Christmas: Butterflied Turkey with a Ricotta, Nut and Apricot Stuffing

Cooking a whole turkey is a pain in the neck, isn't it? I can't think of any other component of a Christmas feast that causes more anxiety to home cooks than the confounded, damned, blasted (and sometimes bloody) turkey. In this dish, my first Christmas recipe for 2011, I've tried to solve the twin and contradictory problems of turkey dryness and turkey undercookedness in one go by butterflying the bird and pushing a tenderising stuffing directly under its skin.

I would happily ban turkey from my extended family's Christmas feast if I could. Over the past few years,  I've tried. 'How about a leg of lamb?', I ask. 'Or a lovely slow-roasted shoulder of pork?'. Turkeys, after all, have nothing at all to do with South Africa and are spectacularly inappropriate for a festive meal on a sweltering December day. But my husband and two of my three brothers-in-law were born in Britain, and they need a turkey on the table on Christmas Eve in the same way  they need apple crumbles, custard, mashed potatoes, and packets of choccie biscuits in the cupboard at all times. (And, okay, I was firmly in the turkey camp for many years. This backfired on me because my kids quickly acquired a taste for Christmas turkey - and especially for the gravy and bacon-wrapped pork chipolatas and crunchy roast potatoes that accompanied it - and now they eagerly look forward to the moment an enormous, golden, crisp-skinned gobbler appears on the table. They don't care if the breasts are a bit dry, and the wings so tough you could use them to crowbar open a car door: the Christmas turkey is all about ceremony.)

I've figured out, after cooking many whole turkeys with varying degrees of success, that the most you can expect  is succulent dark meat and lovely crisp skin.  The breasts will always be slightly dry and chalky, no matter how carefully and slowly you cook and baste the bird. This has everything to do with the anatomy of a turkey and nothing to do with your turkey-roasting skills. Breast meat on turkeys (and all other birds, for that matter) doesn't need to be cooked for long to achieve perfect tenderness and succulence, but dark, dense thigh and leg meat needs plenty of time.

I often butterfly roasting chickens when I'm in a hurry to get a meal on the table. There are two advantages to removing the backbone of a chicken and flattening it out. One, it cooks in just under an hour. Two, the breasts (wedged as they are in the middle) stay moist and tender while the legs (splayed on the outside of the bird) cook to perfection. I thought I'd try the same method with a small turkey, and it worked beautifully. The breasts were soft and juicy, and the thigh meat succulent. And, as a bonus, the bird was cooked through in an hour and fifty minutes. I left it to rest in its pan for 25 minutes, under a bonnet of foil, and I found it very easy to carve. (Have you noticed how people who fancy themselves expert carvers vanish when it's time to cut up the turkey? It's a thankless task. Even if you're an experienced carver, the bird always ends up looking as though a hand grenade detonated in its cavity. You only need to look at the photograph above for proof of this.)

Butterflying a whole turkey is not at all difficult, but you will need a pair of heavy kitchen scissors, or a heavy knife with a very sharp blade. Pushing the stuffing under the skin and deep into the thighs and drumsticks is also easy to do, although this is, I admit, not a job for the fainthearted.  The turkey, when butterflied, looks faintly ridiculous, very like a fat, bossy school mommy with her hands on her hips (see picture below).  I ended up with my arm shoved almost elbow-deep under the stretchy skin of the turkey, and couldn't stop laughing because I was irresistibly reminded of the scene in which Mr Bean climbs so far into a turkey that he gets it stuck on his head.

This is a long recipe - I thought it important to give you detailed instructions so there are no disappointments on the big day - but rest assured that this is really quite easy to make, provided that you take a little time with the stuffing and stock.  You can prepare both of these well in advance.

The stuffing in this recipe contains fresh ricotta cheese which, I have found, has an almost magical tenderising effect on poultry breasts; I can only imagine it is the lactic acid in the cheese that (like yoghurt) helps soften the flesh.  You can, however, use any poultry stuffing of your choice. Try my 2010 Turkey Stuffing with Green Peppercorns, Pork Sausage, Apple and Thyme, or my 2009 recipe Mango and Macadamia Turkey Stuffing with Sage and Sausage Meat.

The cooking time of a butterflied turkey will depend on its size and the ferocity your oven; see recipe and Cook's Notes (at the bottom of this page) for more information.

Roast Butterflied Turkey with a Ricotta, Almond and Apricot Stuffing
one turkey (about 3.5-4 kg is ideal), thawed
a large onion, roughly sliced, skin and all
3 bay leaves
2 sprigs fresh thyme
a little olive oil
salt and milled black pepper

For the stuffing: 
3 T (45 ml) olive oil
1 onion, peeled and finely chopped
6 rashers streaky bacon, finely diced
1 clove garlic, peeled and crushed
finely grated zest and juice of an orange

1/3 cup (60 ml) chopped dried apricots (or fresh ones)

1/3 cup (60 ml) chopped dried cranberries (optional; I used dried pomegranate arils)
1/3 cup (60 ml) flaked almonds (toast them if you have time)
3 sprigs fresh thyme, leaves stripped
1 cup (250 ml) breadcrumbs, fresh or dried
1 cup (250 ml) ricotta cheese
3 T (45 ml) softened butter
1 extra-large free-range egg, lightly beaten
salt and milled pepper

For the stock and gravy:
3 Tbsp (45 ml) butter or vegetable oil
trimmings from the turkey (see recipe)
1 large onion, peeled and sliced
1 stick celery, finely sliced
1 large carrot
a few parsley stalks
4 cups (1 litre) water
3 T (45 ml) cake flour
1 cup (250 ml) white wine
1 T (15 ml) redcurrant jelly or smooth apricot jam

If you're going to cook the turkey right away, heat the oven to 170 ºC.  Alternatively, you can butterfly and stuff the turkey and place it in the fridge for up to 8 hours before roasting it.

First make the stuffing. Heat the olive oil in a pan and fry the onions and bacon over a medium heat for 4-6 minutes, or until the onions are soft and golden. Stir in the garlic, orange zest and juice and let the mixture bubble for one minute. Tip the contents of the pan into a large mixing bowl and add all the remaining stuffing ingredients. Using your fingers, gently combine the mixture. Don't overwork it, or it will turn mushy. At this point, it's a good idea to test the stuffing for seasoning. Press a small ball of stuffing into a little patty and fry it in hot oil until lightly browned. Taste the mixture and add more salt, pepper and other seasonings of your choice if necessary. Cover the stuffing and set aside.

Now butterfly the turkey. Unwrap the bird and remove the plastic packet of giblets. (You can use these for the stock if you like but because I'm not a fan of gizzardy-looking or offally bits, I always fish out the neck of the bird and give the rest to the dogs.) Rinse the turkey with cold water, inside and out, and pat it dry using kitchen paper. Remove the pop-up plastic device (that is, the cooking indicator) stuck into the breast.  Place the turkey, breast side down and with the ends of the drumsticks facing you, on a big chopping board. Cut off the pope's nose and set it aside for the gravy. Using a pair of heavy kitchen scissors or a sharp knife, cut out the backbone by making a long incision on either side of the spinal column, crunching right through any small ribs you encounter. This is a bit of a grisly task, but be bold, and don't worry if your cuts are ragged.  Set the backbone aside for the stock. Turn the turkey around so the ends of the drumsticks are facing away from you and snip through the small, tough band of cartilage that connects the two breasts at the neck end. Now turn the bird over so it’s skin side up and bring your fist down smartly between the breasts to break the breast bone. Flatten out the turkey with the heel of your hand. Tuck the wing tips under and behind the bird. You'll end up with what looks like a buxom and knock-kneed person lying on her back with her hands on her hips (very comical, a butterflied turkey looks!).

Starting a the neck end, slip your hand under the skin over the breast and gently loosen it to form a pocket (use a hooked finger to break through the membrane connecting the breast to the skin). Now push your hand deeper under the turkey skin and separate the skin over the thighs and thicker parts of the drumsticks in the same way (turkey skin is elastic and quite tough, so have no fear about fearlessly plunging in, Mr Bean style). Pack half the stuffing into the pockets over the thighs and drumsticks, and the remaining half over the breasts. Gently pat the skin to smooth and even out the stuffing.  Pull the neck skin down and under the turkey and secure it with toothpicks.

Put the onion slices, bay leaves and thyme in a large roasting pan and place the turkey, skin-side up, on top. Drizzle a little olive oil over the skin and season generously with salt and pepper. Cover the turkey loosely with a large piece of tin foil and roast at 170 ºC for an hour.  Now remove the foil and roast for another 40-60 minutes (see Cook's Notes, below), or until the skin is crisp and golden, and the bird is cooked through to the bone. Baste the bird with a little melted butter now and then, and watch the breast portion like a hawk, because it will brown  quickly. If the skin over the breasts looks as if it's darkening too quickly, tightly cover it with a triple layer of tin foil.

In the meantime, make a quick stock. Brown the turkey neck, the backbone, the pope's nose and the sliced onion in the olive oil or butter for a five minutes, or until golden. Add the celery, carrots, parsley stalks and  water and bring to the boil. Turn down the heat and simmer very gently for an hour. Strain into a clean jug, cover and set aside.

Remove the turkey from the oven, lift it from the pan using two spatulas, place it on a platter and allow it to rest, lightly covered with foil, for up to 25 minutes while you make the gravy and get a any vegetable accompaniments ready.

Put the roasting pan - don't remove the onions or herbs -  over a medium heat and, when the fat begins to sizzle, stir in the flour. Cook, stirring constantly, for a minute or two, then whisk in the white wine and two cups of turkey stock, scraping to dislodge any sediment on the bottom of the pan. Turn down the heat and let the gravy bubble very gently for 8 minutes. If it seems too thick, add more stock or water. If you'd like a thicker, gloopier gravy, thicken it with a little slaked cornflour.

Serve the turkey with gravy, peas, roast potatoes and (essential, in my opinion) bacon-wrapped pork cocktail sausages.

Serves 8, depending on the size of your turkey

Cook's Notes

I can't give you an exact time for cooking a butterflied turkey because this will depend on the size of the turkey and on your oven. It will certainly take a shorter time to cook than the time specified on its plastic wrapping. As a general rule of thumb, a spatchcocked turkey will cook through in well under two-thirds of the cooking time recommended on the packet. I suggest that you roast the a medium turkey for 90 minutes (see recipe, above) and then test it for 'done-ness'.  Use a sharp knife to make a deep cut, right to the bone, in the thickest part of the thigh.  If there is any trace of pinkness, or if the flesh and bone are lukewarm to the touch, roast the turkey for a little longer. The turkey is done when the biggest, deepest thigh bone is very hot to the touch and the juices run quite clear.

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Tweeting Christmas recipes: the fun, the festivities, and the failure

My cousin Sarah's mulberry and raspberry Christmas trifle, which
 I whipped outside to photograph while the custard was being made.

I became a Twitter fan (oh, okay, a hopeless addict) this year, and this is the first Christmas in the four years I've been writing this blog that I have had the opportunity to engage, in real time, with people who've decided to give my recipes a whirl. 

(And what fun I had over Christmas! I joined my extended family in Franschhoek to prepare an extravaganza of a feast, to which we each contributed a course or dish; the trifle-in-the-making pictured left was one of two desserts made by my talented cousin Sarah Walters.)

I can't tell you what a kick it gave me to log in to Twitter over the past week to find many questions, comments and photographs posted by readers of this blog.

Not to say that I wasn't gnawing my knuckles at the thought of people putting faith in my recipes. I'm keenly aware that no matter how carefully I formulate and test a recipe, there is always a chance of failure: I might have made a mistake in writing down quantities, or left out a vital step, or neglected to explain the method clearly. (I experienced a spectacular failure myself when my huge Christmas gammon fell to soggy shreds in the pot last Thursday, but more about that later in this post).

It is hugely rewarding for me, as a recipe developer, to see my dishes being cooked by real people in real kitchens, and on such an important festive occasion. My Christmas Gammon Glazed with Brandy and Coke was the recipe most people made, with others trying my festive turkey stuffing, my Layered Christmas Ice-Cream Cake with White Chocolate and Berries, and several older recipes for salads, including the perennially popular Marinated Mushrooms.

Here are some of the pictures that were tweeted by readers who'd made the Coke-glazed gammon: don't they look scrumptious?

Some of the gammon photographs tweeted by readers of this blog!

And here's a picture sent to me by Steve Mabbutt (one of this blog's most loyal and informed readers, and a cook of note), of his mise en place for the gammon:

Our own festive feast (traditionally served on Christmas Eve) was just wonderful. It's so special to come together as a family to cook, laugh and talk, to eat, drink and be merry, isn't it?

Even though we are (mostly) heathens of note, I've always found Christmas Eve to be the most magical and merry night of the year. Twinkling lights, frosty champagne glasses, glowing candles, presents rustling under the tree, kids whirling in giddy circles, spicy aromas drifting from the kitchen...

My family, starting the feast.

And then, as the evening blossoms into its fullness, singing of carols, snapping of crackers, stirring of gravy, carving of turkey, munching of chocolate, filling of Christmas stockings, putting-out of milk and biscuits for Father Christmas, and all the other treasured family rituals that make those marvellous and important memories.

And then there is (of course) the food. This year, my family pulled out the stops to produce a humdinger of a feast. My sister Sophie produced a seriously delicious dip of smoky aubergines, garlic and toasted pine nuts.

My other sister Karen roped in the kids to make what is always the star attraction of the feast: little pork sausages wrapped in bacon, with fresh rosemary. My sainted mother glided back and forth, with her usual poise and enthusiasm, dishing out champagne, encouragement and hugs to her adoring children and grandchildren.

The winning dish - in fact, one of the best things I've tasted this year - was a beautiful starter of smoked trout made by my uncle David.  In this truly gorgeous recipe (recipe here) piping-hot sesame oil is trickled over a bed of Franschhoek smoked trout, then topped with miso, soy sauce, black sesame seeds, fresh ginger, garlic, caperberries, dabs of home-made mayonnaise and great dollops of pink and black fish roe.  This was served on exquisite plates hand-made by David, each one embossed with our names.

 My sister Karen's pork chipolatas, ready for the oven

The starter was followed by a traditional turkey course, as demanded by the British-born men of my family (three brothers-in-law: a Scot, a Welshman and an Englishman). We made two turkeys for 20 people (each turkey with its own stuffing), plus potatoes roasted in duck fat, peas, gravy, bacon-wrapped chipolatas and a green salad. For dessert, my pudding-queen-of-a-cousin Sarah and her man Jim produced a mulberry and raspberry trifle and an incredibly delicious Nigel Slater cheesecake.

And finally: my Christmas-feast disaster. I bought an enormous (4.3 kg) bone-in gammon from a local supermarket chain that collapsed into sodden shreds when I cooked it.  I won't name the supermarket until they've responded to my complaint, but I will say that I'm annoyed and frustrated at having wasted both money and time on a clearly inferior piece of meat.

The joint looked beautiful, all right, when I bought it (it's the same joint, from the same supermarket, shown in Steve's mise en place picture, above) but within half an hour of my placing it in a flavoured, spiced stock, it began to swell alarmingly.  Some three-and-a-half hours of simmering later (well short of the cooking time recommended on the packaging) it began to disintegrate into tasteless grey shreds. I couldn't save it, because it fell to pieces as I fished it out of the stock.

All was not lost, though, because a foraging party found another gammon from another supermarket (this time, in Franschhoek) which held together as it boiled, and tasted delicious.

I've cooked many gammons in my life, always using the same cooking times, and this is the first time I've ever seen a piece of meat collapse in such a spectacular fashion. I fretted briefly over whether I'd done something wrong, or miscalculated the cooking time, but when the aforementioned Steve told me he'd had exactly the same disaster with his gammon, I realised that the fault lay with the ingredient, and not the cook  (Whew!)

I will get back to you with details when I receive a reply to the email of complaint I've sent the supplier.

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Festive Turkey Stuffing with Green Peppercorns, Pork Sausage, Apple and Thyme

I've used squashed green peppercorns as an ingredient for my turkey stuffing this Christmas not only because I want a change from the usual apricot-bacon-nut theme, but also because 2010 has been my personal Year of Pepper. I've always been partial to this splendid, much-adored spice - the king of spices, don't you agree? - but in recent months my love of pepper has developed into something of a craving.

Image from Wikipedia Creative Commons

I just can't get enough of the dark, warm, aromatic, citrussy scent and taste of peppercorns. White pepper, in particular, has featured in several of my recipes this year - it's my personal blogging mission to revive this rather neglected and unfashionable ingredient - and I am also very fond of green peppercorns in brine.

In this recipe, I've combined crushed green peppercorns with grated fresh apple, pork-sausage meat, breadcrumbs, thyme, lemon zest, onions, garlic and nuts to create a light, flavoursome stuffing that I think will be a good accompaniment to my run-of-the-mill supermarket turkey. I can't offer you a photograph, because I haven't stuffed the turkey yet, but I have fried up a few small patties of the stuffing to check the balance of flavours and the seasoning, and I'm very happy with the result.

I've used chopped, lightly toasted Brazil nuts in this stuffing because I love their slightly bitter, woodlandy taste - a bit like chewing on a branch, I always think - but you could quite easily use any similar crunchy nuts, such as macadamias or cashews. If you're making the stuffing in advance, as I've done, add the toasted nuts just before you stuff the turkey.

I found that this stuffing held together so well that I didn't need to add any egg. But if your stuffing mixture doesn't come together smartly when you squeeze a ball of it in your fist, add a beaten egg.

For the breadcrumbs, use slices of white or brown bread (or rolls) that are at least three days old. If your breadcrumbs are too soft and fluffy, the stuffing will be stodgy and pasty. Tear the bread slices into tatters and whizz them up, in batches, in a food processor or liquidizer.

Festive Turkey Stuffing with Green Peppercorns, Pork Sausage, Apple and Thyme

4 tsp (20 ml) olive oil
1½ cups very finely chopped onion (a very large onion, or two average-sized ones)
2 cloves fresh garlic, very finely chopped
the finely grated zest and juice of a lemon
2 red apples, cored
6 pork sausages (Eskort or Woolworths)
4 large sprigs of fresh thyme, leaves stripped (about 2 tablespoons of leaves)
4 tsp (20 ml) Madagascar green peppercorns
1 tsp (5 ml) flaky sea salt
5 cups (very loosely packed) fresh breadcrumbs
100 g chopped Brazil nuts (or similar; see my notes above)

Heat the olive oil in a frying pan over a medium flame. Add the finely chopped onions and the garlic, turn down the heat and cook very gently for 7-10 minutes, tossing now and again, until the onion is soft and transluscent. Don't allow the onion or garlic to brown.

Place the lemon zest and juice in a large mixing bowl. Grate the apple, skin and all, on the coarse side of a cheese grater, and tip the gratings directly into the bowl containing the lemon juice. Toss well so that the apple is coated with lemon juice. Squeeze the filling out of the pork sausages (discard the sausage skin) and add it to the mixing bowl, along with the thyme leaves and the cooked onion and garlic.

Put the green peppercorns in a mortar with the salt and pound them to a rough paste. (Or, if you don't have a mortar, squash them on a chopping board using a rolling pin or a heavy-based pot.) Add the pepper paste to the mixing bowl. Using your hands, squeeze and squish the contents of the mixing bowl together. Now tip all the fresh breadcrumbs into the bowl and, using a fork or your fingertips, lightly mix until combined. Don't overwork the mixture, or it will turn into wallpaper paste.

Toss the Brazil nuts in a hot, dry frying pan, over a medium flame, until lightly toasted. Lightly mix the nuts into the stuffing mixture.

At this point, it's a good idea to test the stuffing for flavour and seasoning. Take a small ball of the stuffing, press it into a little patty and fry it in hot oil until lightly browned. Taste the patty, add more salt if necessary, and then cover and place in the fridge until you're ready to stuff your turkey.

Makes enough stuffing for a large turkey. Print Friendly