Unconventional Turkey Recipes to Spice Up Your Thanksgiving Leftovers
Plus, the New Year's Eve Turkey that may have caused COVID-19
Dear Reader,
Good tidings from sunny Los Angeles, where it is actually ten degrees warmer than it is in my home of St. Petersburg. I was tricked into coming here for my Thanksgiving break from work on the guise that it would be a chilly, mountainous, seasonal respite from my usual high-percentage humidity and deadly UV Index. Who tricked me into believing this? Me, of course. Why would I do my due diligence before a holiday vacation? Who am I, Clark Griswold?
On that note, I suspected and feared that my Thanksgiving turkey would turn out like the Chevy Chase character’s Christmas feast, shriveled and charred, a hollow corpse billowing smoke upon its acquaintance with the steak knife.
This fear is not entirely unfounded, as this is my first time conspiring on a turkey since my 2020 New Year’s Eve turkey.
I assume guests of that party, like me, still receive war-like flashbacks of the turkey that we cooked to welcome what would coincidentally become the worst year of any of our lives. This turkey, which my co-conspirators and I bought frozen the night before, was basted, de-giblteded, and christened in my sink at approximately 9:00 p.m. on December 31, 2019, then garnished with fresh herbs, bacon, and cheeseballs before being shoved into my remarkably weak oven, still frozen. This curséd dish, which didn’t finish cooking until at least 4 a.m., was devoured by us drunk gremlins under a tirade of tardy fireworks and smoke. After waking up hungover and full of half-thawed bird, we took the remainder of the fowl cadaver and hoisted it into the murky Floridian waters outside, where a hoard of bloodthirsty seagulls and catfish finished it.
I can only assume that the remains of this New Year’s Eve Turkey of 2020 then promptly floated into the Gulf of Mexico, through the Panama Canal, across the Pacific Ocean, and along the Yantze River, until finally reaching the docks of Wuhan, China, where, out of vengeance, it would spawn the COVID-19 pandemic.
And that is why I was not confident in my turkey cooking abilities this year.
That, and the fact that I would be the only one eating it since Maddee’s a vegetarian. That didn’t necessarily make it harder to cook, but it did raise the stakes since, if I fucked the turkey up, I’d be the only one responsible for eating the ruined leftovers for the six days until my flight back to Tampa. (That’s a pound of shit-bird per day for you mathematicians.)
But, thankfully, the shit-bird turned out not-so-shit. And, as luck would have it, Maddee’s meat-eating roommate from Seoul had a plate as well, her first ever Thanksgiving dinner.
“If you guys opened a restaurant, I would eat there!” she said.
High praise, to be sure. And another stroke to my ego that I didn’t need.
I immediately looked at Maddee with savage glee in my eyes and mouthed the following words in harried silence:
“Hear that? A restaurant!”
I’ve been thinking about Bistrot di Mike ever since. Perhaps it would be a waterfront Thanksgiving-themed eatery with a fish tank and a cigar lounge. Maybe a waterslide or a floating cash bar. Cocktail waitstaff wearing Sixers jerseys and bowties. Every table gets a golden retriever busboy.
Snap out of it, Mike.
Still, the fact that my turkey tasted good made it easier to eat, but that doesn’t save me from the mundanity of eating turkey every day.
If you, like me, are struggling well into the work week with a fat stack of bird still looming in your fridge, then I’m happy to share with you some fresh takes that I’ve compiled in order to help you fall back in love with your almost-moldy leftovers.
Turkey Cheesesteak
I’m from Philadelphia in the same way that Die Hard is a Christmas movie. You can argue the technicalities and debate what it really means to be a Christmas move, but Die Hard still doesn’t feel like a Christmas movie the way Home Alone and Miracle on 34th Street do. Similarly, I wasn’t technically born in Philadelphia, but I do sometimes say “wooder” instead of “water” by accident.
Having been born one county over from the most underrated city in America has given me a unique perspective on its local delicacies. I’ve had good cheesesteaks and I’ve had bad ones. I’ve had cheesesteaks that consensus says are great but are actually overrated. I’ve also had a $10 beef slab on a pita with melted Kraft on top that was sold as a “cheesesteak” in Delaware. (Bad.)
What I mean to say is that I have the gastronomical equivalent of a Bachelor of Science in Cheeseteakology. I’m no PhD candidate, but I’ve passed my fair share of examinations.
I could write an entire newsletter simply on the scientific discipline of cheesesteaks, but I’ll shelf it for now and just tell you that chicken cheesesteaks are good, contrary to some arguments. I can additionally claim with confidence that turkey is basically just a more flamboyant chicken dish. (Imagine: goth chicken at a drag show.)
So, using a little formal logic, if chicken cheesesteaks are good, actually, and turkey is basically RuPaul’d chicken, then we can conclude that turkey cheesesteaks are, in fact, good.
Shred some white meat, toss it on a roll, lather that bitch in sliced American, and thank me later.
Just please, please, please use Amoroso rolls.
Bloody Mary Turkey Cocktail
F. Scott Fitzgerald once posited an unseemly recipe for a turkey cocktail, by which you drown a large turkey in a gallon of vermouth and bitters. His hundred-year-old recipe subtly inspired this edition of the Elephant Graveyard.
As one of the greatest fiction authors of all time, any two-bit storyteller would be grateful to emulate his ways. As such, if one is to write like Fitzgerald, I figure one must also craft turkey cocktails like Fitzgerald.
Without further ado, I pitch to you the Bloody Mary Thanksgiving Dinner Cocktail.
Spoiler alert: I detest Bloody Marys. Shit is vodka-infused tomato soup. But I would die for any glass of liquor that is garnished with a shrimp and a strip of bacon. With so much turkey left in the fridge, why not spice that concept up?
The haters may doubt me, but who says you can’t garnish a cocktail with turkey stuffing? Who says you can’t place a wishbone on the edge of a martini glass? Who says you can’t rim a glass with grandma’s mashed potatoes?
God may never forgive you for these crimes against cuisine, but your refrigerator will thank you for finally using that tinfoil-wrapped ball of meat-soaked bread you’ve had shoved into the crisper for the past week.
Turkey Smoothie
Look, I get it. You’re a busy person on the go. Who has time for microwaving leftovers, using turkey in new recipes, and bringing Tupperware containers into the office?
Not you!
The sooner you realize that you don’t have to, the sooner you’ll gain turkey enlightenment, so grab your NutriBullet and get to work on Thanksgiving in a Tervis cup.
Edible Thanksgiving Arrangement
This one is great for those of us with loved ones far away who deserve something special. It’s perhaps more appropriate for those of us with mortal enemies who deserve a floral arrangement made of decaying meat.
I give you the Edible Arrangement, Thanksgiving style.
The Turkey-ble Arrangement is essentially an open-face Wawa Gobbler doubling as your least favorite person’s new floral-themed, gravy aromatizing home decor.
It’s easy and customizable. Skewer the turkey and toss some stuffing on a stick. Rub marshmallow sweet potatoes and copious amounts of cranberry sauce on each skewer. Sprinkle with green beans or perhaps consider a giblet garnish. Anything is possible! Just don’t stop until that shit looks like a Georgia O'Keefe painting.
Turkey Cigarettes
Now, this one is only for the hardcore readers of my newsletter. Preferably those with strong, malleable lungs and an iron determination. It also helps if you have an ashtray and a lighter sitting around, but matches and an empty beer can will do, too.
For extra ingredients, you’re going to need to run out and grab some rolling papers if you don’t have them handy. Then, you’re going to place as much turkey on the paper as you can fit without greasing the paper. I’ve heard white meat is easier on the lungs than dark — kind of like a Marlboro Light versus a Red — but you do you.
Most people might opt to use a little saliva on the paper to keep it snug once it’s rolled. Not me. I’m a gravy roller myself, choosing extra flavor by sealing my rollie with a dip of meat juice. Some of you wackos may want to opt for the more intense technique: the cranberry snug. In this method, you’ll use a sharp blade to slice off a thin parcel of cranberry sauce, then place it on the outermost edge of the rolling paper. This will seal your turk-arette when you roll it, and give it an extra flash of flavor. This hallowed formula also allows you to “camel crush” the turk-arette, by which you bite down on the cranberry filter and release a pleasant, breath-freshening aroma of canned jam in place of menthol.
And just to be absolutely certain, I’m not talking about a rolled poultry pastry dish. I’m talking about literally rolling a clump of turkey into a cigarette, lighting it, and smoking it.
What? Why the face? I told you these recipes would be unconventional.
Bon Ape Tit! (RIP Norm.)
Shouts out to…
The friends-of-the-Graveyard who assisted with (or, more accurately, took the lead on) the New Year’s Eve Turkey Feast of 2020. You know who you are, and your crimes will never be forgiven.
Food 4 Less, for the 6.7-lb turkey breast
Maddee’s roommate, for helping me eat said turkey and for boosting my ego an unnecessary amount