The breast of the Bourbon Red as it emerged from the oven. |
A year ago, neither did I.
But that all changed when I read an article by Marian Burros at the New York Times. From the article, I learned that the turkey most Americans eat at Thanksgiving is a Broad Breasted White, a turkey that has been aggressively bred for its abundance of breast meat. But this giant breast, which satisfied white-meat-loving Americans, came at a price. A Broad Breasted White can not fly. It can not mate. It is stupid. And according to most people, it tastes horrible.
But the breeds it sprung from, they are a different thing altogether. They can and do fly. They are smart. They are astonishingly delicious. And they are virtually extinct.
Where do you get such an amazing bird? A year ago, the answer was that you didn't. Listed as either critical (less than 1000 breeding birds) or rare (less than 500 breeding birds), depending on the breed, only friends of turkey farmers even knew they existed.
But Slow Food U.S.A. came up with a brilliant plan. No one raised these breeds because there was no market. So Slow Food would create a market. From scratch. They convinced the farmers to take a risk, to breed more of the birds than they otherwise would. Information was sent to the organization's 10,000 U.S. members, and various newspapers began to pick up the story, starting impressively with the New York Times article I read.
And, remarkably, it worked. All the breeds are now "merely" critical (not all the turkeys raised were slaughtered; the market has proven itself and so some were kept to breed next year's lot), and at the current rate, they may be off the endangered list altogether next year. The breeds and the program have gotten worldwide publicity, and consumers are now aware that something better than the Broad Breasted White exists.
But not surprisingly for such a large effort in its first year, there were some hiccups. I learned this when I got my turkey and discovered that it was not an 18-pounder as I had been told, but weighed in at 13.5. Evidently, there had been a higher attrition rate than anticipated, and while everyone who ordered one got a bird, some of them were definitely smaller. This wouldn't have been a problem, except that I had 18 people sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner, all of whom were eagerly anticipating this unusual bird.
Necessity is the mother of invention, and Melissa and I quickly concocted a scheme. I bought a turkey breast from a free-range Broad Breasted White, and decided to cut it in half and prepare it two different ways. Half I roasted as is, and half I first brined, a common and to my mind highly effective technique for making the modern turkey palatable. The heritage bird I roasted as is, letting it stand on its own. This ensured enough turkey meat for everyone and gave everyone a way to compare the different breeds.
Even before it got cooked, it was obvious this was not a normal turkey. Its legs, which I removed and braised separately, were a deep vibrant red throughout, the color of healthy muscles, well used by their owner. (Next year, I think I'll try roasting the bird whole, just because it comes out so nicely).
The heritage turkey as it emerged from its box, svelte and healthy. | The split breast from a Broad Breasted White, plump with breast meat. |
Will I do it again? Probably. The heritage turkeys are more expensive than their industrialized kin, so if you are merely evaluating the turkey meat, it might not be worth it to you. Just brine your Broad Breasted White. But I'm a firm believer in supporting small producers and maintaining biodiversity, and so I'm willing to pay a little bit more. As for the hassle of getting a smaller bird than anticipated, Patrick Martins, the head of Slow Food U.S.A., says that they learned a lot of lessons this year, and will undoubtedly do some things differently to try and get more consistency. Or at least to give consumers more warning. But the program is still in its infancy, so I might figure a bit more turkey per guest to have some cushion.