McLeod's Musings with Mariane McLeod

April 3, 2010- Kitchen Adventure: the spatchcocked turkey

I woke up Saturday morning dreaming of smashing a turkey. November’s edition of Martha Stewart Living (don’t laugh!) has been holding me in thrall for months now, as I think about spatchcocking. Not just fun to say, but a time saver and apparently delicious, too, what's not to like?

Spatchcocking lets you cook a turkey dinner in an hour- none of this getting up early to stuff and get the bird into the oven, no tedious hours of basting, worrying and fussing. My sweetie and I were the cookers of the family Christmas turkey a few years ago, and while it was an honour, it was also a lot of work. Although cooking the bird this way means no stuffing or gravy, I was intrigued at the thought of a bird in an hour.

Finally, last night, I got my chance, and with seven us around the table, I did what you’re never supposed to do: try a new meal for a dinner party.

Spatchcocking is also known as butterflying, but it sounds more technical and somehow surgical, and there are lots of opportunities for making jokes with the word, which is why I quite love it, and used it all day long. “Six hours to spatchcock, honey!” "I wonder if this beer would taste beter spatchcocked..." Yes, juvenile and silly, but still kinda funny.

Sadly, when the time came for the big procedure, it was a teeny bit of a letdown, since it took only a few seconds. Coached by Sweetie, reading from Martha Stewart (certainly a first), I used my poultry shears to cut out the spine of the bird, flipped it over and pushed down really hard on first the left and then the right side of the breast, until I heard the snapping sound of the breaking breastbone. Voila- a flattened turkey.

450 degrees, one hour, according to the recipe.

After we took the fuse out of the smoke alarm, things went really well.

And sure enough, the bird was done in an hour, according to my thermometer, anyway. We had some worries about the donenees, since the leg didn’t separate from the thigh the way it usually does in a roasted bird. One of our guests assured us though, that since there’s so little time in the oven, the connective tissues don’t have time to break down the way they would in a three or four hour roast, and he was pretty sure we weren't setting ourselves up for food poisoning.

It was tasty, I must say, and the dinner was lively and entertaining. I’m totally ready to spatchcock again, if only for the giggle I get every time I say it.

My sweetie, however, is not convinced. He’s a gravy and stuffing man.