So this is what success looks like. My thought looking over the kitchen and the dining room as my last guests left and those who were staying the night headed upstairs. Piles of dishes and half empty cups occupied every square inch of counter space. Crumbs and dessert plates crowded what had been the centerpiece (now the off-center piece) and the tablecloth Regina had so lovingly ironed in place a few hours before now looked like a muppet after the running of the bulls. Empty bottles of wine and a devastated cheese plate moaned for attention from the kitchen bar area as the candles that adorned that area sighed their last breaths. There was food to put away, but not so much as to feed an army. There had been some waffling on whether or not there would be enough for as many folks as we had, so, if I failed to mention it before, I had a second roast turkey (brined and prepared exactly as the main attraction), for supplementing the crockpot breast. I had done it just before the pasture raised bird, and it allowed me to practice carving before the crowds got here. That stack of meat was set aside for reheating if the need should arise.

And now the main event. Did the experiment pan out, you ask? Absolutely. Were my guests crowding around to see the turkey (staged beautifully, I might add, on an enormous serving platter atop fresh field greens)? Not exactly. Did they question me extensively about what I had done? Where had I gotten this or that? What were some of the hang ups in preparing a meal along these lines? Nah. Did they all try their best to prepare their contributions within the parameters of my challenge? Nope.

Still, I consider the whole endeavor a success. My goal was not to foist some new fangled, gastronomic, fire and brimstone approach to nutrition on my guests, or to demonstrate that they were an unwitting participant in an industrial food system which is utterly unsustainable. My goal was to have a good time with those that were close to me, have them enjoy a tasty meal and know that I went to great lengths to make that meal as wholesome and as ecologically friendly as I could manage. To bring some willing awareness to the existence of the slow food movement. For the folks who were interested in taste testing the different birds side by side, I happily explained which was which. Those who had questions about all of this, I eagerly engaged. I talked about Christmas. I talked about the dog, and my neices, about how everybody had been since last I saw them...It was a Thanksgiving as nice as any previous years, which, you'll recall, was another of my goals.

Amen.







I will be posting a few supplemental entries for those of you who are itching for details about these goings on and to expand on some of the stuff I didn't have time to get into previously. I truly appreciate all of the interest up to this point. Happy holidays and thank you for your attention.
 

Foggy this morning. Very foggy, like my mind. Was up into the wee hours doing everything possible as far as prepping things for today (including hanging those freaking curtains which showed up on my doorstep in the PM), cutting up the cheeses for the cheeseboard, making the soup and the stuffing, precleaning the dining room...Regina made a pie (sweet potato pie with a touch of whiskey) which turned out beautifully. She spent a lot of time cutting little leaves out of dough to dress up the top. Maybe I can manage a picture of it.

I sucessfully parried my brother who was coming from Philadelphia with my neice. He called from the road to tell me he would be at the house around 2AM. I hadn't thought I'd see anyone until early this afternoon. Before I had really thought it over, I told him the code to the lock box on the front door and started to wash the sheets for the guest room. Visions of doing what I had to do this morning with the added distraction of early arrivals had me on the phone a few minutes later suggesting maybe he could crash at the folks' house instead. It was an hour closer for him, my parents would certainly love to get in the extra time, and if he decided to make something at the last minute (as he is wont to do), we wouldn't all be under each other's feet. This aspect was the most important as Regina comes from a long line of women who will throw you out of their kitchens when they are cooking.

I really need to get on with this morning. Maybe I will do a few shorter entries as I can throughout the day. If it doesn't happen that way, I will most certainly have some lengthy ones for following up. Thanksgiving is now on us like a monkey on a cupcake. I hope today finds you well.



 

Yesterday, I made it out to the Freddyburg farmer's market. I asked a guy where his grapes were from. "California," He said. Oh yeah, then I recognized him. It was California Asparagus guy. "Thanks," I said, and walked next door to get my stuff. Hopefully enough people will do that and he will try to make a switch. It just doesn't feel honest to me somehow.

The lady next door had all the local stuff I could hope for. That, and when she heard I was looking to make a sweet potato pie, she jotted down a recipe of her own for me to try (the rhubarb pie idea went the way of the dinosaur when I read that they weren't in season). Artisan Bread Lady was there and I selected a nice kalamata olive sourdough bread to use in my stuffing. Then everybody started wrapping things up. We hadn't gotten there much earlier than we had the last time.

Tonight was my weekly pilgrimage to Wegman's for the rest of the stuff that I needed. The list was still quite long, but I managed to get everything at least organic...the butter, the whipping cream, the nuts for the obligatory cheese plate, even the fennel seeds for my turkey, among other things. It comes at a price, though. We dropped almost $200 for the effort.

The rest of the week will consist of prepping for the big day; making what can be made ahead of time, testing out and tweaking my brine, some minor decorating for the occasion (I'm still waiting on the window treatments), and trying to keep the house in order all the while. Oh, and I found out that the in-laws are heading out of town the Sunday after Thanksgiving with Regina's aunt and uncle and that they will be staying here the night before they leave. They are bringing all of the dogs so that they can leave them with us for the week. Twelve people to feed on Turkey Day, and two days later, ten more mouths to feed (if you include the four animals) and put up. Wow. When it rains, it pours.




 

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.