Deep Fried Goodness

One of the most exciting culinary adventures we had over the Thanksgiving weekend was witnessing firsthand the amazing invention that is - the Fried Turkey. It all began at around 2pm on Thursday November 23rd. It was a miserably cold, wet and windy day. The sky was grey and ominous. Clyde, the turkey, was taken out of the fridge. His pale pink skin flecked with an assortment of herbs and spices.

Clyde was then rigged to a hook and taken outside.

Out in the garage, sat a very large pot which was propped up on a propane burner. About 3 gallons of canola oil had been slowly heating to temperature, awaiting Clyde's appearance.
Rawle, the turkey fryer, put on his yellow glove, held Clyde tightly, crossed his fingers and hoped he measured correctly.
With sizzles and crackles, Clyde was lowered into the oil. We all stepped back. The huge pot of golden canola steamed and hissed.

We were told that a turkey that size would need a good 2 hours in the oil. Oh boy!


When time was up, all 24 guests held hands around the dinner table, we prayed together, blessed the table and the hands that cooked the food we were about to eat. We blessed the hot apple pie, the sweet orange yams, the quinoa-tofu-apple-curry vegetarian side dish and most of all, we thanked Clyde for his courage, his selflessness and most importantly, for his deep fried goodness.

Giving Thanks. This one is for the tourists. One New Yorker's Rant

And a happy Thanksgiving weekend to those of you lounging around for the past 4 days in your stretchy pants and slippers! We have been really taking advantage of the beautiful fall-ish weather and crisp air to get re-acquainted with the city. Of course being as this marks the beginning of the tourist-take-over-Manhattan time of year, we are limiting our trips over the bridge to charted destinations, versus meanderings in the streets.

Those of you who know me well know I have been blessed with amazing patience and calmness. I never get annoyed, I never loose my cool with frustrating situations. I love being irritated. So, for me, staying in peaceful, tourist-minimal Brooklyn, seems to be the perfect antidote to an instant breakdown.

Certain neighborhoods must be avoided at all costs. It goes without saying that obviously Times Square is #1 on that list, followed closely by Herald Square, Canal street, Broadway between Houston and Canal streets and anywhere along 5th Ave. Around this time of year, if you look to your left or to your right you will see them. They will be visible in your blind spots, in your day dreams, in your night sweats. Hoards of them. Tourists. Visitors. Consumers. Whatever you want to call them. They come out of the charter buses taking over the curbside, they wait in line for the $35 red double deckers; cameras a-snapping. They stand in the middle of the street with absolutely no regard for the busy pace of NY walkers, maps unfurled, gazing up to read the street name, looking back down at their guides, looking back up again to make sure they got that street name, turn 180 degrees around to survey the landscape. 'Excuse me... Uh, do you know if there is a Starbucks around here?' Thanks.