As you all can very well tell, the months of December and early January have frozen my ability to write. In fact, it has been little over a month since I have given myself a break from eating to come back to La Poularde. For that, my apologies.
But fear not, for I have been busy. The holiday season brought many wonderous meals, treats and culinary creations. Surrounded once again by a complete kitchen - stocked with ingredients, proper tools and utensils - I no longer had to cope with the square-centimeter starved kitchen I work with in Manhattan. That itself was most likely the best gift of all.
Above, if you have not noticed already, rests a tradition of obscenity and reverence. Quite the contrasting juxtaposition I will fairly agree, but beautiful nonetheless. The tradition is not just the turkey, served on Christmas day, but that of the picture itself. The "turkey ass" is more than just a cavity begging to be stuffed silly. It is rather a home to all that is holy - a cavern that produces - what I like to call the bounty of holiday meals, stuffing.
Unlike the crumbly, parched excuses many families refer to as stuffing or dressing, my mother's possesses an unnatural modicum of crunchyness within its mushy mess. Bits of oyster gush with briny flavor as they mix with crisp bits of celery. The turkey's own juices and fat, drippings from within that have soaked their way into the dressing, add just the right amount of buttery gloss and coating to the earthily seasoned stuffing. Its almost as if the two are necessary to one another - the turkey needs the stuffing, the stuffing most definitely needs the turkey.
Without the stuffing the turkey would be alone, naked and horribly dried out. Juices would run freely into the pan it cooks in and collect into an oleaginous pool of pinguidity. A revolting sight indeed, one that might even spurn others away from your heartfelt meal. Whereas on the other hand, without the turkey our beloved stuffing would have no home. Instead it would find its way into a sad cooking pan or microwave bowl, mixed with broth, egg or maybe cheap wine if the cook is feeling adventurous. But in the end, it just wound't be the same.
What I offer with this rather silly relationship between a turkey and its stuffing is that some things are just meant to be together. Some ingredients need others to prosper, others can stand alone and be great. But like the turkey, some cavities are just meant to be filled. In this case, our own.
Suggestive? Never. All I mean to say is: eat well this year, stuff yourself silly with only the best - and in return you all shall be very happy eaters. Of fine, delicious food.
But fear not, for I have been busy. The holiday season brought many wonderous meals, treats and culinary creations. Surrounded once again by a complete kitchen - stocked with ingredients, proper tools and utensils - I no longer had to cope with the square-centimeter starved kitchen I work with in Manhattan. That itself was most likely the best gift of all.
Above, if you have not noticed already, rests a tradition of obscenity and reverence. Quite the contrasting juxtaposition I will fairly agree, but beautiful nonetheless. The tradition is not just the turkey, served on Christmas day, but that of the picture itself. The "turkey ass" is more than just a cavity begging to be stuffed silly. It is rather a home to all that is holy - a cavern that produces - what I like to call the bounty of holiday meals, stuffing.
Unlike the crumbly, parched excuses many families refer to as stuffing or dressing, my mother's possesses an unnatural modicum of crunchyness within its mushy mess. Bits of oyster gush with briny flavor as they mix with crisp bits of celery. The turkey's own juices and fat, drippings from within that have soaked their way into the dressing, add just the right amount of buttery gloss and coating to the earthily seasoned stuffing. Its almost as if the two are necessary to one another - the turkey needs the stuffing, the stuffing most definitely needs the turkey.
Without the stuffing the turkey would be alone, naked and horribly dried out. Juices would run freely into the pan it cooks in and collect into an oleaginous pool of pinguidity. A revolting sight indeed, one that might even spurn others away from your heartfelt meal. Whereas on the other hand, without the turkey our beloved stuffing would have no home. Instead it would find its way into a sad cooking pan or microwave bowl, mixed with broth, egg or maybe cheap wine if the cook is feeling adventurous. But in the end, it just wound't be the same.
What I offer with this rather silly relationship between a turkey and its stuffing is that some things are just meant to be together. Some ingredients need others to prosper, others can stand alone and be great. But like the turkey, some cavities are just meant to be filled. In this case, our own.
Suggestive? Never. All I mean to say is: eat well this year, stuff yourself silly with only the best - and in return you all shall be very happy eaters. Of fine, delicious food.
