Brined and spatchcocked

Yes, it’s Thanksgiving, and that’s a newspaper cooking in the oven. Well, drying out. We finally got rain, and a big fat newspaper plump with Black Friday ads arrived on our driveway this morning in a leaky plastic bag.

I used my blow dryer for one section, while Dale opted for the oven at 250 degrees. Dale, otherwise known as Mr. Wizard, says the ignition point of paper is 500 degrees, so we should all be safe. If you should get a wet newspaper, our test revealed the oven is faster.

Oh, and please do not put the newspaper in the microwave! Dale set fire to our microwave one year drying out a wet newspaper, and we believe it’s because there’s metal in the ink. At this point, I may as well tell you there’s a history of Dale and fire.

Dale believes the cat prefers his food at mouse temperature. Dale’s ritual is to take a shower at the end of the day and feed the cat afterward. There was a time when he would set the cooktop burner on low and heat the can for a few minutes just prior to his shower. He’d turn off the heat and then go take his shower while the cat waited impatiently meowing outside the shower door. Once dried and dressed, Dale would return to the kitchen accompanied by a hungry cat and received by perfect mouse-temperature cat food.

Except one time he forgot to turn off the burner. Nothing was on fire when he returned to the kitchen, but it set off the smoke alarm, and the odor of burnt cat food jumped the kitchen and spread viciously throughout the house. Dale opened the windows and turned all fans to high in a feeble attempt to air the place out.

Meanwhile, I’m coming home from work, and I pull into our street only to find a firetruck outside the house and the distinctive odor of burnt cat food oozing its way to the driveway. Fire fighters had arrived and started asking questions. Dale explained he burned the cat’s food heating it to mouse temperature. The fireman said, “Sir, do you mind if we take a look around?” As in, are you fucking nuts?

The house was declared not on fire, but since then, no actual burners are involved in the heating of cat food. He trained our new cat in the shower ritual, but now Dale removes the can from the fridge before taking his shower … just to take the chill off. At serving time, he adds a tablespoon of hot water, which makes for nice gravy anyway. The cat certainly seems to be happy.

Another problem solved.

It’s turkey day, and Dale is in charge of the bird. I don’t recall any fires involving turkey, although we have had incendiary discussions about the best way to cook it. He is a die-hard fan of brining, and this year I made the mistake of sending him a New York Times article about brining being out of fashion. And then just to rub salt in the wound, I told him about my friend, Carole, who spatchcocks her turkey.

Dale, aka Mr. Wizard, said spatchcocking is just a fancy word for butterflying, and there’s nothing new there (other than the possibility of it being golden brown, crispy and delicious). He doesn’t care. He already has a process. And he’s right – I love his brined turkey – but I am also open to new experiences and even mentioned Carole makes her stuffing in a bundt pan. She sent me a picture.

Mr. Wizard said it looked good, for dressing. He said it’s not stuffing if it isn’t stuffed inside the bird. Whatever. After 40 years, I’m used to this. I’ll be making an apple crostata for dessert, along with standard side dishes. I’ve made every kind of pie crust known to mankind over the years, and I’m going back to the first cookbook we ever owned, a recipe that uses Crisco – not butter.

Dale doesn’t challenge my dessert and side dish decisions, so I’ve backed off on the turkey. Besides, we sort of got a new experience at breakfast. Fresh newspaper, brined and spatchcocked.

Happy Thanksgiving!