My family is not a turkey eating family.
In fact I had never actually had turkey on thanksgiving until I was 19, when I started going to Boomer's family's Thanksgiving dinner.
I don't even think I had had turkey in any form other than deli meat.
But I have a recipe for a roasted turkey. Do I ever have a recipe for roasted turkey.
And the only reason I do is because one year we decided to go to my family's thanksgiving instead of Boomer's. And Boomer informed me that it wouldn't be Thanksgiving without turkey.
So I googled, and researched. And came up with a fool-proof method for brining, and roasting the bird.
So, last year I thawed, washed, brined, chilled, warmed up, and rinsed said bird. And then wrote detailed instructions for buttering, seasoning, an roasting the bird for my wonderful mother (a woman who has never roasted a turkey, or even tasted any for of turkey in her life). And she cooked it flawlessly. It was moist, and tender, crispy skin, juicy meat, and seasoned perfectly. Delicious.
But here is the funny part. Or maybe it's ironic. I never really know how to use the word ironic. Irony is lost on me. Alanis Morissette ruined my ability to ever understand what it means to be ironic. Moronic, I understand perfectly. I digress. The funny part- I have never roasted a whole turkey by myself.
Crazy right?! I have a recipe, and a method for it. But I, myself, have never performed the act of cooking a gobbler.
So this year I did it. I brined, and chilled, and rinsed, and rubbed, and seasoned, and roasted. And you know what happened to that beautiful bird?
It. Was. Dry.
The dark meat was wonderful (but dark meat always is). But the breast, was dry, and tough, and flavorless. Yeah, so that "fool-proof" recipe I told you about? Fuhget aboutit! Because this fool (me) proved me wrong.
I am not the master of my domain. My mother is.
The woman who doesn't eat turkey.