I just got back from the turkey farm. Beautiful place high on a hill. There's a great view of the not so distant mountains and a pond across the way. Met Turkey Lady for the first time in person and her husband as well (he popped in and out as he tended the animals). I got the tour of the place and met the turkeys, one of which is mine. They are curious creatures, turkeys. They all came running as we approached their pen, the males puffing up to thwart any attempt I might have made to have my way with their hens. There were the Black Spanish turkeys, the Bourbon reds, a handful of the Broad Breasted Whites...An interesting observation about them- when they gobble, they gobble in unison. There would be a few moments of silence and then a great collective burst of gobbling which died off as quickly as it had begun.

I sort of met Trixie. It was Trixie's job to keep the turkeys safe. A big, puffy white dog, she seemed to take her job very seriously. Too seriously at times, according to Turkey Lady. She was now bonded with the flock and anything that wasn't a turkey (specifically the many chickens that wandered around the property) was strictly forbidden from approaching. Oh, I mustn't forget my secondary guide, Gil, a boxer that attatched himself to the tour early on and occasionally would split off from our entourage to chase the livestock. There was Hoover, a thirteen year old lab who, back in the day, could hump things with the best of them. Now he preferred to lay around on the enormous front porch and pant. I haven't even touched on the pigs. Rhoda, Daisy, Oliver, Tu, and about thirty others that Turkey Lady recognized and could name from a good distance.

I got a look at the killing station which consisted of a few metal cones screwed to a board, some wire for hanging the newly dispatched birds while they bled out, a scalding tank that looked like it could have been a turkey fryer at one point, a couple of propane tanks nearby. This was for loosening feathers prior to the plucking machine, which rounded out the processing aspect. Offal from the butchering process is used to fertilize the garden come spring.

So there we were, standing in the feathers left from the last batch of fowl to give up the ghost, talking about the way things are and the way things should be, how we got to where we are and where we are going from here. Gil was eating feathers and puking up the pig water that he drank a few minutes before. Hoover was tired of trying to bang my dog by now and had settled back into his spot on the porch. The chickens all headed to the coop to roost until morning, and those turkeys, those turkeys would gobble like a choir as we wrapped things up. Another day on the turkey/pig farm came to a close as the sun set behind those mountains. I'll be back on Tuesday evening to collect my hen, puffed up toms or no.

Just six days before Thanksgiving. Geez.




 

I may not be able to kill my own turkey after all. They start doing the birds on Sunday, and I'm working that day. Tomorrow I may end up visiting the farm, however. I'll finally put a face to the turkey/pig lady and the operation responsible for the biggest part of my holiday feast. So much to do. Thanksgiving is a mere six days away.

I tried the first of my two gobbler recipes the other night. I don't think that it was the winner. Anytime lemon is a large part of the turkey equation, it seems to be a little much. Hopefully my remaining recipe, being more traditional, will do the trick. By the by, a friend of mine suggested that I post the recipes I'm trying in the blog. I thought it was a good idea. They will be included in my epi-blogue (my afterword for the gobbleblog). It'll be available for the diehards.

This coming weekend is going to be head-spinning. Gathering all of the ingredients I'll need, picking up the turkey, testing my final contender for how it is prepared, straightening up the house, working up a schedule for timing the big to-do, gathering up the ingredients I had forgotten, setting up the dining room (we picked up the centerpiece and a runner whilst in Ireland)...There's also some minor asthetics to tend to while I'm on about the dining room (we recently redid it for this occasion), a large part of which has to do with the window treatments that are on order. Not to mention keeping this blog up to date. Twelve people may as well be fifty when you're down to the wire.

I expect it will be loads of fun, though, and quite satisfying if all ends well. Either way, it will be a story worth telling. Check back.



 

Ah, back to work. Work at work and work at home. I've had a cornish hen waiting in the fridge as a tester for days. Tonight, the brine. Tomorrow, the dine, and then right back to another hen to whittle down my two bird recipes to the one that I will use for the big day. I also need to try and plan to make it out to the turkey farm this weekend to help with some killin', and get to the farmer's market to check it out full glory. Thanksgiving is only ten days away!

For those of you looking for details from that "Fresh" screening, don't worry. I haven't forgotten. I just want to keep my head in the game for the marathon of kitchen activity that's coming. I'll also make a few recommendations for places you don't want to miss when in Ireland. This kind of thing I will include in its own blog a little later.

I gotta say, I was skeptical about this whole 'blog' business. I only started it to keep my thoughts together for an article I need to write. "What the hell am I gonna write about" & "Who will care?" I have found that there is a constant supply of stuff to include, and better (or worse) yet, it keeps on growing. I've also been honored by a fair amount of interest from all of you who have been checking in. It is very encouraging and very appreciated.

Enough sappiness, now. Time is ticking. There is much to do.



 

If you ever visit the Emerald Isle, you'll probably want to include a trip to Cork in your plans. Very cool town. It's alot like Dublin, only on a much smaller scale. We ended up with just six hours to spend in the city (it is a three hour train ride from the Capitol) so we spent the day looking around city center. If shopping is your bag, then book yourself a few days here. The shopping district goes on and on (in seemingly typical Irish fashion). When you turn down one street or alley, there is always another one. And another, and another...But my subject here is food.

I'm still not sure how Cork ended up the reputed epicurean capital of Ireland (other than the fact that there is a large cooking school there), but it could hold its own as far as some of the restaurants you'll find there. They're like the shops- Too many to count. If there's one, there's five hundred more right around the corner. More notably still, there's what is known as "The English Market". If ever there were a juggernaut of a farmer's market, this is it. An old church restored as an all season bazaar, this must be the godfather of open air produce markets. If meat is your thing, there are countless butchers on hand selling everything from ribeyes to sirloins, tounges and tripe...I even found gator filets, osritch and emu meat, quail, pheasant, duck, deer, you name it. There were vendors selling locally grown and roasted coffee, wines and spirits. Not to mention the upstairs in the place has been converted into a cafe' that draws almost every ingredient on the menu from right downstairs.

We weren't hungry yet, so we promised ourselves that we would come back when we were. Didn't happen. We had gotten so turned around ducking hither and yon between this alley and that street, poking into this store only to tumble out the back into yet another thoroughfare crammed to the hilt with things to see, that we decided to call on a place called "Amicus". Though we had stumbled across it by chance, it was one that one of our hostesses back in Dublin had suggested we go to. Very good, but not the best (Regina and I make a whole wheat naan bread pizza that, quite frankly, put the one she ordered to shame).

Anyway, too much minutiae. This entry is like looking over somebody else's vacation pictures and trying to feign interest. Suffice it to say that my stay here in Ireland was fantastic, and having a new way to enjoy this beautiful country (through my newly appreciative culinary eyes) added just that much more depth to the experience. Early tomorrow morning we will leave (with a second chance to have a look at Paris) and it will be back to the grindstone come Monday. Back to the states and back to my project with a renewed purpose and alot of catching up to do.



 

No Madleen. She either got busy or her friends talked her out of going out on the town with two strangers (understandable). Jet lag had taken it's toll and we got a late start, so we took to the streets of Dublin proper. One highlight was a place called "The Farm" on Grafton Street, I think. What a find! Their whole schtick was local and organic fare. It was fantastic stuff: the cheese plate, the wild mushroom soup, roast duck/butternut squash, all the way to the final push, rhubarb pie and organic local ale. Ideas for our Thanksgiving feast came on like wildfire (that rhubarb pie not the least among them).

We returned to the hotel late and spent a couple of hours booking our Cork trip for the following day. It ought to be fun. Catch the early morning train, then the LUAS to the main rail station, the 0900 out of the city, and finally, the culinary capital of Ireland is at hand (we coaxed a few places of interest out of one of our pub waitresses who happened to be from there). I'm curious to see how it got the honor, seeing how in my experience, Dublin is a world class city foodwise.

We shall see.




 

Sorry, all, for the delay getting back to you. Believe it or not I am writing you from Dublin, Ireland (a surprise anniversary getaway). We got here via Paris, France. How timely is that? Doing a foodie experiment and ending up in Paris for the first time ever?! Just a layover, as it happened, but a three hour one. I thought we might venture out into the city to one of those sidewalk cafes or something singly french, but we arrived around 4AM their time. The only thing open was a couple of Starbucks-type coffe joints in the airport. Tried the coffee from both of them (pretty good) and a couple of pastries (not so good). Was wide awake through the layover. I'll definately have to go back to the city of lights, though. I think it will have a lot to offer given a fairer chance. It had been so foggy, I didn't even get to see the city from the plane coming or going.

Dublin, now. Been here once before a couple of years back. Loved it. I fully intend to apply my experiment while I'm here. The only thing I had energy to do by the time we arrived was check into the room and make it out to Scott's Pub for a few pints. We hit it off with a waitress there, Madleen, from Germany, who mentioned that she would be off tomorrow and would love to take us around. I jumped at the chance. A guided tour with a local (sort of, she had been here for a few months, anyway). We all exchanged numbers and I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Should that effort not work out, we are in the planning stages of a daytrip to Cork, which, as I understand it is the culinary capital of Ireland. Hang on, folks, I'll keep you posted.


 

Two disappointments yesterday. I thought I had read that the Freddyburg farmer's market was open late. It is not. When I got there at 12:30, it was just wrapping up. I had time to quickly scope out the few diehards that weren't tamping their fares back into their trucks and ask a few questions. I managed to confirm a suspicion that had been in the back of my mind since wandering around other bazaars earlier in the season. Just because the stuff is in the farmer's market doesn't mean that it is local. One guy was selling asparagus (I love asparagus) he'd gotten out of California. Cali-f***ing-fornia! "It's very fresh," he assured me. But it didn't assure me at all. It got me to thinking that I could probably go to any big box grocery store and get the same thing- for much cheaper and without any concerns that it had been sitting out all morning under a tent with a thousand nasty flies eyeballing it. Lesson learned. Always ask where they got their stuff, if they grew it themselves, how they managed to get tomatoes that big...

There was a bright spot, though, and her name was Sarah. She was artisan bread lady. Chatty, friendly, full of insider information. A few well placed questions and she was telling me all kinds of things that I needed to know (Cindy would be there next weekend, she grew all her own stuff, Felix was helpful if you needed assistance setting up your tent, Hugh could be kind of grumpy if you caught him at the wrong time, but he raised a helluva good squash, etc). Armed with such info, I intend to get there a little earlier next time and see the thing in all of its glory.

On a side note, a friend of mine e-mailed me yesterday to let me know that there was a screening of a movie called "Fresh". It dealt with the many concerns presented us by our industrial food system, and it was to be immediately followed with a panel discussion with none other than Joel Salatin, among others. For those of you who aren't familiar with Mr. Salatin, he is proprietor of Polyface Farm (featured in Michael Pollan's bestseller 'The Omnivore's Dillema') and is one of the godfathers of this slow food movement I find myself exploring. Look them up if you're so inclined.

I couldn't make the screening today on account of work, but my stalwart friend said she would make a concerted effort to sit in on it and relay all of the juicy goings on. I can't wait to talk to her tomorrow.



 

A couple of items. First, I noticed in yesterday's blog entry that I had inadvertently reduced my foraging range from one hundred to just fifty miles. A rushed oversight, I think (or could it be that subconsciously I'm trying to be even more ambitious with my plans?). We'll see.

Secondly, it is worth mentioning that Turkey Lady (who is also "Pig Lady", it turns out) shot me an e-mail yesterday informing me that they planned to dispatch somewhere in the range of 100 chickens and a few turkeys today, and if I would like to immerse myself in the experience that I should come on by. "No pressure." Oddly, I'm enthusiastic about the idea. I think that there would be a depth of practical knowledge gained participating in such an integral part of my own Thanksgiving dinner. Unfortunately, there are two strikes against it on such short notice. I'm in Fredericksburg dogsitting for the in-laws and will be until this afternoon, and trying to convince my wife that we need to go turkey-butchering with next to no forewarning may prove difficult. There is good news, though. The farm will be processing birds every weekend up until the holiday, so there is time.

Today I go to Old Town Fredericksburg to peruse the farmer's market, see where exactly it is and what it has to offer. Maybe I'll chat up the folks there and discover some interesting stuff. I'll let you know, of course...

Oh, and tomorrow I'll be hitting the regular grocery store for comparison and to pick up essentials that may not be available in today's venue. See you then.



 

First snag in my search for Thanksgiving purity. I had planned to get most of my vegetables from the farmer's market here in town. Turns out it only goes to the end of October (same with most of them). I recalled Turkey Lady's recommendation of a couple of markets that were year round, so I hit the internet. Most of the year rounders don't fall to within my fifty mile radius (as demonstrated on a large map I've produced with a big red circle indicating my limited scope). I suppose that they hover near population centers in the off months out of pure economic necessity.

I did, however, manage to find a couple which were feasible. One in old town Freddysburg, and the other in a place called Locust Grove. They will both be good options since my in-laws live halfway between the two and we seem to make it out there almost weekly. I'm leaning toward Freddysburg. It is slightly farther, but the hours are far more realistic for us. Besides, I like Old Fredericksburg.

One other thing. I have compiled a comprehensive list of the fruits and vegetables which are in season around here this time of year. I suppose I would have found out judging by what's available at the farmer's markets, but it pays to be well-prepared and to know which recipes will qualify with strict adherence to my challenge.

I will be grocery shopping this weekend as usual and intend to get ahold of a couple of cornish game hens for testing turkey recipes (I've narrowed it to two finalists and need to eliminate one before the holiday). But that is another blog...



 

So I saw an article in the local paper concerning a local farm that sells pasture raised turkeys. They had never shown up on one of my online searches, but they were there, not ten miles from my house. A few e-mails and some phone tag later, and I was talking to the girl I'll call turkey lady from here on. What might have been a five minute phone call: "How much?"

"This much."

"OK, the check is in the mail." Became an hour and a half conversation between two slow food enthusiasts. One, Turkey lady, who had taken the plunge five years earlier, giving up a career as a microbiologist to pursue something that "felt" important, and the other, a professional nurseryman who was just hearing the call and contemplating a big life change of his own. Before long, I had been invited along with my wife, to come out and see the farm and all of it's workings...and to dinner, to meet a slew of other folks, friends of the turkey lady, who also were pursuing the dream of a liberated food industry. It's thrilling, really, to be embraced so quickly into a movement that I just recently found existed.

Without further adieu, I sent off my deposit for a heritage hen ($7 a pound for those who are keeping track). Turkey lady, thrilled with the idea of my Thanksgiving experiment, promised that she would earmark a particularly un-commercial looking fowl for me to present to my guests.