freezer lid.

Son: It is!

Me: Really?

Son: …no.

Me: Close it.

Son: (Foomp!)

Me: Go to the kitchen.

Son: OK

Me: Wait!

Son: What?

Me: Take the chicken.

Son: …right.

Me: (with the patience of Job) Are you in the kitchen?

Son: uh huh.

Me: Really?

Son: No.

Me: Go there now. Don’t stop anywhere else. Try to concentrate. Kitchen

Son: OK

Me: Wait!

Son: What?

Me: Take the chicken.

Son: OK

Me: Are you there?

Son: Yes.

Me: Put the chicken in the microwave.

Son: OK…bye

Me: Wait!

Son: What?

Me: Push “Defrost”

Son: …

Me: Push. The. Button. Marked. “Defrost.”

Son: …

Me: …On the microwave.

Son: OK

Me: Set the timer for 30 minutes.

Son: …

Me: Push three. Zero. Zero. Zero.

Son: (Freep beep) OK

Me: Two more zeros

Son: (beep beep) OK

Me: Push “Start.”

Son: OK

Me: Is it started?

Son: uh huh.

Me: I can’t hear it. Are you sure?

Son: Yes.

Me: Good. Now go turn on the dishwasher. You forgot to run it last night. There are no clean plates for dinner. (It’s the boy’s job to clean up after dinner).

Son: OK.

Me: Did you start the dishwasher?

Son: Yes.

Me: Really?

Son: I’m doing it.

Me: Wait!

Son: What?

Me: Put a soap tablet in it.

Son: OK

Me: Did you do it?

Son: Yes.

Me: Really?

Son: I’m doing it now.

Me: I didn’t hear the dishwasher door open and close.

Son: (Whump!)

Me: I didn’t hear the cabinet door open and close (where the soap tablets are stored)

Son: (Thump!)

Me: Wrong order.

Son: What?

Me: PUT SOAP IN THE DISHWASHER NOW!

Son: OK (Thump! Whump!)

Me: Turn it on.

Son: It is.

Me: Turn. It. On.

Son: I meant I’m doing it now.

Me: Is it on?

Son: Yes.

Me: Remember, study. Math. Science. Two hours. Then you can go over to (friend)’s house. Study first.

Son: OK.

Me: Have a good afternoon. See you tonight.

Son: OK

 

 

I’m home now.

 

You know, I’ll bet he didn’t study either.

The Secret to Success and Universal Happiness

It’s buttermilk.

There’s really nothing it can’t do.

Well, there you go, the secret to success and universal happiness. Make sure they spell my name right on the Nobel Prize.

Thanks for coming and drive safely.

What?

You’re still here?

I see, I have to spell it out for you.

Fine.

Historically buttermilk is the thin tart, tangy liquid left over from churning cream into butter – and today that liquid is referred to as traditional buttermilk – as opposed to, say, whey, which is the liquid left over from making cheese. Traditional buttermilk is not common in the West these days (though it is still very common in places like India where it is called “chaas”). Here it’s mostly used as a supplement for animal feed, or as a starter and additive for certain food products. You’d have to go to a working dairy to obtain it. In the old days buttermilk was often fed to the pigs, used to start bread, or consumed by the poor – and in the latter case often made up a significant fraction of their daily calorie and vitamin intake. Prior to the Gorta Mor (the Great Famine or the Irish Potato Blight in 1840’s Ireland), many poor Irish lived almost exclusively on the “peasant foods” of potatoes and buttermilk – and were some of the healthiest people in Europe as a result.

Nowadays, the buttermilk you buy in your local supermarket is almost always cultured buttermilk – and has nothing whatsoever to do with butter making. It is a fermented diary product made by adding lactic acid producing bacteria (Streptococcus lactis) to milk. There are several variations, including Bulgarian buttermilk, made in a similar fashion but using lactobacillus bulgaricus, which produces a much more sour product. Where traditional buttermilk is thin (though usually thicker than plain milk), cultured buttermilk is thick and creamy, more like like heavy whipping cream than its namesake and smells like really, really good sour cream.

Whether traditional or cultured, buttermilk is a tart and tangy. That sourness comes from high amounts of acid produced during fermentation, when the milk’s lactose is converted from a sugar into an acid by the bacteria. As a result of this process (either naturally fermented traditional buttermilk, or artificially diary-cultured), buttermilk itself is much lower in fat and calories than regular whole milk and cream. It is high in potassium, vitamin B12, and calcium. It is more easily digested than whole milk due to the bacteria (similar to yogurt) and allows for better absorption of protein and calcium.

Basically it’s good stuff.

I like to drink it ice cold – but where it really makes a difference is in cooking.

Not sure you’d like it? Start with something simple, use cultured buttermilk instead of butter and milk (heh, heh) or cream the next time you make mashed potatoes. It adds enough fat to the starchy potatoes to make them creamy and smooth, but without the huge load of fats that butter and cream do – and it adds a tangy sour cream flavor, without the added fat of sour cream. Cool, huh?

Making Beef Stroganoff? Use buttermilk instead of sour cream. Better flavor, much less fat. (Bulgarian buttermilk is perfect for this dish, very tangy).

A while back I gave you a buttermilk/oatmeal pancake recipe – still the best pancake recipe I’ve got.

Last night I made deep fried Alaskan Halibut. Now, traditionally, here in Alaskan you batter the hell out of halibut. Most Alaskans dunk chunks of halibut into a thick glop made from cheap beer and flour, and then deep fry the resulting mess into soggy balls of dough that bleed grease like Ronald Reagan’s hairdo. Deep fried halibut chunks are a staple in every restaurant, tourist dive, roadhouse, flophouse, and outhouse in Alaska. With few exceptions (such as the Whitespot Cafe on 4th in Anchorage) beer battered halibut chunks are an abomination. Here’s a better method – and this works with any thick fleshed white fish, such as cod – cut the fish into small bite sized pieces. Coat those in cultured buttermilk and then dredge in a mixture of flour, yellow cornmeal, Cajun seasoning or Old Bay, powdered garlic, powdered onion, and some fresh ground pepper. Shake off the excess and let sit for a couple of minutes, until the cornmeal softens and the coating becomes damp. Deep fry in 350 degree oil until lightly browned. Remove from oil, drain on paper towels, keep warm in a 250F degree oven. They won’t get soggy, and they won’t be oily or greasy, and they’ll taste better than any halibut chunks you’ve ever had.

Now that you’ve got some halibut chunks, you need some hushpuppies to go with them – and that fishy flavored deep fryer oil is the perfect thing for making them. While your fish chunks are keeping warm in the oven whip up the following recipe:

Mix together 1 3/4 cups yellow cornmeal, 3/4 unbleached AP flour, 1/2 tsp salt, 1/2 tsp baking soda, 1/2 tsp fresh ground black pepper, 1 tbls onion powder, and 1 tbls of Old Bay seasoning. In a separate bowl mix together 1 cup cultured buttermilk, 1 large egg, 1/2 cup of finely chopped green onions (I run mine through my KitchenAid food grinder to get pureed mush, and a 1/4 cup of coarsely chopped chives (the green onion stalk), and 2 tbls of chopped fresh garlic (the pre-chopped stuff in a jar is just fine). Add the liquid ingredients to the dry and mix only until a thick dough forms. Don’t over mix, lumps are good. Say it with me, lumps are good. Let the dough stand for fifteen minutes while the cornmeal softens. Now the secret is to make small hushpuppies. Small. You’re not making donuts here. Take a regular metal table spoon (the kind you use to stir your coffee, not the measuring device), dip it in the hot grease first, then scoop a half spoon sized portion of dough and carefully drop it into the 350F degree oil. Do a couple, but no more than six or eight. Don’t crowd the fryer. Keep the oil temp no higher than 350. Be patient. Wait until the dough puffs up into full globes and the portions in the oil have turned golden brown, then bump each one with your spoon and they’ll turn over all by themselves. Fry for a minute or until the entire hushpuppy is golden brown. Remove from the oil, drain on paper towels, then put them in the oven with the halibut chunks until you’ve got the whole batch done. Don’t rush. Don’t crowd. Don’t raise the oil temperature or they will burn on the outside and the inside will be raw. Don’t do it.

I suppose you’ll be wanting desert too?

OK, how about buttermilk banana bread?

Mix together 2 large eggs, 1 cup sugar, 1/4 cup vegetable oil, 1 cup (2 to 3) very ripe bananas, 2 tsp vanilla extract (use the real stuff for crying out loud you cheap bastard). Beat until creamy, about two minutes in a stand mixer using the whisk. In a separate bowl mix together 1 tsp baking soda, 1 tsp baking powder, 1 tsp salt, 1 tsp cinnamon, 1/2 tsp nutmeg, 2 2/3 cups AP flour – mix this thoroughly, I use a hand whisk, it’s important that all the dry ingredients are completely mixed. Completely. Add the dry ingredient into the wet ingredients all at once, mix until just dampened (in a stand mixer use the paddle). Add 1 cup cultured buttermilk (or plain yogurt), and 1 cup chopped walnuts. Mix completely. Don’t over mix, you’re not making French bread or pizza dough here. Over mix and the loaf will be tough. Pour into a 9x5 loaf pan and bake in a pre-heated 350 degree oven for 1 hour (usually a little longer, this morning’s loaf for example took 1 hour and 20 minutes before the test stick came back clean. If the loaf top is getting too dark, tent with foil). Remove from oven, let cool on a wire rack. Top with cream cheese frosting and chopped candied pralines (oh please, you’ve already put in a cup of sugar, you might as well go all the way – besides, it’s made with buttermilk so it’s healthy anyway. See? Stick with me, Kids).

Trust me on this. Buttermilk. Secret to the universe.

You’re welcome.

Sunday Recipe – Oatmeal Pancakes

A while back my wife was making something that required oatmeal.

We didn’t have any.

I went out to get some at the local 3 Bears (kind’ve the Alaskan version of Sam’s Wholesale or Costco, only much better). I came home with a bargain, about ten pounds of Old Fashioned Quaker Oats.

What?

I got a really good deal.

My wife needed about 1 cup.

By my calculations, at the rate we’ve been going through that giant box of oats, we should have enough to last pretty much for the rest of our lives, even if the Zombie Apocalypse requires us to live in the shelter eating nothing but oatmeal for a year.

And then they can bury me in the box.

I froze half of it, but I’ve been trying to find ways to use up the remainder.

Now, I’m not really a big fan of oatmeal for breakfast, I’ll eat it, but I prefer grits. And nobody else in the house is a big fan either. But, you know, there’s more than one way to make oatmeal for breakfast.

These, for example, which beats a bowl of mush hands down:

Here’s what you need:

2 cups	Old Fashioned Quaker Oats
2 cups	buttermilk
2	large eggs
1 tbs	honey
2 tbs	vegetable oil
1/2 cup	flour
1/2 tsp	cinnamon
2	apples, chopped medium
2 tbs	sugar
1 tsp	baking soda
1 tsp	baking powder
1/2 tsp	salt

The night before:

- mix the oats and buttermilk together, cover and leave in the fridge overnight. The oats will thicken into a pretty solid mess, like oatmeal left in the bowl on a counter overnight. This is exactly what you want. If you don’t have time to leave them overnight, mix them up and let them sit for at least 2 hours, 3 is better, overnight, though, is best. Really. Trust me.

The next morning:

- add the eggs and oil to the oats and buttermilk and mix well. I use my Kitchen Aid stand mixer.

- add in the rest of the ingredients and mix well.

- cook like regular pancakes on a lightly greased griddle or non-stick pan. 1/4 cup of batter per pancake is about right. I use a 1/4 cup disher and that works perfect, portion wise. Wait for the tops to bubble just slightly, then flip.

- serve with butter, a dollop raspberry jam, and a little syrup.

- makes about 12 pancakes.

They taste, and smell, like cinnamon apple oatmeal and have a much better texture and mouth feel than regular jiffy mix pancakes. With some turkey bacon, you’ve got a healthy breakfast that everybody will love.