Our St. Hyacintha's Day Feast!
St. Hycintha's Day Feast
The Feast was a smashing success. In summary, it was a fantastic party with amazing people and an incredibly moist, crispy-skinned and tasty 46 lb. turkey.
Why St. Hyacintha?
Hyacintha Mariscotti (1585-1640) was a noblewoman known for her piety in her youth. But as a teenager, she preferred to kick it with her peeps and rock the Casbah (like the mangled pop culture references?) When she didn't get to marry her special guy, she moved into a convent, acquired the name Hyacintha, and settled in.
Convents were common abodes for girls and women who sought a life without men. They would bring with them their previous world - music, art, good food, comfy sheets, nice clothes, etc. But she chose the Franciscans; why, I couldn't say. But as an order, they were (and are) known for their commitment to vows of poverty.
From the Catholic Encyclopedia: "She made a public confession of her faults in the refectory, discarded her costly garments, wore an old habit, went barefoot, frequently fasted on bread and water, chastised her body by vigils and severe scourging, and practised mortifications to such an extent that the decree of canonization considers the preservation of her life a continued miracle. She increased her devotion to the Mother of God, to the Holy Infant Jesus, to the Blessed Eucharist, and to the sufferings of Christ. She worked numerous miracles, had the gifts of prophecy and of discerning the secret thoughts of others. She was also favoured by heavenly ecstacies and raptures. During an epidemic that raged in Viterbo she showed heroic charity in nursing the sick."
Like Hyacintha, our high-falutin intentions in raising our own turkey resulted in overabundance, and excess. So, like St. Hyacintha (but with considerably less self-flagellation), we wanted to slough off the extra.
And see our friends in the bargain.
Cooking the Turkey
We put the Turkey out on Tuesday to thaw for Sunday. We figured 46 lbs. of frozen meat would take its sweet time. Well, it thawed out impressively quickly, especially since we keep the house on the cool side. So I squeezed most of the refrigerator's contents into one side and it lived there for a couple of days. Here it is, post thaw:
On Saturday we started brining the turkey. Brining penetrates the meat with salt and spices and keeps it moist through cooking. Unfortunately, the turkey wouldn't fit in any of our pots. We contemplated using the tub for a while, but then Jazz realized that our ice chest from the South Dakota trip would be the right size. 48 quarts, and the Turkey fit - just barely.
Bh and I got up at 4 am. She finished prepping the stuffing, we bagged it and formed into the cavity of the bird, and then we loaded Nero into a set of 4 aluminum roasting pans. Aluminum because how often would we need pans that size again, four of them for strength. Bh drizzled on garlic butter and we rubbed it in and added herbs. Then we wrapped the whole thing in aluminum foil and put it in the oven @ 325. And rolled back to bed.
Bh went off to church in the morning and I checked and basted the bird. We were aiming for a 2 pm dinner. In the late morning, I started to see a wisp of gray smoke coming from the oven. "Oh crap," I guessed, "the bird is dripping over the side of the pan and bits are burning in the oven." So I opened the oven.
More smoke. Darker smoke. Little orangey glows from the bottom, not the color of the gas fire. As I bend to look under the tray (remember, it's at the bottommost rack so the bird fits), there's a little 'foom' and now I can actually see flames leaping up from the bottom of the oven.
I grab the edges of the turkey pans with the silicone hot pads and pull it out. More smoke, more flames. I yell for Jazz to wake up and get out here. I wasn't ready to evacuate the house (heck, I was trying to rescue Nero) but I wanted him awake and potentially helpful. I wasn't even sure I could get Nero out (remember, he's the size and weight of a very chubby toddler). I grunt, haul the turkey to the kitchen island, shut off the gas to the oven, and after a second of staring at the growing flames, realize I should close the oven. Oven closes, flames darken and diminish. I look to see where Jazz is.
Jazz, 6' 2" of pale teenager and clad only in his underwear, is on his hands and knees in the hallway which leads directly from his bedroom to the kitchen. My first thought is "What the hell is he doing on the floor?" My second thought is "Is there anything I actually need him for right now?" My third thought is to look up at the hallway ceiling. There's a six-inch layer of thick, greasy smoke shaded from gray to black hovering below the ceiling. The top of my head is probably skimming the bottom of it. "Oh yeah," I say to myself, "that makes sense!"
So Jazz and I run around opening all of the windows and turning on all of the available fans. The fire is out, Nero is unharmed, and now I have to figure out what to do. I have no idea when Bh is returning, so I call her on the cell - twice in a row - which our signal for 'pick up, it's a crisis'. She's practically pulling into the driveway as I call, but by then, most of the smoke has cleared.
We scrub down the inside the oven, which cooled off very quickly, to avoid any burnt or sooty taste. Then we took a layer of aluminum foil and instead of wrapping it around the pans and the bird, we designed a flange which extended from between the pans and out a couple of inches to every side to catch drips. I crimped the edges of the sheets together where they met to avoid more leaks. We left Nero's top exposed so he would get some good roasting, skin-crisping time in, too.
We powered up the oven, happy that our little incident hadn't put out the pilot, and in Nero went. I'd say we lost about an hour of cooking time, but even so, Nero still wasn't ready until 6.
We took him out of the oven and he was perfect. Brown and crispy-skinned, tender and moist on the inside, and just too *#%$ huge for words. The gravy was intense and (unsurprisingly) plentiful.
People, people, people!
Folks began to arrive at around two, and were delightful. randysmith and psongster came, and we haven't seen them in ages! You can't hug a LJ post. Diana, Tom, and Stella, who we get see frequently, being close friends and townmates, also came. Deborah came with Emma and Hannah. Our former nanny-child Becky came with her partner Daniel and their twins, Max and Tibor. And Willa and Jeremiah, who are Swattie friends but also quite local. All in all, we had 13 adults and near-adults and 5 little 'uns. Particularly deeply missed by me were my Dad and his girlfriend Marie, who were intimidated by the snow from driving up from NY, and our long-time-not-seen friend Sylvia and her family - she hasn't seen Jazz since he was four! I was so looking forward to seeing her expression in person....There were also a host of other people who couldn't make it for one reason or another, and they were consciously missed by me as well.
Everyone brought fantastic foods. I had some homemade hummus for snacking, and someone brought cool crackers. Bh had also made a vat of mashed potatoes and there was of course a gallon (literally) of gravy. randysmith and psongster made a potato soup that was scrumptious and, unfortunately, literally and figuratively overshadowed by the turkey. I should have had the pot on the same side of the dining room table as the bird. Willa and Jeremiah brought a chive butter and fresh bread. There was a variety of wines, lemonades and cider with which to wash everything down.
In conclusion...and the stats.
I think the last folks to leave went home around 10pm. 16 hours of unmoderated culinary adventure and fun with friends. As a side benefit, Bh and I cooked that turkey as a perfect team, so it was particularly pleasurable in that aspect as well.
After 13 adults and 5 kids went to town on Nero (and a couple of people took some meat home), we still had 10 lbs., 1/2 oz. of boneless turkey meat leftover, and Bh used the the 7 pound carcass to make turkey-matzoh-ball soup. I froze most of the bigger pieces of meat and we ate the smaller pieces for the rest of the week, in sandwiches, over stuffing or rice, and in a turkey pot pie. I did not get tired of it. Yum!
The Feast was a smashing success. In summary, it was a fantastic party with amazing people and an incredibly moist, crispy-skinned and tasty 46 lb. turkey.
Why St. Hyacintha?
Hyacintha Mariscotti (1585-1640) was a noblewoman known for her piety in her youth. But as a teenager, she preferred to kick it with her peeps and rock the Casbah (like the mangled pop culture references?) When she didn't get to marry her special guy, she moved into a convent, acquired the name Hyacintha, and settled in.
Convents were common abodes for girls and women who sought a life without men. They would bring with them their previous world - music, art, good food, comfy sheets, nice clothes, etc. But she chose the Franciscans; why, I couldn't say. But as an order, they were (and are) known for their commitment to vows of poverty.
From the Catholic Encyclopedia: "She made a public confession of her faults in the refectory, discarded her costly garments, wore an old habit, went barefoot, frequently fasted on bread and water, chastised her body by vigils and severe scourging, and practised mortifications to such an extent that the decree of canonization considers the preservation of her life a continued miracle. She increased her devotion to the Mother of God, to the Holy Infant Jesus, to the Blessed Eucharist, and to the sufferings of Christ. She worked numerous miracles, had the gifts of prophecy and of discerning the secret thoughts of others. She was also favoured by heavenly ecstacies and raptures. During an epidemic that raged in Viterbo she showed heroic charity in nursing the sick."
Like Hyacintha, our high-falutin intentions in raising our own turkey resulted in overabundance, and excess. So, like St. Hyacintha (but with considerably less self-flagellation), we wanted to slough off the extra.
And see our friends in the bargain.
Cooking the Turkey
We put the Turkey out on Tuesday to thaw for Sunday. We figured 46 lbs. of frozen meat would take its sweet time. Well, it thawed out impressively quickly, especially since we keep the house on the cool side. So I squeezed most of the refrigerator's contents into one side and it lived there for a couple of days. Here it is, post thaw:
On Saturday we started brining the turkey. Brining penetrates the meat with salt and spices and keeps it moist through cooking. Unfortunately, the turkey wouldn't fit in any of our pots. We contemplated using the tub for a while, but then Jazz realized that our ice chest from the South Dakota trip would be the right size. 48 quarts, and the Turkey fit - just barely.
Bh and I got up at 4 am. She finished prepping the stuffing, we bagged it and formed into the cavity of the bird, and then we loaded Nero into a set of 4 aluminum roasting pans. Aluminum because how often would we need pans that size again, four of them for strength. Bh drizzled on garlic butter and we rubbed it in and added herbs. Then we wrapped the whole thing in aluminum foil and put it in the oven @ 325. And rolled back to bed.
Bh went off to church in the morning and I checked and basted the bird. We were aiming for a 2 pm dinner. In the late morning, I started to see a wisp of gray smoke coming from the oven. "Oh crap," I guessed, "the bird is dripping over the side of the pan and bits are burning in the oven." So I opened the oven.
More smoke. Darker smoke. Little orangey glows from the bottom, not the color of the gas fire. As I bend to look under the tray (remember, it's at the bottommost rack so the bird fits), there's a little 'foom' and now I can actually see flames leaping up from the bottom of the oven.
I grab the edges of the turkey pans with the silicone hot pads and pull it out. More smoke, more flames. I yell for Jazz to wake up and get out here. I wasn't ready to evacuate the house (heck, I was trying to rescue Nero) but I wanted him awake and potentially helpful. I wasn't even sure I could get Nero out (remember, he's the size and weight of a very chubby toddler). I grunt, haul the turkey to the kitchen island, shut off the gas to the oven, and after a second of staring at the growing flames, realize I should close the oven. Oven closes, flames darken and diminish. I look to see where Jazz is.
Jazz, 6' 2" of pale teenager and clad only in his underwear, is on his hands and knees in the hallway which leads directly from his bedroom to the kitchen. My first thought is "What the hell is he doing on the floor?" My second thought is "Is there anything I actually need him for right now?" My third thought is to look up at the hallway ceiling. There's a six-inch layer of thick, greasy smoke shaded from gray to black hovering below the ceiling. The top of my head is probably skimming the bottom of it. "Oh yeah," I say to myself, "that makes sense!"
So Jazz and I run around opening all of the windows and turning on all of the available fans. The fire is out, Nero is unharmed, and now I have to figure out what to do. I have no idea when Bh is returning, so I call her on the cell - twice in a row - which our signal for 'pick up, it's a crisis'. She's practically pulling into the driveway as I call, but by then, most of the smoke has cleared.
We scrub down the inside the oven, which cooled off very quickly, to avoid any burnt or sooty taste. Then we took a layer of aluminum foil and instead of wrapping it around the pans and the bird, we designed a flange which extended from between the pans and out a couple of inches to every side to catch drips. I crimped the edges of the sheets together where they met to avoid more leaks. We left Nero's top exposed so he would get some good roasting, skin-crisping time in, too.
We powered up the oven, happy that our little incident hadn't put out the pilot, and in Nero went. I'd say we lost about an hour of cooking time, but even so, Nero still wasn't ready until 6.
We took him out of the oven and he was perfect. Brown and crispy-skinned, tender and moist on the inside, and just too *#%$ huge for words. The gravy was intense and (unsurprisingly) plentiful.
People, people, people!
Folks began to arrive at around two, and were delightful. randysmith and psongster came, and we haven't seen them in ages! You can't hug a LJ post. Diana, Tom, and Stella, who we get see frequently, being close friends and townmates, also came. Deborah came with Emma and Hannah. Our former nanny-child Becky came with her partner Daniel and their twins, Max and Tibor. And Willa and Jeremiah, who are Swattie friends but also quite local. All in all, we had 13 adults and near-adults and 5 little 'uns. Particularly deeply missed by me were my Dad and his girlfriend Marie, who were intimidated by the snow from driving up from NY, and our long-time-not-seen friend Sylvia and her family - she hasn't seen Jazz since he was four! I was so looking forward to seeing her expression in person....There were also a host of other people who couldn't make it for one reason or another, and they were consciously missed by me as well.
Everyone brought fantastic foods. I had some homemade hummus for snacking, and someone brought cool crackers. Bh had also made a vat of mashed potatoes and there was of course a gallon (literally) of gravy. randysmith and psongster made a potato soup that was scrumptious and, unfortunately, literally and figuratively overshadowed by the turkey. I should have had the pot on the same side of the dining room table as the bird. Willa and Jeremiah brought a chive butter and fresh bread. There was a variety of wines, lemonades and cider with which to wash everything down.
In conclusion...and the stats.
I think the last folks to leave went home around 10pm. 16 hours of unmoderated culinary adventure and fun with friends. As a side benefit, Bh and I cooked that turkey as a perfect team, so it was particularly pleasurable in that aspect as well.
After 13 adults and 5 kids went to town on Nero (and a couple of people took some meat home), we still had 10 lbs., 1/2 oz. of boneless turkey meat leftover, and Bh used the the 7 pound carcass to make turkey-matzoh-ball soup. I froze most of the bigger pieces of meat and we ate the smaller pieces for the rest of the week, in sandwiches, over stuffing or rice, and in a turkey pot pie. I did not get tired of it. Yum!