Recipe: Blackened Turkey (+ history of)

Michele, I found this on the web...I am posting the entire article including the colorful history of this recipe.
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Blackened Turkey

1 turkey
salt
garlic
4 eggs
1 apple
1 orange
1 large can crushed pineapple
1 lemon
4 large onions
6 celery stalks
buncha preserved ginger
2 cans water chestnuts
3 packages unseasoned bread crumbs
3/4 pounds ground veal
1/2 pounds ground pork
1/4 pounds
butter
onion juice
1 quart apple cider
Spice List:
basil
bay leaf
caraway seed
celery seed
chili powder
cloves
ground coriander
mace
marjoram
dry mustard
oregano
parsley
pepper, black
poultry seasoning
poppy seed
sage
savory
Tabasco
thyme
turmeric

This is a recipe that has been around for so long,
cherished all the while, that it has acquired a
considerable gloss, in the classic sense of the word.
As scholarly medieval monks studied and interpreted
their precious hand-copied books, they made notes
in the margins and between the lines, to enhance
the content of the book for the next reader. When
the document was copied, much of this "gloss" found
its way into the new book. As the books grew with
gloss, so has this recipe grown. When I first saw
the recipe, thirty-one years ago, it had been
transcribed by Morton Thompson from God-knows-where,
and it bore the gloss of Robert Benchley and an
Unknown Scribe. In my custody, it seems to grow
like a warm yeast dough, from my efforts and those of
Bill the Great Dane.

Each time it is transcribed, including this time,
I see something that needs clarification or correction.
If this were an orderly world, the various levels of
the recipe would be distinguished by stacked norkies (>>>),
or wakas, if you will.

No such luck here, though. Up to now, this has been
pure Bob Brunjes. After the asterisks, some notes
are identified; some are not. Some are me; some may
go back to ancient Egypt.

This ambiguity saves me. I've been chastised before
in this group for sanctioning alcoholic excesses
in the kitchen, but it's not so. I was just
following the recipe, this recipe. And if you have
an ounce of respect for tradition in you, so will you.

For about a dozen years, at the approach of
turkey-eating season, I have been trumpeting to
all who would listen, and to a good many who
would rather not, that there is only one way
to cook a turkey. This turkey is not my turkey.
It is the creation of the late Morton Thompson,
who wrote "Not as a Stranger" and other books.

This recipe was first contained in the manuscript
of a book called "The Naked Countess" which
was given to the late Robert Benchley, who had
eaten the turkey and was so moved as to write
an introduction to the book. Benchley then
lost the manuscript. He kept hoping it would
turn up-- although not as much, perhaps, as
Thompson did, but somehow it vanished,
irretrievably. Thompson did not have the
heart to write it over. He did, however,
later put his turkey rule in another book.
Not a cookbook, but a collection of very
funny pieces called "Joe, the Wounded Tennis
Player".

THE ONLY WAY TO COOK A TURKEY!!!!!!!

This turkey is work... it requires more attention
than an average six-month-old baby. There are no
shortcuts, as you will see.

Get a HUGE turkey-- I don't mean just a big,
big bird, but one that looks as though it
gave the farmer a hard time when he did it in.
It ought to weigh between 16 and 30 pounds.
Have the poultryman, or butcher, cut its
head off at the end of the neck, peel back
the skin, and remove the neck close to the
body, leaving the tube. You will want this
for stuffing. Also, he should leave all the
fat on the bird.

When you are ready to cook your bird, rub it
inside and out with salt and pepper. Give it
a friendly pat and set it aside. Chop the
heart, gizzard, and liver and put them, with
the neck, into a stewpan with a clove of
garlic, a large bay leaf, 1/2 tsp coriander,
and some salt. I don't know how much salt--
whatever you think. Cover this with about
5 cups of water and put on the stove to simmer.
This will be the basting fluid a little later.

About this time I generally have my first
drink of the day, usually a RAMOS FIZZ.
I concoct it by taking the whites of four
eggs, an equal amount of whipping cream,
juice of half a lemon (less 1 tsp.), 1/2 tsp.
confectioner's sugar, an appropriate amount
of gin, and blending with a few ice cubes.
Pour about two tablespoons of club soda in
a chimney glass, add the mix, with ice cubes
if you prefer. Save your egg yolks, plus 1 tsp.
of lemon -- you'll need them later. Have a good
sip! (Add 1 dash of Orange Flower Water to the
drink, not the egg yolks)

Get a huge bowl. Throw into it one diced
apple, one diced orange, a large can of
crushed pineapple, the grated rind of a
lemon, and three tablespoons of chopped
preserved ginger (If you like ginger, double
this -REB). Add 2 cans of drained Chinese
water chestnuts.

Mix this altogether, and have another sip
of your drink. Get a second, somewhat smaller,
bowl. Into this,measuring by teaspoons, put:

2 hot dry mustard
2 caraway seed
2 celery seed
2 poppy seed
1 black pepper
2 1/2 oregano
1/2 mace
1/2 turmeric
1/2 marjoram
1/2 savory
3/4 sage
3/4 thyme
1/4 basil
1/2 chili powder

In the same bowl, add:

1 Tbl. poultry seasoning
4 Tbl parsley
1Tbl salt
4 headless crushed cloves
1 well crushed bay leaf
4 large chopped onions
6 good dashes Tabasco
5 crushed garlic cloves
6 large chopped celery

Wipe your brow, refocus your eyes, get yet
another drink--and a third bowl. Put in three
packages of unseasoned bread crumbs (or two
loaves of toast or bread crumbs), 3/4 lb.
ground veal, 1/2 lb. ground fresh pork,
1/4 lb. butter, and all the fat you have
been able to pull out of the bird.

About now it seems advisable to switch drinks.
Martinis or stingers are recommended
(Do this at your own risk - we always did! -REB).

Get a fourth bowl, an enormous one. Take a sip
for a few minutes, wash your hands, and mix
the contents of all the other bowls. Mix it well.

Stuff the bird and skewer it. Put the leftover
stuffing into the neck tube.

Turn your oven to 500 degrees F and get out
a fifth small bowl. Make a paste consisting
of those four egg yolks and lemon juice left
from the Ramos Fizz. Add 1 tsp hot dry mustard,
a crushed clove of garlic, 1 Tbl onion juice,
and enough flour to make a stiff paste. (This
is a procedure that seems to need clarification.
Make the paste about the consistency of
pancake batter for the first coat.
After a couple of coats, I thin the paste
a little, with water or any other fluid that
falls to hand. After a couple more coats, I
thin a bit more, so that the final coats have
about the consistency of whipping cream -REB)

When the oven is red hot, put the bird in,
breast down on the rack. Sip on your drink
until the bird has begin to brown all over,
then take it out and paint the bird all over
with paste. Put it back in and turn the oven
down to 350 degrees F. Let the paste set, then
pull the bird out and paint again. Keep doing
this until the paste is used up.

Add a quart of cider or white wine to the
stuff that's been simmering on the stove,
This is your basting fluid. The turkey
must be basted every 15 minutes. Don't argue.
Set your timer and keep it up. (When confronted
with the choice "do I baste from the juice under
the bird or do I baste with the juice from the
pot on the stove?" make certain that the juice
under the bird neither dries out and burns, nor
becomes so thin that gravy is weak. When you run
out of baste, use cheap red wine. This critter
makes incredible gravy! -REB) The bird should
cook about 12 minutes per pound, basting every
15 minutes. Enlist the aid of your friends and
family.

As the bird cooks, it will first get a light brown,
then a dark brown, then darker and darker.

After about 2 hours you will think I'm crazy.

The bird will be turning black. (Newcomers to
black turkey will think you are demented and
drunk on your butt, which, if you've followed
instructions, you are -REB) In fact, by the
time it is finished, it will look as though
we have ruined it. Take a fork and poke at
the black cindery crust. Beneath, the bird
will be a gorgeous mahogany, reminding one
of those golden-browns found in precious
Rembrandts.

Stick the fork too deep, and the juice will
gush to the ceiling. When you take it out,
ready to carve it, you will find that you do
not need a knife. A load sound will cause the
bird to fall apart like the walls of that famed biblical city.

The moist flesh will drive you crazy, and
the stuffing--well, there is nothing like
it on this earth. You will make the gravy just
like it as always done, adding the giblets
and what is left of the basting fluid.

Sometime during the meal, use a moment
to give thanks to Morton Thompson.

There is seldom, if ever, leftover turkey
when this recipe is used. If there is,
you'll find that the fowl retains
its moisture for a few days.

That's all there is to it. It's work, hard work--- but it's worth it.