Fried Turkey, Anyone?

This year's Thanksgiving turkey was by far the most memorable bird every cooked by the Turneys. Frying turkey is the latest fad spreading throughout the country. And after years of hearing others rave about their delicious fried Thanksgiving turkey, we decided we had to see what all the fuss is about. So last week Dad stopped by America's Store (Wal Mart, a.k.a. the store that kills communities) and picked up a turkey fryer and 3 gallons of peanut oil.

Now since we have no experience frying a 16 pound turkey, we knew that it would be quite a learning experience. Fortunately, I had watched Emeril prepare one on television two years ago and wrote down his recipe. I spent Wednesday evening at Fred Meyers (the biggest grocery store in town and our favorite) frantically scouring the aisles for ingredients only available in Louisiana (Emeril's home). Upon calling home to seek Mom's experienced cooking advice, I learned that she was digging Dad and his snow plow out of a bank of snow. So I was on my own, a very dangerous thing when it comes to substituting ingredients. The recipe called for a bottle of beer. I realized that I had never cooked with beer before and wasn't sure what to use. At first, I picked out a six-pack of Guinness, Chase's favorite beer. But after talking with Aunt Stephanie (who wasn't sure herself) I decided to instead use Corona (which Chase also likes). As you can tell, my experience with beer has been limited to observing others drink it.

After making such agonizing decisions as the stoutness of the beer to use and determining which spice looked the most Cajun (a hard decision in North Idaho), I headed for the check-out stand. I decided not to stand in line for an hour with all the other simpletons, but would utilize my computer savvy to use the self checkout aisle. Many people enter the self checkout aisle because the line looks shorter than the other lines. Looks can be deceiving. After trying in vain to figure out the price of a head of lettuce for 15 minutes, they usually give up and head to an aisle with an expert grocery technician. And it's always an interesting experience bagging your own groceries. As I scanned the Corona, I realized that I had never purchased alcohol before. The computer politely asked me to show my ID to the cashier in charge of the self checkout aisle. After digging through my purse to find it, I held it up to the cashier who waived her hand at me and said, "It's okay." Although she may have thought herself kind in waiving off the need to check my ID, she wound up making me feel much older than 23 at that moment. Do I really look old enough to buy beer?! Face reality, Meredith. Anyway, the groceries and I made it home safely, as did Mom, Dad and said snow plow.

The next day -- the BIG Day. Dad had to work until 3pm so that afternoon we started to prepare for the frying of the turkey. Chase had to figure out how much oil we would need. After a test run, he determined that we did not have enough oil to fry the turkey. Disaster! Fortunately, Dad was still in town and ran by Wal Mart to pick up some more. Finally, by 5:30pm, we were ready to mix the marinade. Every ounce of cooking experience was utilized in concocting a marinade that would resemble Emeril's recipe. As we mixed the ingredients, I told Chase that if we wrote any of it down, the turkey would not taste good. But if we didn't write it down, it would be fabulous. Isn't it some kind of cooking law?! I rubbed the turkey with cayenne, pepper and salt then Chase injected it with our Emeril-like Cajun marinade.

The frying pot was set-up on the front patio. Dad and Chase gently placed the turkey into the pot. As soon as the bird hit the boiling oil, there was an explosion. Dad and Chase's legs and shoes were covered with the oil and the front patio was one big oil slick. Later, I saw a commercial on television that said every year State Farm Insurance has to pay claims on houses that burn down due to frying turkeys. Too bad we didn't see that commercial before we fried our turkey. Not that it would have deterred us, but I can see your house burning very quickly if you cooked it inside. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured (except the bird).

After allowing the turkey to cook for one hour, Dad went out to retrieve it. As he lifted the turkey out of the pot, we all gasped. The turkey was charred black. Suddenly we felt like we were living National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Mom tried to reassure us that at least we had casseroles to eat, even without turkey. As Dad began to carve the charcoal-colored bird, he was amazed that he couldn't find any meat on it. Chase then pointed out that the bird was upside down. After righting it, we all held our breath as Dad cut into the bird. Much to our shock and delight, the inside of the bird was moist and delicious! And even further surprising, the blackened skin tasted excellent as well. We now know why everyone raves about fried turkey. But it is definitely a delight for which you must risk life and home. We're still debating whether to do it again next year...