TiT, Part VIII: Leftovers

If you're joining me late, you may have missed the bit back in Part II of Thanksgiving in Thailand where I pretentiously claimed that I would be using every scrap of forty-dollar turkey breast. It's about a month after purchase, and so far I've been true to that oath.

One of the first things we made from our turkey by-products was a simple Thai soup called dtom juet (plain soup). Our version would be called dtom juet gai nguang (plain turkey soup), gai nguang apparently meaning "big-ass chicken" in Thai. I've mentioned dtom juet before as an excellent accompaniment to spicy coconut milk curries or any other rich and fiery Thai dish; its incredible similarity to a Hawaiian dish - chicken long-rice - makes me think that they're both offshoots of a primal Chinese preparation. Both of these are basically clear broth with mushrooms, tofu skin (sometimes called bean sheets) and rice or bean thread noodles and herbs. Dao used half of the turkey stock as a base for one the most delicious versions of dtom juet I've ever had.

For our belated Thanksgiving feast, we were able to eat only a small portion of the roasted meat. The rest we stuck in the fridge and used for various meals throughout the next week. One night I used the leftover gravy, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole - along with some fresh veggies and a third of the remaining turkey meat - to make a freaky yet yummy version of cottage pie*. A couple mornings later Dao cubed up some turkey and added it to the fried rice she made for breakfast. Finally we made turkey salad sandwiches with lime and chilies, which added a distinctive Thai accent ... so I guess maybe it should be pronounced "san-weet". If we stopped there, we could count five full meals for two people (and more if we counted the leftovers of the leftovers), or about $4 of turkey per serving.

Oh, but we're not done yet, not by a long shot.

This past New Year's weekend we thawed out the turkey scraps - mostly extra skin, but a good solid cup and a half of chopped turkey meat as well. I separated the skin and meat. For New Year's breakfast we had pad gra pao gai nguang kai dao rad kao, or turkey stir-fried with holy basil and served with a fried egg over rice. Despite the fact that I overcooked the turkey a bit on this first attempt, Dao gave it the good-enough thumb's up.

Neither did the skin go to waste. When I lived in Chiang Mai, one of my favorite snacks was kaep muu gap namprik num, or pork rinds with spicy roasted eggplant dip. My brother Dan made a competent version of namprik num over the summer; in fact, it was superior to any of the ones produced in Bangkok that I've tried. I now understand why pork rinds and namprik num are among the top items sold at souvenir stands in Chiang Mai - there truly is something special about how they make it in the North, so much so that central Thais want their friends to bring it back from vacation. At any rate, occasionally I will eat my namprik num with chicken rinds instead of pork rinds, and I love them both equally. So I got to thinking, Why the hell not try some turkey rinds while I'm at it?

Yesterday I cut the leftover turkey skins into strips (along with some chicken skins from a recent project) and roasted them in the oven until all the fat had rendered out. They turned out golden brown and light and crispy, exactly like fried animal skin should be. A few hours later I had my first batch of homemade namprik num, which I admit was not quite right but was still a hell of a lot better than the pale imitations the Bangkokians have been pawning off on me so far.

Now all that's left is a quart of turkey stock and a whole boneless breast. The stock will be converted into soup soon enough. I'm still not sure what to do with the meat, but I'm considering a crazy idea. Bear with me.

The Isaan region in the northeast of Thailand is historically affiliated with Lao culture at least as much if not more than it is with central Thai culture. Isaan food represents the Southeast Asian equivalent of peasant or soul food, as opposed to the sometimes pretentious Chinese-influenced cuisine of the areas closer to courtly power or of those farther to the north. Isaan gai yang (grilled chicken) is a staple of street vendors all over Thailand and Lao, and the best versions (which are scrupulously marinated overnight before grilling) are as tasty as any chicken you've ever put in your mouth. The notion of roasting some turkey in the style of Isaan gai yaang seems irresistible ... to be continued.

* Suggestions on an appropriate and catchy name for cottage or shepherd's pie using turkey would be much appreciated.

TiT, Part VII: Sweet Potato Custard Recipe

Sweet Potato Custard for the Slow-Cooker

3 sweet potatoes, baked until soft
1 can evaporated milk, in all
1/3 cup packed brown sugar
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 t ground cinnamon
1/2 t ground ginger
1/2 t salt
4 cloves, ground
grated nutmeg

1. Mash the sweet potatoes with a quarter of the evaporated milk.

2. Cream together the sugar and eggs. Whisk in the rest of the milk. Add the spices. Mix the custard into the mashed potatoes. Taste and adjust for sweetness (you are not likely to die from tasting such a small amount of raw eggs, but I suppose it's theoretically possible ... in which case, your having read this should serve as a disclaimer of liability on my part for your weak immune system).

3. Pour the mixture into a dish that will fit comfortably inside your slow cooker. The pan pictured above just happened to fit perfectly into our medium-small round slow cooker. Your results may vary.

4. Add a decent amount of water to your slow cooker's crock. The volume should be high enough not to worry about it cooking off but low enough not to touch the bottom of your custard pan.

5. Wrap your baking dish in foil and figure out a way to remove it while it's still scalding hot. A couple strips of foil folded into handles worked well for us.

6. Cook on the Lo setting for about 2 hours. The custard will be done when a skewer or knife inserted into the middle comes out clean.

7. Let sit for at least 30 minutes. Dig in; spoon and whipped cream optional.

TiT, Part VI: Green Bean Casserole Recipe

Cans-Free Green Bean Casserole

2 onions*, thinly sliced
at least 1/2 cup of milk
salt
cracked peppercorns
flour for dredging
oil for frying
1/2 pound green beans, topped and tailed, stringed or cut into segments
clarified butter or oil
3 shallots or garlic cloves, minced
1/2 pound mushrooms
2 T unsalted butter
2T flour
1-1/2 cups cream
grated nutmeg

1. French-Fried Onions. Soak the onions in the milk for at least 30 minutes. Drain thoroughly and pat dry. Heat oil over medium-high flame. Toss the onions in the seasoned dredging flour. Fry in batches until golden brown, then drain on paper towels. Lightly salt them if desired.

2. Poached Green Beans. Boil a pot of salted water. Poach the beans for a couple minutes (depends on their size and ratio to the quantity of water). Remove when firmer than al dente. Rinse under cold water until no longer hot. Drain and set aside.

3. Sauteed Mushrooms. Over medium flame, heat clarified butter or oil until shimmering. Add the minced shallot or garlic, stir for a minute, then remove. Adding fat and adjusting the heat as needed to keep the pan from scorching, place mushrooms into the pan in batches, taking care not to overcrowd them. As the mushrooms brown, turn them, push them out to the edges of the pan, and add more oil and mushroom slices to keep the process moving. It turns into a little game of mushroom-juggling. As the shrooms are fully browned, move them into the bowl with the sauteed shallot. When finished, set aside.

4. White Sauce. Melt the butter in a pan and saute until the foaming subsides. Whisk in the flour and cook until the roux is as golden brown as the mushrooms. Whisk in the cream, then simmer until it's nice and thick. Add salt and cracked pepper to taste.

5. Casserole. Add mushroom-shallot mixture to the white sauce, bring to a boil. Add the poached beans, bring to a boil. Add 1/3 of the french-fried onions, bring to a boil. Remove from heat and transfer to a baking dish. Sprinkle the top with grated nutmeg. Add the rest of the fried onions. Bake uncovered at about 350 degrees F until golden brown and bubbly on top, something like 10-30 minutes.

* Please use "storage" onions when cooking, not "sweet" ones. Storage onions such as the small yellow and red ones have been air-cured to promote long shelf-life; they are hot before cooking but will brown nicely when sauteed or batter-fried. Sweet onions like Vidalia and Maui are intended to be served fresh. You can cook them if you want, but they have a high water content and therefore perversely turn out less sweet and flavorful than storage onions do.

TiT, Part V: Roasted Turkey Breast Recipe

Roasted Turkey Breast with Herb Butter

1 half of a breast of turkey, deboned but with skin attached
1 t sea salt
cracked peppercorns to taste
4 cloves garlic
1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened but not melted
1 t thyme
1 t marjoram
kitchen twine

1. Liberally salt the skinless side of the turkey. Roll it into the closest facsimile of a cylinder you can muster, keeping the skin on the outside to protect it. Tie it up with three strings on the short side and one across the long side.

2. In a mortar, make a paste of the garlic cloves, salt and peppercorns. Add this to the butter, along with the herbs, and mash together. Feel free to improvise using whatever herbs or aromatics you have on hand. If you live in Thailand, you might need to stick this back in the fridge to keep it from melting.

3. If you're using a rotisserie, spit the turkey; otherwise use a roasting rack. Using a rubber spatula if you have one or otherwise resorting to the flippers you were born with, spread the herb butter over the outside of the breast.

4. Basting occasionally, roast at 350 degrees F or so for 90 to 120 minutes. You'll know it's ready when the skin is golden brown. Set aside the drippings for the gravy and let the roast rest for at least 15 minutes before carving.

Personally, because well-made turkey is just as delicious at room temperature as it is out of the oven, I think it's futile to try to serve the turkey piping hot. The only good reason to rush is if you overcooked the breast. So, like, don't do that.

TiT, Part IV: Look Ma, No Cans!

Don't get me wrong, I think the normal green bean casserole where every single ingredient comes from a can has a certain gloppy charm. It's kind of like a sophisticated Gerber's for babies of all ages. And being able to do nothing more than open some cans, pour 'em together, stir and bake is an unquestionably convenient (although shamefully perfunctory) way to satisfy Mom's and the FDA's green vegetable requirement.

But it doesn't have to be that way. Fresh green beans and mushrooms are easy to find - both in the US and in Thailand. And replacing the Universal Binding Agent (UBA), aka Krusty's Kream O'Mushroom Soup, with something from scratch is simplicity itself. But surely it must be impossible to make at home the crucial and most delicious crowning component - Durkee's french-fried onions?

On the contrary, they were simple to make and infinitely more delicious than the fossilized onionlike artifacts found inside the Durkee's cans. There are dozens of recipes for homemade french-fried onions available online. Here's the method we used:

First, soak a couple thinly sliced onions in milk for half an hour. You'll want to discard the milk, unless you want to cook something that punches you in the mouth with its overwhelming onion power. Next, dredge the onion slices in seasoned flour. In batches, fry them in medium-hot oil until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and lightly sprinkle with salt. It's that easy. The biggest problem will be saving enough for the casserole: once you taste them, it's hard to stop popping them into your mouth.

Now tip & tail the beans, then you can french (aka string) 'em or cut 'em to length. We used long beans, which are ubiquitous and inexpensive in Thailand's local markets, cut into 2-inch segments. Poach the beans in salted water until they're a bit firmer than al dente. Rinse in cold water to arrest cooking, drain and set aside.

Next the mushies. We used shiitake mushrooms because they're cheap and easy to find here, but any shroom'll do. Slice into quarter-inch cross-sections and saute with garlic and/or shallots or onions until golden brown. (I prefer Alton Brown's method, which neatly manages the cooking process in the most efficient way possible by utilizing the relative difference in temperature at the center of the pan versus on the edges, as well as by taking advantage of the shrinkage of the mushrooms during cooking to make more room.)

Once you've set aside your sauteed mushrooms, it's time to make the UBA-surrogate, originally known as "white sauce." Make a light roux with 2 tablespoons each of butter and flour, whisk in a cup and a half of cream (or half-and-half or milk) and a couple pinches of salt and then simmer until it reduces to its desired thickness. If it gets too thick, whisk in some more cream a tablespoon at a time. Now add the shrooms and some cracked peppercorns, then the poached beans, then a third of the french-fried onions. Simmer until thoroughly heated through. Taste and adjust for salt. Transfer to a baking dish (again, we used the cheap foil pans).

We did all of this while the turkey was roasting. While the finished turkey was resting, we finished the job thusly:

Grate some nutmeg. Sprinkle this and the remaining french-fried onions over the top of the casserole. Bake uncovered at 350 degrees F, or whatever, until the sauce is bubbling through.

While all this has been going on, you haven't forgotten the mashed potatoes, have you? Or the gravy for that matter? And of course there's no reason whatsoever to describe how I made mashed potatoes or gravy, because you already have your own way and wouldn't like to have me insult your intelligence any more than I already have.

Anyway, it all turned out "good enough," according to Dao. And under the circumstances, good enough for her was good enough for me.


Because it's never too late to give thanks: Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

TiT, Part III: The Rest of the Roast

During the couple weeks it took to assemble the essential hardware (oven) and software (turkey boob), I had been debating with myself over the menu for Dao's first American Thanksgiving Day feast . In the end it all came down to logistics. As in: How many stores will I have to wander into to find that crucial ingredient? (For instance, Chinese celery is sold in every market, but to make real stuffing you've got to have the European version.) As in: How much is that specialized item going to cost (e.g. pie plate or an oven big enough to cook a stuffed turkey or enough pecans for a pie)? As in: How much time and is it gonna take to make that? Or to clean up after it?

I grudgingly settled on the bare basics: turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole and ... some kind of dessert.

My first choice would have been pecan pie with pumpkin pie as the runner-up. But based on logistical difficulty alone, I decided that I wasn't willing to make pie crust. And if I wasn't gonna make pie crust, I wasn't gonna make pie. My compromise with reality was to try the custard part of the pie without the pie. Pecans were out because of price. That left pumpkin ... or did it?

My family comes from the northern and western states, going all the way back to their original immigration. For this reason we tend to think of the quintessential winter holiday pie as pumpkin pie. If your people came from the South, you're likely to think of sweet potato pie instead. I've seen this debate in action and once was a Yankee in my affiliations, but with age has come if not wisdom then perhaps indifference: both pumpkin pie and sweet potato pie are delicious but taste so much alike that I see no point in arguing.

While we're on the subject, a slight detour: North and South alike will bake their sweet potatoes (which we erroneously label as "yams") in caramel with mini marshmallows on top. Mysteriously this dish is served with the turkey despite being even sweeter than pumpkin pie. For me this was always one of those unappetizing bowls of goo I was forced to take a little tiny bit of just to taste it and be polite. But candied sweet potatoes are part of the tradition of my people, so I at least had to consider before rejecting them.

Back to dessert. Hard squash and sweet potatoes are both readily available in markets throughout Thailand. The hard squash are called pumpkin but look to me like a small Hubbard, green and bumpy, not orange and smooth. Buying a whole one would be excessive, and who knows how long ago the vendors cut them into the pieces they sell. The perfect solution struck me as breaking with tradition by eschewing pumpkin and sneaking the sweet potatoes into dessert: crustless sweet potato pie. Understanding that the oven was too small to bake two things at once, I opted to experiment with a slow-cooker custard recipe.


First we baked the potatoes.




Then we peeled 'em. Then mashed 'em. Then beat them into a sweet egg and milk mixture with spices.







Finally we poured the mixture into cheap foil baking pans, wrapped one of them in foil, and set it into the slow cooker with foil handles sticking up to aid extraction.




Once the sweet potatoes were out of the way, it was time for the turkey. We made an herb butter using salt, cracked mixed peppercorns, dried thyme and marjoram. And then spread the butter over the tied and spitted breast and set it up to spin.


Next: Look Ma, No-Cans!

TiT, Part II: Breast Reduction Surgery

So, okay, maybe I should have just settled for one of the Butterball boneless half-breasts, but then again having way too much turkey than you know what to do with is all part of the American tradition, right? Even though it was a ridiculous amount of meat for two people, I resolved to let nothing go to waste. At more than six bucks a pound, every scrap was going to be used for something.

The obvious solution was to work with one tit at a time. I removed all the bones, carved off some stray scraps and gobbits, and ended up with two boneless turkey breasts covered in skin. One of these I wrapped and stored in the freezer (wait a second, I think I hear it calling to me at this very moment). The skin and meat scraps went into Tupperware and then also into the freezer.

The bones went to the stock pot. After simmering the bones for several hours, I strained a quart of the golden stock into a storage container for freezing. The rest - another two quarts almost - I divided for tomorrow's gravy and a near-future day's soup.

For the belated Thanksgiving breast, I smothered it in herb butter, tied it into a log, wrapped it, and gave it an overnight to ponder its ultimate fate.


Next: The Rest of the Roast