Every Thanksgiving I think about all the turkeys roasting in New York City - millions of turkeys inside the millions of ovens stacked on top of each other. Millions of people basting birds in millions of tiny kitchens. Although that's assuming everyone makes their own turkey. The more realistic story is that most of the turkeys are in restaurants, grocery stores, corner stores. When I worked at the Spotted Pig, we made at least fifty. I remember walking to work through the West Village and the smell of poultry roasting was palpable. Overpopulation, lack of ventilation - but I liked it. The city, a little quieter than usual, a passive coming together, the brief uniting of people through a shared meal.
This year I was in Colorado with family, which is something I relish after years of working in the restaurant industry. I remember the nights on the line, 23 years old, basting turkey legs while hurriedly eating family meal, a little nicer than usual. I used to try to force all the line cooks to sit down together but it rarely worked.
This year, my mom & I dry-brined our bird, poached leeks in Meyer lemon vinaigrette, mashed red potatoes with buttermilk, roasted squash and apples. We put wild mushrooms in the turkey pan, a few cloves of garlic, and some thyme - the shrooms confit in the turkey fat and the turkey picks up some of the earthiness.