FORTY FIVE MINUTES, friends, to cook a 12+ pound bird.
Not only that, but this method results in tastier, juicier, more evenly cooked meat with crisper skin.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t have time to pee some days. I don’t have time to brush my teeth, much less my hair. I don’t have time to stop or breathe or finish a cup of coffee while it’s hot. So a Thanksgiving turkey roasting method that cuts cooking time by 75% AND is more delicious?? THAT IS THE COOKING METHOD FOR ME, folks. That makes an actual difference in my life.
And then I found out this cooking method is called … wait for it … spatchcocking.
And do you know why it’s called spatchcocking?
Because Jesus loves us. Or because someone was drinking. But probably because Jesus loves us. That’s why. And Jesus is not content to simply give good gifts like a faster bird-cooking time. Nope; that’s not enough. Jesus is EXTRAVAGANT, y’all. Excessive. And Jesus knows the only thing better than fast turkey is making sure it’s got a name like spatchcocking.
So we can spend Thanksgiving getting up to our usual spatchcock shenanigans, formerly known as tom-foolery.
Just in time for Thanksgiving, American friends, I’ve decided I’m as aspiring spatchcocker.
Spatchcocking is for me.
Spatchcocking, after all, is fast, easy and juicy, and who doesn’t like fast, easy and juicy? No one. No one is who. No one doesn’t like fast, easy and juicy.
SPATCHCOCKING ALL AROUND.
Look. I’m not here to tell you how to live your life or Do Things a Better Way. This is not that blog. I’m just saying if you’re not spatchcocking… if you’re not a spatchcocker… if you’re not, you know, totally into spatchcockery… you’re probably ruining Thanksgiving. And America.
P.S. While the breasts are fully exposed with any turkey-cooking method, the spatchcocked bird allows heat to be evenly distributed to all parts, meaning spatchcocking results in breasts, thighs and legs that finish at the same time. Simultaneous finishes, folks! Which is, after all, the goal.
P.P.S. I contacted my dad, my usual turkey-roaster, and informed him that he would be spatchcocking this year. He wasn’t sure he ought to discuss spatchcocking with his daughter, but eventually came around enough to ask if I thought he could spatchcock on a rack. “Do you think I can spatchcock on a rack?” he asked. I politely but firmly informed him that, while I’m generally a proponent of open communication and discussing things as a family, I draw the line at deciding for him exactly where he ought to spatchcock.
P.P.P.S. I’ve since discovered that a rack is, in fact, ideal for spatchcocking.