Well, it looks like spring turkey season will pass me by—again—without me getting a chance to get into the field. Thank God Holly got out this season, and was successful! Now we have a nice 13-pound turkey to eat.
But before you can eat it, you need to pluck it. Turkeys are hard to pluck. I suppose you could wet-pluck them like a pheasant, but you'd need a really big kettle of water. So we mostly dry-pluck them, which is a long, un-fun business. Fortunately for me, I was away when Holly shot her bird, so I didn't have to help pluck. I just get to cook it. Schweeet ...
We don't shoot many turkeys—each one is a rare gift we don't want to waste. So I am giving it the same "everything but the quack" treatment I give ducks and geese, only instead of a quack, this time it's a gobble.
I started by breaking down the turkey, which is just like breaking down any game bird, or a chicken for that matter, only the bird is a lot larger.
Holly A. Heyser
First I remove the feet, which I save, and then I remove the legs. Great huge meaty legs! Turkeys do more running than flying, so they will be tasty, but loaded with sinew; I'll eventually confit them, or Holly will use them in a Mexican mole. After that go the wings, also gigantic. These will see the same fate as the legs.
That leaves the breast. A wild turkey breast is not like a domestic turkey's: this is the main difference between the two, as a wild bird's flavor is remarkably similar to one of those heritage turkeys you can buy. If you've only eaten Butterball, think turkey flavor times 10. But I digress.
A wild turkey breast is really six cuts of meat, not four. Domestic turkey breast is wide, like Dolly Parton. Wild ones are more like Kate Moss, or whoever the waif du jour is these days.
Both birds have large "tenders" on the inside part of the breast, which need to be pulled off. They are in fact tender, but they each have a wicked tendon running through the center that needs to be dealt with before cooking; you can chew on one for days and it won't break down.
The narrowness of the wild bird's breast lends itself to slicing each half-breast in half again. It is exactly the same concept you use with fish: there is a thin "tail end" that is in fact closest to the tail on a turkey, too, and a wider "center cut" that is up near the neck.
What do you do with those thin slices? Why make cutlets, of course.
Wild turkey cutlets, pounded a bit between wax paper with a rubber mallet or empty wine bottle, are every bit as tender as domestic chicken—and way more flavorful. I started with a simple wild turkey Marsala.
There's nothing like a slab of breaded and fried meat, slathered with the sweet-rich Marsala wine and butter or olive oil. Holly and I devoured this dish in seconds; it was one of those "no talk, must eat" meals.
My recipe for turkey Marsala is bare bones: pounded turkey cutlets, butter and olive oil, a simple breading, rosemary, and lots of Marsala. I fry a little garlic in the oil beforehand for flavor, too.
Breasts are easy, though. After all, everyone loves them, right? Left with a carcass, I moved on to turkey broth. I have no real set recipe for turkey broth. Sometimes I roast the neck and carcass, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I toss ginger in there, sometimes not. I always cook the bones and stray bits of meat a long time, though, and only follow up with veggies and spices in the last 90 minutes; I think this keeps the flavors cleaner.
Holly A. Heyser
Broth is also where the feet come in. There is a lot of collagen in the feet—and once you hack at them with a cleaver to open them up to the water, that collagen adds body to your broth. And yes, I washed them first.