Thompson's Turkey (Modified) and a Family Legend
The family legend goes like this: some time in the sixties, my father took the Ford down to Johnson and Sons Lincoln-Mercury in Newport Beach for service. He had to drive the better part of an hour to get there, and as a consequence planned on staying in the dealer’s waiting room until the car was done.
My father was not a gregarious person. He was rather quiet, and preferred solitude or the company of friends and family to being around strangers. Nevertheless, a conversation with another gentleman, also waiting for his car, developed. We can assume they probably talked about work, or football, or other such man subjects. But the approaching Thanksgiving holiday somehow came up, and before he knew it, my father realized he was in the presence of a turkey zealot.
The man claimed to have a recipe for roast turkey that would forever change my father’s relationship to roast turkey. The recipe and resulting turkey was the pinnacle of human achievement, the man said, but it required commitment. It would take several days to even gather all the necessary ingredients. Then, the preparation and cooking would involve hours and hours of labor. But the payoff was worth every second.
The next part of the legend is lost to history, but what we do know is that Dad came home from Johnson and Sons with a mimeograph consisting of three typed pages that formed the basis of Thanksgiving meals in our house for decades to come. The original pages eventually became stiff as parchment covered in turkey fat and gravy, and acquired holy relic status.
The document, as you may have guessed, was Morton Thompson’s legendary turkey recipe. This was 40 years before the advent of the web search, and we have no idea how the man at the dealership came to have it. Thompson was a New York writer who seldom ventured west and died in 1953. Best guesses are that the original recipe dates from some time in the 1930s, although there are no fewer than three different versions of how it came to be. That Thompson came up with it and his friend Robert Benchley rhapsodized about it is close to all that is known definitively. My suspicion is that the recipe my father had was a transcription of an article that appeared in The American Weekly in 1959 written by Richard Gehman entitled “How Do You Roast a Thompsons Turkey?”
My father was not a gregarious person. He was rather quiet, and preferred solitude or the company of friends and family to being around strangers. Nevertheless, a conversation with another gentleman, also waiting for his car, developed. We can assume they probably talked about work, or football, or other such man subjects. But the approaching Thanksgiving holiday somehow came up, and before he knew it, my father realized he was in the presence of a turkey zealot.
The man claimed to have a recipe for roast turkey that would forever change my father’s relationship to roast turkey. The recipe and resulting turkey was the pinnacle of human achievement, the man said, but it required commitment. It would take several days to even gather all the necessary ingredients. Then, the preparation and cooking would involve hours and hours of labor. But the payoff was worth every second.
The next part of the legend is lost to history, but what we do know is that Dad came home from Johnson and Sons with a mimeograph consisting of three typed pages that formed the basis of Thanksgiving meals in our house for decades to come. The original pages eventually became stiff as parchment covered in turkey fat and gravy, and acquired holy relic status.
The document, as you may have guessed, was Morton Thompson’s legendary turkey recipe. This was 40 years before the advent of the web search, and we have no idea how the man at the dealership came to have it. Thompson was a New York writer who seldom ventured west and died in 1953. Best guesses are that the original recipe dates from some time in the 1930s, although there are no fewer than three different versions of how it came to be. That Thompson came up with it and his friend Robert Benchley rhapsodized about it is close to all that is known definitively. My suspicion is that the recipe my father had was a transcription of an article that appeared in The American Weekly in 1959 written by Richard Gehman entitled “How Do You Roast a Thompsons Turkey?”
The original recipes and a great discussion of the whole subject can be found here.
The recipe is a literary masterpiece, and both Gehman’s and Robert Benchley’s versions are great fun to read. But they require some methods and ingredients that are not current. For instance, the recipe calls for three bags of bread crumbs from a bakery, and also gives specific instruction to the butcher about how much of the neck and fat to leave on the bird (as much of each as possible). For those of us in the ‘burbs, just those two items can have us scratching our heads. The recipe also comes from the carefree days before people thought much about contracting food poisoning from stuffing prepared in the bird and not cooked thoroughly.
With these things in mind, I offer my own take on this essential classic. My version omits several items that I deem unnecessary and offers a simplified version of the cooking instructions. I have, with regrets, now dispensed entirely with stuffing the bird at all, and cook the stuffing outside the bird with contributions from the drip pan. Yes, you lose some of the flavor, but truthfully only a portion of the huge amount of stuffing the recipe produces could ever fit in the bird to begin with, and the bird cooks much more evenly (and faster) without it. And you avoid the nagging fear that everyone will be driving the porcelain bus some hours after the meal on account of undercooked stuffing.
The recipe is a literary masterpiece, and both Gehman’s and Robert Benchley’s versions are great fun to read. But they require some methods and ingredients that are not current. For instance, the recipe calls for three bags of bread crumbs from a bakery, and also gives specific instruction to the butcher about how much of the neck and fat to leave on the bird (as much of each as possible). For those of us in the ‘burbs, just those two items can have us scratching our heads. The recipe also comes from the carefree days before people thought much about contracting food poisoning from stuffing prepared in the bird and not cooked thoroughly.
With these things in mind, I offer my own take on this essential classic. My version omits several items that I deem unnecessary and offers a simplified version of the cooking instructions. I have, with regrets, now dispensed entirely with stuffing the bird at all, and cook the stuffing outside the bird with contributions from the drip pan. Yes, you lose some of the flavor, but truthfully only a portion of the huge amount of stuffing the recipe produces could ever fit in the bird to begin with, and the bird cooks much more evenly (and faster) without it. And you avoid the nagging fear that everyone will be driving the porcelain bus some hours after the meal on account of undercooked stuffing.
THE MODIFIED THOMPSONS TURKEY
The turkey should be big, around 16-22 pounds, preferably a hen. I don’t have to tell you to make certain it’s thawed, do I? Early on Thanksgiving morning remove the gizzard, neck and heart and rub in/out with salt and pepper. Some people coat the bird with oil before the salt/pepper rub, I don’t. In a saucepan set on low, start making the basting liquid.
Basting Liquid
Chopped up gizzard, neck, and heart
2 cups apple cider
1 cup white wine
1 garlic clove
Bayleaf
.5 tsp coriander
tsp paprika
This year (2017), once the basting liquid has started, I will turn on the TV to the Macy’s Parade and remember my good friend Ed Greene’s (1935-2017) on-air mix.
Ed did the TV mix for the parade for decades and was quite good at it, and I miss him. The parade puts me in mind of New York and the Algonquin Round Table, because at this point Robert Benchley’s version of the recipe calls for having a stiff drink (he makes a Ramos Fizz and reserves the egg yolks for later) but I’m usually still yawning, and the next step involves a sharp knife. For the stuffing you will need three large bowls. Remove the skin from the apples and as much of the membrane as possible from the oranges. Be careful when zesting the lemon rind—you don’t want to include skin from your knuckles in the stuffing. I finally broke down and bought a zester, which is a really great tool. The third bowl modifies the recipe the most: the original recipe calls for the bread crumbs, 3/4 pound of ground veal, 1/4 pound of ground pork, a 1/4 pound of butter, and all the fat we have been able to get off the turkey (rendered first). I substitute Aidell’s Chicken and Apple sausage (which is already fully cooked) for all the raw ground meat for safety’s sake (and the fact that the use of veal has largely fallen from favor).
Bowl 1
1 diced red apple
1 diced green apple
1 diced orange
1 can diced water chestnuts
Zest of one lemon (rest of lemon becomes useful later)
2 tsp ginger
Bowl 2
The turkey should be big, around 16-22 pounds, preferably a hen. I don’t have to tell you to make certain it’s thawed, do I? Early on Thanksgiving morning remove the gizzard, neck and heart and rub in/out with salt and pepper. Some people coat the bird with oil before the salt/pepper rub, I don’t. In a saucepan set on low, start making the basting liquid.
Basting Liquid
Chopped up gizzard, neck, and heart
2 cups apple cider
1 cup white wine
1 garlic clove
Bayleaf
.5 tsp coriander
tsp paprika
This year (2017), once the basting liquid has started, I will turn on the TV to the Macy’s Parade and remember my good friend Ed Greene’s (1935-2017) on-air mix.
 |
| We all miss you terribly, Ed. You did well. |
Bowl 1
1 diced red apple
1 diced green apple
1 diced orange
1 can diced water chestnuts
Zest of one lemon (rest of lemon becomes useful later)
2 tsp ginger
Bowl 2
2 tsp Colman mustard
2 tsp caraway seed
3 tsp celery seed
2 tsp poppy seed
2.5 tsp oregano
1 lg bayleaf
1 tsp black pepper
.5 tsp mace
.5 tsp turmeric
.5tsp savory
1 tbsp poultry seasoning
Salt to taste
3 tbsp chopped fresh parsley (about 1/3 of a bunch)
2 cloves chopped elephant garlic
4 cloves chopped
2 large chopped onions
6 chopped celery stalks
1 tbsp margarine
Bowl 3
6 diced Aidell’s chicken/apple sausages
3 bags (1.5 boxes) seasoned stuffing
Rendered fat from turkey
1 stick butter
Gehman quotes Thompson about the stuffing:
By now Benchley has moved on to dry Martinis, but I’m just getting to the Ramos Fizz point. Not being a fan of Gin or heavy cream, I am currently experimenting with a concoction I've dubbed the Cortes Fizz (in honor of my friend Roger Cortes who was a mixer on the Johnny Carson Tonight Show and is always up for a cocktail). When I perfect the recipe I will add it here, but for now I can say that it involves fresh lemon juice, sugar, simple syrup, dark rum, egg whites, and sparkling water. Back to the turkey. Keeping Thompson’s words in mind, mix each bowl until tired, then mix all three together until exhausted.
The parade is probably over by now. Raise a toast to Ed with your Cortes Fizz. Now get out your Miracle on 34th Street DVD and start that up.
Here we come to the most controversial part of the process. There are all sorts of ways to actually roast a turkey, but Thompson’s recipe depends on forming a shell around the bird that keeps all the juices in, the bird staying moist and getting more flavorful with each passing hour of cooking. To accomplish this I cheat and use my barbecue grill. Truss the turkey and place it breast side down on a rack in a large drip pan. Turn the oven up to stun and wait until it gets red hot.
Keep in mind the un-stuffed turkey will have a shorter cooking time than a stuffed bird, so go on the web and find out how long you’ll need to slow roast an unstuffed turkey of the weight you have. In any event it will be around 4 hours, so back up from your planned dinner hour accordingly.
Toss the bird in the red-hot oven, and now work fast to make the paste. This is where the 4 egg yolks reserved from the Ramos Fizz come in handy.
Paste
4 egg yolks
1 tsp Colman mustard
1 clove minced garlic
1 tbsp onion juice
.5 tsp salt
.25 tsp cayenne
Juice of 1 lemon
Flour to make a paste
After the bird has begun to brown, say 15-20 minutes, pull it completely out of the oven and turn the oven down to normal slow-roasting temperature (around 325°). While the bird sizzles, brush it all over with 1/3 of the paste. Then turn it over, and cover the breast side with the rest. Put it back in the oven.
After another few minutes you can start basting with the liquid you started cooking so many hours ago, reserving some for the stuffing. Baste at least every 15 minutes (like I said, this is a labor-intensive bird). You will need to replenish the basting fluid, so keep the cider, white wine, and paprika handy.
60 minutes before the bird will be done roasting, put the stuffing in the oven with the bird. I use a cast iron stew pot with a lid, liberally adding basting fluid, chicken stock, and pan drippings from the turkey. The intent here is to get the stuffing and the bird acquainted with each other. You will need to adjust the oven to keep the temperature correct, and 60 minutes is about the limit for the stuffing before it begins to char inside the pot. The good news is that the cast-iron pot will keep the stuffing hot for several hours on its own.
I have come to the conclusion that the proper sequence for Thanksgiving dinner is to have the bird and the stuffing come out of the oven (or grill, whatever) a full hour before the appointed meal time. The bird needs around 30 minutes to rest before you try to carve it, and this also gives you time to organize your sides before everyone sits down. The bird will look something like a meteor after coming through the atmosphere. Here again is Thompson:
2 tsp caraway seed
3 tsp celery seed
2 tsp poppy seed
2.5 tsp oregano
1 lg bayleaf
1 tsp black pepper
.5 tsp mace
.5 tsp turmeric
.5tsp savory
1 tbsp poultry seasoning
Salt to taste
3 tbsp chopped fresh parsley (about 1/3 of a bunch)
2 cloves chopped elephant garlic
4 cloves chopped
2 large chopped onions
6 chopped celery stalks
1 tbsp margarine
Bowl 3
6 diced Aidell’s chicken/apple sausages
3 bags (1.5 boxes) seasoned stuffing
Rendered fat from turkey
1 stick butter
Gehman quotes Thompson about the stuffing:
Now begin mixing. 'Mix in each bowl the contents of each bowl,' Thompson wrote. 'When each bowl is well mixed, mix the three of them together. And mix it well. Mix it with your hands. Mix it until your forearms and wrists ache. Then mix it some more. Now toss it so that it isn’t any longer a doughy mass.' Thus spoke Thompson.
 |
| The three bowls prior to mixing |
The parade is probably over by now. Raise a toast to Ed with your Cortes Fizz. Now get out your Miracle on 34th Street DVD and start that up.
Here we come to the most controversial part of the process. There are all sorts of ways to actually roast a turkey, but Thompson’s recipe depends on forming a shell around the bird that keeps all the juices in, the bird staying moist and getting more flavorful with each passing hour of cooking. To accomplish this I cheat and use my barbecue grill. Truss the turkey and place it breast side down on a rack in a large drip pan. Turn the oven up to stun and wait until it gets red hot.
Keep in mind the un-stuffed turkey will have a shorter cooking time than a stuffed bird, so go on the web and find out how long you’ll need to slow roast an unstuffed turkey of the weight you have. In any event it will be around 4 hours, so back up from your planned dinner hour accordingly.
Toss the bird in the red-hot oven, and now work fast to make the paste. This is where the 4 egg yolks reserved from the Ramos Fizz come in handy.
Paste
4 egg yolks
1 tsp Colman mustard
1 clove minced garlic
1 tbsp onion juice
.5 tsp salt
.25 tsp cayenne
Juice of 1 lemon
Flour to make a paste
After the bird has begun to brown, say 15-20 minutes, pull it completely out of the oven and turn the oven down to normal slow-roasting temperature (around 325°). While the bird sizzles, brush it all over with 1/3 of the paste. Then turn it over, and cover the breast side with the rest. Put it back in the oven.
After another few minutes you can start basting with the liquid you started cooking so many hours ago, reserving some for the stuffing. Baste at least every 15 minutes (like I said, this is a labor-intensive bird). You will need to replenish the basting fluid, so keep the cider, white wine, and paprika handy.
60 minutes before the bird will be done roasting, put the stuffing in the oven with the bird. I use a cast iron stew pot with a lid, liberally adding basting fluid, chicken stock, and pan drippings from the turkey. The intent here is to get the stuffing and the bird acquainted with each other. You will need to adjust the oven to keep the temperature correct, and 60 minutes is about the limit for the stuffing before it begins to char inside the pot. The good news is that the cast-iron pot will keep the stuffing hot for several hours on its own.
I have come to the conclusion that the proper sequence for Thanksgiving dinner is to have the bird and the stuffing come out of the oven (or grill, whatever) a full hour before the appointed meal time. The bird needs around 30 minutes to rest before you try to carve it, and this also gives you time to organize your sides before everyone sits down. The bird will look something like a meteor after coming through the atmosphere. Here again is Thompson:
 |
| Turkey after re-entry |
You will think, ‘My God! I have ruined it.’ Be calm. Take a tweezer and pry loose the paste coating. It will come off readily. Beneath this burnt, harmless, now worthless shell the bird will be golden and dark brown, succulent, giddymaking with wild aromas, crisp and crunchable and crackling. The meat beneath this crazing panorama of skin will be wet, juice will spurt from it in tiny fountains as high as the handle of the fork plunged into it; the meat will be white, crammed with mocking flavor, delirious with things that rush over your palate and are drowned and gone as fast as you can swallow; cut a little of it with a spoon, it will spread on bread as eagerly and readily as soft Wurst. You do not have to be a carver to eat this turkey; speak harshly to it and it will fall apart.
I hope you enjoy my version of this classic, based on a recipe my father got from a stranger fifty years ago at a car dealership in Newport Beach. Life is short, people are precious, and as I attempt to pass along my memories of Thanksgivings past to my own family, I wish you the best of luck making memories with yours.
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