Crisp, crackly, almost-too-hot-to-eat turkey skin, fragrant with basting with butter lightly infused with maple syrup, flecked with herbs de Provence. It’s not a side, but what I demand as primary chef’s privilege, the one who has done most of the strategic and tactical work according to a detailed plan of shopping, prep and execution.
I recognize I am coloring outside the lines here, going right to a dessert and then bringing up turkey skin, but truth be told, while I enjoy all kinds of sides and fixins’, sometimes I am happiest at The Meal with a plate of moist, flavorful turkey slices with a a modest ladle of gravy, a surfeit of skin, and maybe a bit of dressing and a spoonful of corn pudding. I think it’s because I’ve bought it, prepped it, worked on things 3 days straight, smelled it, cut it, chopped it, cleaned the counters and the sinks and the pans and the utensils (repeat, repeat, repeat), and I have lost interest in most of it on the day itself. But - I love the leftovers throughout the weekend. My other sacred tradition is eating oven-warmed my own apple pie (brown sugar and Granny Smiths) with a rich vanilla ice cream on Friday morning. And turkey sandwiches at every opportunity.