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From: Karlo X (ktakki@artcrime.com) Subject: Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp. Newsgroups: alt.religion.kibology Date: 2000-11-23 22:49:09 PST
SSC: I can't belch at will. I've never been able to, and this was a serious social handicap between the ages of 10 and 14.
After that, it became a source of discomfort, as excessive consumption of beer made belching necessary, else I fall victim to Spontaneous Human Explosion. Until I figured the trick of swallowing backwards, my only remedy was the large hypodermic needle I stole from the vet my friend worked for.
Hssssssssssssss. Ahhhh.
I'm so full right now, I'm afraid to look in a mirror. I might see a pregnant Ethiopean staring back at me. I weigh 135 lbs. with my boots on; I don't carry extra weight well.
As has been my custom for the last few years, I've exchanged travelling down the Northeast Corridor on the Busiest Day of the Year to be with family for staying at home and cooking my own Thanksgiving feast, for myself and whoever happens to be without plans that day. Some years it's just me. Some years it's four or five people and we have a grand old time, eating and drinking and playing poker afterwards.
This year it was me and one other person, a vegan. She passed on the turkey, of course, but rather enjoyed the roast potatoes with dill and paprika, and even had some stuffing, despite the butter I used to prepare it. Oh, and I roasted a huge garlic, which we squeezed (mmmm...buttery) over the potatoes.
I have my own recipe for stuffing, like I have my own recipe for everything. I find recipes hard to follow; I only look for the command line switches, like --time and --temperature. I actually consulted a search engine for "roast garlic" and it returned a variety of answers. I had a huge "elephant" garlic, so the "30 min. @ 375F" became 90 min. @ 325F. Trial and error. Reading _The Joy of Cooking_ makes me feel like there are all these undocumented cooking APIs, devices I don't have, techniques I don't know. "Medium" heat? I need an integer, not a string. 180·F on a meat thermometer is something I can use.
Practically everything I cook (other than steaks, salads, and grilled things) starts with a half cup of minced garlic sauteed in butter or olive oil, followed by a large onion, chopped, and then 8 large organic mushrooms, sliced. Stew, stuffing, meatballs (Italian or sweet 'n' sour), meat sauce, chili, everything. I cook it down until everything is browned and the onions are caramelized. It's the basis of everything I cook, like what a roux is to Cajun food. In fact, the pan scrapings are like roux without the burnt flour.
So my stuffing recipe starts with sauteed garlic, onions, and mushrooms. For now I'm using a 14 oz. bag of stuffing mix, which also needs 2 cups of water and 2 sticks of butter (!). Next year I'm going to either halve the recipe or hoard stale french bread a month in advance. Sauteeing takes a half-stick of butter, so you can probably hear my arteries clog from here.
Anyway, we have a big bowl full of soggy, herb-infused bread chunks and a frying pan of translucent, caramelized onions and browned mushroom slices and five large cloves of minced garlic. To this we add five or six carrots (chopped on the bias) and two chopped apples (Cortland, Macintosh, or Granny Smith).
The bird's anal cavity will only accept about a third of this unholy admixture, leaving the rest to be baked in Coringware for an hour at 350. Fortunately, I have two kitchens in my house, and two gas ovens to work with.
As for the bird, a 13-pounder, smearing it with butter and minced garlic bits, basting once every hour, and tenting it with foil 2/3rds of the way through its 5-hour trial-by-heat produces a moist, tasty treat, even if I overcooked by half an hour. I've never food-poisoned myself and I'm not about to start.
Making the gravy is my favorite part. I only add a cup of filtered water to the roasting pan; after five hours I have at least two cups of pan drippings to siphon off. I sautee the neck and giblets in olive oil and set them aside for the feral cats that live in our garage (this is the only time I feed them). I add the drippings, four or five tablespoons of flour, a cup of red wine, a teaspoon of balsamic vinegar, and some Gravymaster (just like Mom used to throw).
IHNJH, IJLS "Gravymaster". I think it's really liquid shoepolish. But red wine, drippings, and flour make a sickening color, so the caramel coloring of Gravymaster is needed. Coca-cola might suffice. Deep, deep brown is the result. High heat, then low. High heat, then low. No lumps. None. Perfect.
"PRIVATE PYLE! WHAT IS YOUR SAUCEPAN'S NAME?"
"Charlene, SIR!"
Since it was just me and one other person, I didn't steam any broccoli, make a hollandaise sauce, or bake any biscuits. I'll save those for tomorrow, the day after, or the day after that.
It's all about the leftovers.
If anyone's hungry tomorrow, drop me a line. I'll ftp you some leftovers.
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