Drunken Turkey

Iced tea or a shot of bourbon?

I suppose we've all heard tales of families that have that one  relative who manages to overindulge at holiday gatherings. We didn't have that problem in my family. Aside from the underage kids or a few folks on-the-wagon, we ALL were that relative. It was pretty much a level playing field. Thanksgiving, in particular, was always very spirited.

Early mornings on our rural western Kentucky farm were usually quiet and peaceful.  When the sun cracked trhough the trees and kissed the sleepy fields, only  the muted sounds of hissing coffee or cattle chomping in a nearby field disturbed the quiet. Thanksgiving mornings were a whole other story. While the surrounding beauty of the countryside played out in form, everything else had a different tone. The mornings were crisper, the shadows longer, and the trees danced with multicolored leaves. Although the coffee still brewed and the cattle chomped, those familiar sounds were muffled by the quiet hubbub in the kitchen. Thanksgiving morning. Silent prep. Lots of busy work. By mid morning,  the subdued chaos  was shattered by cracked ice hitting empty mason jars for the forthcoming bloody marys made with cellar tomato juice we canned from summers past.Yep, that's how we rolled. To this day, I still believe we put up tomato juice just for Thanksgiving morning. After obligatory glasses of boxed red wine hit the table for Thanksgiving dinner,  bourbon eventually  made its entrance. While soft drinks and windowsill sun-brewed tea were at the ready, we were bourbon people. My father loved his bourbon. 

Although our bourbonized Thanksgivings on the farm are long gone, I  hold fast to  memories of those crisp autumn mornings, quilted trees, and the serenity of the dew-kissed countryside.

Nowadays, on Thanksgiving, I let the turkey drink the bourbon. 

Drunken Turkey
Bourbon all the way.
Inside and out.

To wet brine, dry brine, or inject? I've done them all. Without the luxury of time and space, I'm on team injection. It's quick, simple, and dependable.

A shot of bourbon.
Inside.

I rinsed and dried  a 15 pound young organic turkey and set it aside. After combining  1 cup melted unsalted butter, 1/4 cup chicken stock,  1/4 cup Makers Mark bourbon, 1/4 cup fresh squeezed blood orange juice, 1/4 cup Evans Orchard fresh apple cider, 1 teaspoon dried rubbed sage, 2 teaspoons salt, and 1 teaspoon ground black pepper, I loaded  a large turkey injector with the marinade and carefully injected the breasts, thighs, and legs in several locations. After the meat plumped from the shots, I slathered the flesh with softened butter, showered it with salt, and slipped the turkey into the refrigerator to marinate overnight.

After bringing the boozed up turkey to room temperature, I stuffed the cavity with 1 quartered Casey County onion, 2 quartered Pulaski County Macintosh apples, 1 quartered blood orange, 2 stalks celery,  fresh parsley, fresh sage, and fresh thyme. In lieu of a roasting rack, I lined the bottom of a large roasting pan with fresh unpeeled whole carrots, celery stalks, and trimmed leeks. After tying the turkey legs together for an even cook, I nestled the turkey onto the vegetable rack, and  added 1 cup chicken stock, 1/2 cup apple cider, and a 1/4 cup bourbon to the bottom pan before sliding the turkey into a 350 degree preheated oven to roast for roughly 3 1/2 hours. Being mindful to not over brown the skin too early, I covered the breasts with aluminum foil after an hour and basted the turkey with the pan juices every 30 minutes.

Outside.
I combined 1/2 cup Makers Mark bourbon, 1/2 cup fresh apple cider, 1/2 cup fresh squeezed blood orange juice, 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar, and 1/2 cup fresh milled Oberholzer's Kentucky Sorghum (form the Morgan County Sorghum Festival). After bringing the mix to a boil, I reduced the heat and let it simmer until it softened into a loose sticky glaze.

After the turkey reached 155 degrees, I started brushing the glaze over the skin every 15 minutes.

When the internal temp hit the 165 degree mark measured in the deepest part of the breast meat, I pulled the bourbon burnished turkey from the oven, hit it with flaked sea salt for crunch, and let it rest for 20 minutes before nestling it over an aromatic bed of fresh herbs.

Thanksgiving turkey.

Bourbonized.

The Cusp

Well, it seems another slap happy summer has zipped by at a breakneck pace. Even our  local markets joined the frenzy, amping things up as the season evolved.  Week after week, we zeroed in on the ever changing produce and the simplicity of prep that matched the fast paced wonder of the season. Right now, we're straddling the seasonal cusp. Although a few late summer gems are still coming on strong, it's time to slow down and embrace the jewels of autumn. While they might not jar the senses with multicolored wonder, their calming muted tones soften the segue from summer to fall, quietly beckon, and pull us in. Let go of the frenzy. Give the grill a rest and take harbor in the solace of a
long sultry braise.

Braised Lamb Shanks With Pumpkin.
There's more to pumpkin than pie.

Simple prep for a one pot wonder.

I rinsed, split, and seeded a 2 pound Casey County pie pumpkin before slicing  it into 2" wedges and setting it aside.

After trimming the excess fat from three (1 pound each) lamb shanks, I liberally seasoned them with a mix of equal parts ( 1 Tablespoon each) salt, cracked blacked pepper, smoked paprika, dried thyme, dried basil, and dried coriander. Working over a medium flame, I heated 3 tablespoons vegetable oil to the smoking point before giving the shanks a hard sear on all sides and setting them aside. While the oil was still hot, I added 1 quartered unpeeled onion, 2 sliced carrots, 1 halved whole head of garlic, and a combo of 4 toasted/seeded/soaked dried pasilla and ancho chile peppers. When the vegetables softened, I added 2 tablespoons tomato paste, swirled it through the vegetables until it browned, and deglazed the pan with 1 cup dry red wine to release the fond.  When the red wine reduced by half, I added 2 cups beef stock, 2 fresh bay leaves, 2 whole Mexican cinnamon sticks, the reserved pumpkin, 3 fresh whole cayenne peppers, 2 halved Pulaski County beefsteak tomatoes, 5 dried figs, 5 dried plums, fresh parsley, and fresh cilantro. After tucking the lamb shanks into the pan, I brought the stock to a boil, reduced it to a simmer, covered the pan, and slid it into a preheated 350 degree oven to braise for roughly 2 1/2 hours.

When tender, I carefully scooped the shanks to a side plate along with the braised pumpkin, whole cayenne peppers, and plumped dried fruit. After removing the bay leaves, cinnamon sticks, spent herbs, and onion skins, I skimmed the fat from the braising stock. I wasn't going for a full on puree, so I  roughly mashed the long cooked vegetables and mixed them into the stock for a loosey-goosey riff on a Mexican mole rojo sauce (sans toasted nuts and seeds) before returning the shanks to the pan to warm through in the sauce.

Much like any long  braised fatty meat, the tender lamb easily slipped from the bones like silken lingerie and melted into the sauce. Naughty and nice.

While the pumpkin added earthy back notes, the soft sweetness from the dried fruit and subtle smoky heat from the dried peppers tempered the slight gaminess of the lamb.

Riding the cusp.