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Inverted Bird (and other misconceptions)

<p>&#8220;What the hell&#8230; why is the meat so dark?&#8221; </p>

<p>The initial slices of turkey meat flaked off dark. Dark, I say. Not what I expected. This was breast meat I was a slicin&#8217;, or so I thought. Perhaps it was the brine solution I had soaked the bird in overnight. Yes, this is what I believed to be the problem. The brine solution, composed largely of water, but containing a percentage of vegetable stock and spices, clearly had tainted my meat. Why was this not mentioned in the recipe? Surely the little Food Network minion Alton Brown could have given me a heads up, a shout-out, in his recipe? Of course the speed at which this bird had cooked was beginning to send up a flare. It cooked fast, but then our new remote thermometer wouldn&#8217;t lie to us, not today, not on Thanksgiving, God damn it. We bought the Goddamned thermometer last week, in preparation for Thanksgiving, and I personally felt like a Navy Seal with a full clip. Here was a device that would probe my turkey (there are several ways to phrase this, and in the end the double entendre is inevitable), a remote LCD readout telling me the precise temperature of the hunk of meat I had probed. One is supposed to jab the thing into the boob of the bird. Apparently I had skewered the back of mine.</p>

<p>Now, Brenda &#38; I have been hosting Thanksgiving for the past few years, and I&#8217;m not at all ashamed of bragging about how good &#38; moist our turkeys have been in the past. But this was the first year we were to host in our new home, complete with dining room table seating for eight, and I was ready to raise the bar. </p>

<p>Having followed all the directions to a tee, and looking forward to a juicy bird, I was greeted by unusually dark meat, prematurely. The whole thing stunk like a Thursday Disaster, but the guests has eaten all the shrimp, and frankly we didn&#8217;t have enough wine to get us to the finish line unless we plated the damned bird soon. And that remote thermometer said it was 162 degrees, and science is science. The bird was done.</p>

<p>About halfway through slicing the scant, dark, oily meat from THE UNDERSIDE OF THE FUCKING TURKEY, I figured out (with help from Patty and Brenda) that I had roasted the bird UPSIDE FUCKING DOWN for the last few hours. </p>

<p>Let this be a lesson to you folks; technology is no substitute for experience and skill. Common sense either. </p>

<p>The bird was as juicy as ever, albeit a tad undercooked, owing to the fact that the thermometer probe was nestled into the thin back of the bird instead of the plump breast. </p>

<p>In the end, there was enough cooked-enough meat to enjoy with all the other excellent fixins, and nobody died, but next year I&#8217;m looking for a rematch. </p>