Recipes for Turkeys (um….)

     I was thinking of doing one more column discussing synonyms for the human seat which have turned up on postcards over the years, but as people have suggested they find this subject tiresome, we will move on to those turkey recipes I mentioned a couple of weeks ago instead.  (Keeping in mind that this is NOT a food blog.)

     I would like to consider, very briefly, the Turkey Sandwich: that was, after all, the main side effect of the custom I talked about in a pre-Thanksgiving column in which a bachelor cooked a turkey about every other Sunday, providing him with meat for sandwiches for at least two weeks thereafter.  (One turkey breast was saved in the freezer for the second week.  If you are queasy about how long to keep leftovers in the refrigerator, just make bigger sandwiches.)  I used whatever bread was on sale that week, and spread it with Miracle Whip or, if I was beginning to get bored with turkey sandwiches, Kraft Horseradish Sauce.

     If you are making any of these recipes at home, everything is “to taste”.  I will not indulge in arguments with people who prefer Hellman’s or Duke’s mayonnaise.  It’s a matter of what tastes good to YOU.  (I did try Kraft horseradish mustard once, and regard this as a mistake.)

     We now move into more personal, not to say idiosyncratic, recipes.  My Turkey Noodle Soup requires a cereal bowl of the gelatin you poured off the turkey and set in the fridge.  (See original column)  Nowadays, this results in a bowl of solid gelatin with very tiny layer of turkey fat on top.  Scrape the fat off and toss it into a medium sauce pot.  Into this you cut up some leftover turkey (dark meat from a leftover thigh is excellent).  Cook the turkey in the fat on low to medium heat until it is warm, and then slide in the solid gelatin from the cereal bowl.  Turn the heat up and bring the gelatin to a boil.

     Now ease gently into the boiling gelatin one package of ramen noodles.  Throw the seasoning packet away, unless you really like that flavor.  (To taste, remember.)  It has a lot of salt in it, and so does the gelatin, but use your own judgement.  Reduce heat and cook until the noodles are soft enough for you.

     In a separate bowl, toss a half cup of frozen vegetables; I used California Mix, but again, this is to your taste.  All that matters is that the vegetables be small.  Do nothing to them but toss them into that bowl.  When the noodles have reached the texture you like, pour the hot gelatin and noodles into the bowl with the vegetables.  By the time you sit down, the hot gelatin will have cooked the vegetables.  Eat your soup.

     A cereal bowl of gelatin is also needed for my Leftover Turkey Pizza.  You start in much the same way: heating some chunks of turkey in a bowl and then sliding the solid gelatin in on top.  However, here you want to boil that gelatin until it reduces.  This takes too long for some bachelors, and perhaps only HALF the bowl of gelatin would be a better idea.  What you want is to cook the mixture down until it would be mistaken for pizza sauce.

     In the meantime, you have your pizza crust ready, whether you made it from a recipe or a mix, buy it out of the freezer section, or picked up one ready made.  It should be baked and ready to go when you cannot wait for the gelatin to boil down any more.  Pour the gelatin and turkey mixture onto the crust.  If this is thick enough NOT to leak all over the pan and the floor, you have done it correctly.  Top with any other leftovers from Thanksgiving you want on a pizza, cover it all with your favorite cheese, and bake until the cheese has melted.  The result is reminiscent of a hot turkey and cheese sandwich.

     We are out of space, so I cannot spell out my top secret recipe for Turkey Liver Pizza.  Yes, I HAVE made this, and on several occasions, because I like it.  It is NOT one of those “Even if you hate liver, you’ll like this” recipes.  It is a “If you hate liver, you’ll hate this too” recipe.  I cannot abide people who make you think you’re getting something special when they’re just feeding you another version of something you loathe.

     Such people are as tiresome as those who insist on discussing something you didn’t want to know about.  Which is why we have avoided postcards about buttums this time.

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