This was an almost 8-pound roasting chicken, which I almost never do.
First, I'm so used to roasting small birds. At Thanksgiving I roast two (or four) free range 12-pounders rather than a single monstrous 24-pounder. I don't think God intended 24-pound birds to be cooked and eaten. I think it's an American marketing and primeval ego thing to plunk a Godzilla-bird like that on the dinner table. Sort of like, "Me Mongo! Me buy monster bird, give to woman, woman cook bird with fire!" Honey, please. All you did was whip out your MasterCard, and your woman probably can't cook it for sh*t, anyway.
Small birds are younger, so their flesh is more tender. And with less mass to cook, it's exposed to the heat for less time, which means you have less of a possibility of overcooking it. Also, with twice as many birds, you get twice as many cuts for everyone. Serving four people? How about four legs, thighs, breasts, and wings to make everyone happy with their favorite cuts?
And I suppose this is the best time to mention that, without fail, every single time you've ever seen a turkey carved in your life -- whether it be at your family's dinner table or on television -- you've seen it done the wrong way. Yes, being a minority of one doesn't make me crazy. Let me explain.
When you see Uncle Herschel wield his electric carving knife (invented by morons, for morons) and slice off that first skin-laden slice of breast from the side of the bird, you're seeing millions of years of human evolution go right down the toilet. You'd think that by now people would open their eyes and f#%&ing look at the flesh they're carving, right? Not a chance. Uncle Herschel is perfectly fine in his ignorance of the fact that he just created a slab of meat with muscle fibers over four inches long! Ever wonder why that turkey slice was difficult to cut with a knife and hard to chew as well? It's because you're wrestling against a fully intact band of elastic workhorse. You're trying to fire down the thing this 24-pound monster used to get around with (I know, the breasts aren't used that much in flightless birds, but they are still used).
To tame such a beast, you first have to break down its muscle fibers by cutting them into tiny pieces, and to do that you're going to have to take an entirely different approach:
Roast a smaller bird, let it rest tented for an hour, remove the entire breast intact, then use a Granton carver to slice across the grain in 3/16" slices.
Now the breast will not be dry (if you roasted it correctly), resting will enable it to retain its juices, and the longest muscle fiber your knife or teeth will have to battle is a scant 3/16" long. That's what makes a juicy bird also be tender. You can cut the meat with the side of your fork.
And yes, you will need a Granton carver for this because the side scallops enable the blade to slip through delicate meat without accluding to its surface and pullling it apart into a pile of shreds. Mine is a Henckels Professional "S", and it's worth the $90.
So how do you set this bird up for such cooking?
Start by making savory buttermilk cornbread from stone-ground corn meal and flour (two parts corn meal, one part flour) while bringing the bird closer to room temperature (that's closer, not at room temperature, so no hate mail, okay?). You can really cut out a lot of the fat normally used in a regular cornbread recipe here because it's going to be crumbled and mixed with other ingredients. Once the cornbread is cooled, crumble it in a large mixing bowl.
While the cornbread bakes I prepare the bird.
I start by reserving the liver in a small bowl, then putting the neck and giblets that came with the bird into a stock pot with bay leaves, thyme, black peppercorns, and an onion chopped coarsely with the skins still on. Water to cover, then simmer while the bird cooks.
I cut four onions with their skins on into 1/2" chunks and layer them in the bottom of a glass casserole just big enough to hold the bird. This is critically important, because if it's larger then you will burn everything and ruin the bird, because the juices spread out too much and evaporate quickly from the large exposed glass surface, which then begins to burn. And as the onions become exposed then they, too, will quickly go beyond carmelizing and convert more and more sugar into carbon until they are black and ruined, imparting a nasty huzz to your bird.
After I season the bird inside and out (bay leaves and thyme on the inside, too), I lay it on the bed of onions and spread out any fat I've pulled from the cavity flap onto the breasts to protect them from direct heat a bit longer.
No brushing with butter, no water in the pan (which steams the skin and makes it pallid) -- nothing. Just onions with their skins and the bird. Into a 350F oven for 30 minutes, then turn for another 30 minutes, after which you should begin to see a little juice and fat in the bottom, but not much. I brush what I can soak up in the basting brush back on the bird, then back in for more 30-minute cycles until the breast meat is done.
While the bird is roasting, cook a cup of wild rice and make a small batch of dirty rice (using the reserved chicken liver, and maybe a couple more for deeper flavor). Cut the fat in the dirty rice down to almost nothing. Then saute four onions (skins off this time) and a half stalk (about eight ribs) of celery, all finely minced together, in a little butter (not much -- we're trying to lose weight here!).
A trick for adding flavor without a lot of butter in dressing is to use a small bit of finely minced highly-flavored sausage, like a Smithfield smoked sausage (the only brand worth a flip). The idea is that smoke flavor travels far in a dish, and you don't need much to impart a lot of flavor. In fact, you can get by with only about a teaspoon per serving. Finely mince it and saute it until the fat is rendered out, then add the cooked sausage mince to the dressing. The Cajuns do this with minced Tasso.
Set each batch of ingredients you just made out to cool.
When the breast meat is done I use kitchen shears to sever the breast structure from the carcass, then cover it on a platter with plastic wrap and aluminum foil to let it rest. I put a couple of relief cuts between the back and the thighs so I can splay out the legs flat and let them rest in the rendered roasting fat. The roasting pan with the legs go back in for twenty or so minutes to continue cooking, as the dark meat takes longer to cook.
When the dark meat is done I separate the legs and thighs from the back and platter them, then cover like I did the breast structure.
Now to bake the dressing.
Mix the crumbled cornbread together with the cooled wild rice, dirty rice, sauteed vegetables, and minced cooked smoked sausage. Wet with canned chicken broth, pack into a deep casserole, cover with buttered parchment, and roast at 350F for about 45 minutes to an hour, or until desired doneness.
While the dressing bakes, I pour everything from the stock pot into the roasting pan and deglaze over high heat. Once the fond is all dissolved I place the boney structures into the chinois and press the juices out of them, then discard the bones. Then I strain the rest through the chinois and discard the solids.
Then I defat the liquid using the greatest gift The Lovely And Talented Lisa ever gave me: a lucite fat separator pitcher! Now I have a quart or so of very flavorful liquid with almost no fat at all. I reduce this by half into a lovely jus.
For the gravy, I use a little of the fat separated from the roasting liquids rather than butter or oil. Why not use something that already tastes like roasted chicken? I make a roux using the rendered roasting fat, whisk in the reduced jus, add a little thyme and a touch of sage, and cook down to the exact consistency I want. Then adjust for salt and pepper at the end, and the National Drink Of The South -- gravy -- is done.
Carve the chicken breast as I described earlier, and carve the dark meat. Fan slices across a mound of dressing hot from the oven, and spoon some gravy over the meat. Serve with some greens like spinach or collards mixed with spinach.
This is an elegant, intensely-flavored dish that is both succulent and relatively low in fat while being high in protein. And the family absolutely loves it, which is what makes it all worthwhile.
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