Butterballs Suck
I am on a rant today about last night's Christmas dinner. (picture to follow..having numerous problems posting pics to this blog recently!)
I am a decent cook. I learned how to cook at a fairly young age. When I was 16 and living in the heart of the Catskills I found myself knocking at the front door of the one and only local Inn that I could walk to. I wanted a job there, and got it! It was a private Inn which operated mostly on weekends and holidays. I was a bar back, a prep cook, a waitress, a chaimbermaid. I did it all and worked very hard from friday night through sunday afternoon, and then some hours during the week.
I learned much about life during the 3 years I was there. I was pretty innocent at 16 and had my eyes opened in many ways, from getting my first kiss forced upon me in a corner by a big man who looked like Burl Ives (that was absoluley horrible I have to say), to falling in love for the first time, and lots about sex, drugs and disco.(an aside, I learned tons about sex while cleaning my boss's bedroom as they had a series of RARE Picasso books that contained all of his sexual/porn drawings, and an illustrated book left on the bed by a guest..but those kind of stories are for another time) I had clothes my boss gave me from 5th avenue shops such as Missoni, jewelry from Cartier and Tiffanys. My father put the stop to the trip to Monte Carlo (I was going as their assistant) and to my budding modeling career in NY (Gisele was ready to promote me as she was a Parisian model and had all the connections). I have since traveled to Europe and did indeed do some modeling stints, albeit later in my life, and I am grateful that I got to do the very things I dreamed of, which had been denied to me. My father would be rolling in his grave if he ever knew what I saw, and what I did.
But what I took most with me was what I learned in the kitchen. I learned about cooking everything fresh from the market; rarely did a can come into the Inn. I learned about fine french wine and drank only Dom Perignon. Shepherds pie was made from the left over filet mignon. I harvested fresh watercress from a local ditch, and made soup. I still make some of those meals today and appreciate all the lessons I learned as a young girl coming of age. I became absolutely spoiled, and perhaps that is where my stern criteria for only the best in food and alcohol and other fine things in life was born.
Which leads to my rant.
Christmas dinner was going to be very small as it four of us. I saw no sense in cooking a giant turkey as 1)it was more work and 2) I did not want to waste an entire turkey. So I told Larry to buy 2 turkey breasts. Now I have made breasts before, been happy with them, and got the best part of the turkey since I am a white meat girl.
He bought 2 Butterball breasts. I open them and they didn't look like turkey breasts, but I figure that they have de-boned them. They are wrapped in a string netting which was to be left on. I cooked them according to the directions, adding herbs, rubbed them down with olive, and garlic, of course. I cooked the little f----ers like they said, got the rest of the dinner coordinated, and it came time to serve. First of all, the big disappointment was there was very little, if any, crisp turkey skin to nibble on. I LOVE HERBED CHICKEN AND TURKEY SKIN. Ok, I would live through that disappointment. Then I tried to get the string netting off the turkey. IT WOULD NOT BUDGE. As I am cutting it, I am noticing that this is very strange meat. It was not all white! I gave up, called Larry in to do his manly job of carving while I got all the other dishes ready.
Well, what this was, was a conglomeration of turkey meat pressed together into what was supposed to look like a breast, and injected with tons of sodium and the like, then rolled into a roast. I was pissed. I had no choice but to serve it, but man, what a disappointment! It was a lie and I was deceived! And it near ruined my Christmas dinner.
So, in my fridge sits the remains of 1.5 breasts. What am I going to do with this? I can't throw it out. I suppose I will make some kind of soup and salad with it. Perhaps if I put enough REAL food into it I can pull it off. BUTTERBALLS SUCK. Plain and simple. Perhaps I should send them a link to tonights blog?
Oh, and if you are a reader, two books of note about the sensuality of food. La Cucina ( link is to a brief review) and Like Water for Chocolate(the movie to the second book is quite enjoyable too!)
BON APPETITE!
patti
I am a decent cook. I learned how to cook at a fairly young age. When I was 16 and living in the heart of the Catskills I found myself knocking at the front door of the one and only local Inn that I could walk to. I wanted a job there, and got it! It was a private Inn which operated mostly on weekends and holidays. I was a bar back, a prep cook, a waitress, a chaimbermaid. I did it all and worked very hard from friday night through sunday afternoon, and then some hours during the week.
I learned much about life during the 3 years I was there. I was pretty innocent at 16 and had my eyes opened in many ways, from getting my first kiss forced upon me in a corner by a big man who looked like Burl Ives (that was absoluley horrible I have to say), to falling in love for the first time, and lots about sex, drugs and disco.(an aside, I learned tons about sex while cleaning my boss's bedroom as they had a series of RARE Picasso books that contained all of his sexual/porn drawings, and an illustrated book left on the bed by a guest..but those kind of stories are for another time) I had clothes my boss gave me from 5th avenue shops such as Missoni, jewelry from Cartier and Tiffanys. My father put the stop to the trip to Monte Carlo (I was going as their assistant) and to my budding modeling career in NY (Gisele was ready to promote me as she was a Parisian model and had all the connections). I have since traveled to Europe and did indeed do some modeling stints, albeit later in my life, and I am grateful that I got to do the very things I dreamed of, which had been denied to me. My father would be rolling in his grave if he ever knew what I saw, and what I did.
But what I took most with me was what I learned in the kitchen. I learned about cooking everything fresh from the market; rarely did a can come into the Inn. I learned about fine french wine and drank only Dom Perignon. Shepherds pie was made from the left over filet mignon. I harvested fresh watercress from a local ditch, and made soup. I still make some of those meals today and appreciate all the lessons I learned as a young girl coming of age. I became absolutely spoiled, and perhaps that is where my stern criteria for only the best in food and alcohol and other fine things in life was born.
Which leads to my rant.
Christmas dinner was going to be very small as it four of us. I saw no sense in cooking a giant turkey as 1)it was more work and 2) I did not want to waste an entire turkey. So I told Larry to buy 2 turkey breasts. Now I have made breasts before, been happy with them, and got the best part of the turkey since I am a white meat girl.
He bought 2 Butterball breasts. I open them and they didn't look like turkey breasts, but I figure that they have de-boned them. They are wrapped in a string netting which was to be left on. I cooked them according to the directions, adding herbs, rubbed them down with olive, and garlic, of course. I cooked the little f----ers like they said, got the rest of the dinner coordinated, and it came time to serve. First of all, the big disappointment was there was very little, if any, crisp turkey skin to nibble on. I LOVE HERBED CHICKEN AND TURKEY SKIN. Ok, I would live through that disappointment. Then I tried to get the string netting off the turkey. IT WOULD NOT BUDGE. As I am cutting it, I am noticing that this is very strange meat. It was not all white! I gave up, called Larry in to do his manly job of carving while I got all the other dishes ready.
Well, what this was, was a conglomeration of turkey meat pressed together into what was supposed to look like a breast, and injected with tons of sodium and the like, then rolled into a roast. I was pissed. I had no choice but to serve it, but man, what a disappointment! It was a lie and I was deceived! And it near ruined my Christmas dinner.
So, in my fridge sits the remains of 1.5 breasts. What am I going to do with this? I can't throw it out. I suppose I will make some kind of soup and salad with it. Perhaps if I put enough REAL food into it I can pull it off. BUTTERBALLS SUCK. Plain and simple. Perhaps I should send them a link to tonights blog?
Oh, and if you are a reader, two books of note about the sensuality of food. La Cucina ( link is to a brief review) and Like Water for Chocolate(the movie to the second book is quite enjoyable too!)
BON APPETITE!
patti
Comments
Have you made beer can chicken before? You should try it, so good.
Have a great New Year and have fun