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Sun, 26 Nov 2006

Turducken

It all started when my dad decided that he really didn't want to cook Thanksgiving dinner this year, after all. He's 88, and while he's in good health and very active, there's some sort of crossover point where putting together a full-course holiday meal for two people is more effort than it's worth. And he didn't want me to have to cook, so we decided to go out.

But where? Neither of us had any experience with Thanksgiving at a restaurant. The idea seemed a bit odd; my parents (and my father, after my mother died in 1985) held the traditional dinner every year, and I attended every year, with the sole exception of one year where I was on a business trip in England and it would have been difficult to get back. That year, on the appointed Thursday, having seen a notice in a newspaper, I joined a large group of American expats in a rented hall and we all pretended we were home and filled up on turkey, stuffing, and the usuals. It was actually quite nice; I shared a table with a bunch of people including a retired couple from Kansas, and we talked about football and television for a couple of hours. (It was not unlike being on a cruise ship, as I learned many year later.)

Just at the time we'd decided to go to a restaurant this year, I received an email from OpenTable.com, which I'm a member of, listing a pretty wide selection of restaurants, mostly the top tier, who were having special Thanksgiving dinners. Had we been in San Francisco proper, there were a number of very attractive propositions. But my dad lives on the Peninsula, and didn't want to go into town, so we looked at a bunch of places in the general vicinity of Burlingame, San Mateo, Belmont, San Carlos, Redwood City, and Palo Alto. A couple of early favorites, listed in the OpenTable guide, were Kincaid's in Burlingame and Left Bank in San Mateo, both of which I've had some nice meals at. 231 Ellsworth in San Mateo was putting on a special dinner, but it looked a little more elaborate than my dad might like.

I solicited advice from friends, online and offline, including The Well and Chowhound, and got a mixed handful of recommendations -- and please consider this a thank-you, if I didn't thank you personally -- and I was ready to close the deal, probably with Kincaid's, or one of the hotel buffets near the airport, when I decided to look over the OpenTable list one last time. I happened to notice CreoLa in San Carlos, where I've eaten well in the past, and thought, "Hmmm, New Orleans-style Thanksgiving. That might be a hoot." And then I read the listing, which finished with the words, "Will be serving tur-duc-hen."

Well, that was it right there. The Berch households have had many a discussion of turduckens (the more common spelling) ever since it became an object of cultural wonderment, popularized by Coach John Madden on national television a few years back, during a football half-time. It's become sort of a minor culinary holy grail for me, and since it's unlikely that I'd cook a whole one (which typically range from 15 to 20 lbs., and feel 20-25 people), and I don't expect to be invited to dinner at John Madden's house (or bus) very soon, this looked like the real deal. I called CreoLa and confirmed the details. We made a 4 PM reservation, and I went to read up on turduckens.

The basic premise is this: partially de-bone a turkey, in order to expand the main cavity; stuff it with a partially-deboned duck, filling in the gaps with stuffing of your choice, and then stuff the duck with a de-boned chicken, again filling in the gaps with stuffing. Tie the whole thing up and roast it in the oven. When it's done, carve it in a manner such that every slice has a portion of each bird, as well as the interstitial stuffing.

Cursory research, which began with Wikipedia, confirmed pretty much what I had thought: nobody really knows who first made a turducken, although it it is most probably from Louisiana or east Texas, it's considered a Cajun specialty, and it's not a completely new invention; the Europeans knew of it in the 19th century, and it's likely that the concept, if not the execution, goes back to the Middle Ages. The Wikipedia article, as often happens, then makes reference (sadly without sources) to a certain flight of fancy, "attributed to a royal feast in France", of a 17-bird roast, the "bustergophechideckneaealckideverwingailusharkolanine - a bustard stuffed with a turkey, a goose, a pheasant, a chicken, a duck, a guinea fowl, a teal, a woodcock, a partridge, a plover, a lapwing, a quail, a thrush, a lark, an ortolan and a passerine." (As a Wikipedia editor, I feel honor-bound to chase that one down and confirm or deny.) On more solid ground, though, is a 10-bird roast, the "turgoduckmaguikenantidgeonck", created by English chef Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall in December 2005 and documented in an article in the Daily Mail, which also alludes to the 17-bird roast.

Ahem. Well, such superlatives aside, Thanksgiving rolled around and it was time to head to CreoLa. It was a spectacular day, cool, crisp, and with nearly unlimited visibility, and I picked up my dad and we made our way to San Carlos. When we arrived just before 4, there were only two or three parties seated in the dining room, giving us a nice choice of tables. The staff was circulating with genteel but nervous smiles, perhaps anticipating a Big Night-like atmosphere later. We sat down by the window, which had a pleasant view. As soon as the waiter introduced himself, my dad couldn't help asking, "Now, you do have turducken tonight, right?" The waiter graciously assured us that they did, but added that it was good that we came early, since they expected it to be the most popular choice.

The holiday was four courses, prix fixe depending on the choice of a main course -- I hardly looked, but I think there was filet mignon, cajun-style shimp, catfish, and a vegetarian choice -- and the first courses looked delightful. My dad started with the crabcake, which he enjoyed, and I had the fried bacon-wrapped oysters, which were delicious and came with a Cajun remoulade. (I could have eaten a dozen or more of those, really, but that would have put the kibosh on the turducken.) Next came an array of soups and salads, and my dad had the shrimp-lobster-crab bisque, which he described as rich and delicious, while I had the seafood gumbo, which was deep, complex, and spicy, with the fundamental roux, filé, and okra flavors in evidence.

After a pause, and a refill of wine (we Berches almost always have pinot noir with Thanksgiving turkey -- this time a Schug 2005 Carneros, which was a little young but spirited), it was time for the main event.

The turducken appeared on a plate with cornbread stuffing, a nicely-spiced cherry-cranberry relish, green beans, and mashed potatoes. The turducken itself was a single thick slice, covered with a tasty gravy of reduced pan drippings, and so far as I could tell, appeared to be from a turducken roll rather than a whole bird, though I wouldn't swear to that. (Both appear to be available from the larger turducken suppliers.)

Most importantly, it was moist and delicious, although the gravy made it a little hard to tell, visually, exactly what bird was what. My dad took a couple of bites and asked, "Does yours have bacon in it?" I poked around a little, found what I though was a slice, but upon closer examination it turned out to be crispy, smoky duck skin. Hooray! (Some of the best duck I've eaten has had bacon-like skin.) I took a bite of the duck, which was very moist and tender, and then found the chicken. And there, too, right in the middle of things, was the cornbread and sausage stuffing. All in all, a success. My only disappointment was that between the gravy and the now somewhat dim restaurant, it was hard to see exactly what I was eating, and it seems to me that visual appeal is part of the turducken tour de force. (I hadn't thought to ask the waiter for "gravy on the side".)

It was a filling portion, but both my dad and I managed to finish, and leave at least symbolic room for dessert. He opted for the Cajun pecan pie, which appeareds to be a traditional pecan pie with a layer of cheesecake above the filling; I went for what the menu called a pumpkin chipotle flan, which turned out to be a relatively normal slice of pumpkin pie seasoned with a small amount of hot peppers, with some cayenne power on the side as a garnish.

My dad loved it, and we were grateful not to have a whole kitchen of pots and pans and plates to clean. Next year...who knows? In the meantime, I want to get my hands on a real turducken and cook it up, with copious photography and a dining room-ful of diners. Maybe I'll order one up and have it shipped to Nebraska, and convince Maggie's family to let me experiment on them sometime in the vicinity of Christmas/New Year's. There are several purveyors of air-shipped turduckens, with reviewers tending to favor Hebert's Specialty Meats and Tony Chachere's Turkducken King, along with CajunGrocer. They all ship their turduckens frozen, in dry ice, via FedEx or UPS. Needless to say, I'm jazzed and can't wait to give it a try.

Posted at 14:43 | permanent link

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