John Merrill – Page 2

Thanksgiving Meal to Remember

This year it was our turn to host the family Thanksgiving dinner. We have a moderate sized family, but large enough that honor only falls upon our shoulders every 7-8 years. Knowing this year was our year, I started watching some of the cooking shows on PBS looking for the a few tips on ways of doing things different.

More than a few years ago, Uncle Charlie was doing pretty much the same thing when he decided to deep fry the turkey. He was seduced by all the promises this cooking method promises: moist, sweet turkey meet, He heeded most of the warnings: don’t fry a frozen bird, don’t let the oil get too hot, and never, ever, do it indoors. There was one warning he somehow missed: don’t use too much oil.

Fortunately for Uncle Charlie, he also paid attention not to set up the deep fryer underneath the patio or too close to the house. When he lowered that bird into the oil, it just boiled over and that hot oil dripped into the propane flame. Wow! Aunt Betty was not impressed. Fortunately, Uncle Charlie also paid attention to the warning about not using a hose to put out a sudden flame and he had a fire extinguisher nearby that was able to knock down that eruption without any burns or property damage.

So this year I saw this one PBS show where they claimed they could cut down on cooking time, get the best tasting bird, and have stuffing that tastes just like it was real bird-stuffing.

The essence of this technique called for removing the bird’s backbone, and soaking it in brine then cooking it the traditional oven way, but with the stuffing tucked underneath the bird.

My wife didn’t want anything to do with the spine removal, so that job fell to me. It was a little unnerving, but if you don’t mind the sound of bones breaking, it’s no problem. Next we put the bird in a large plastic bag filled with water and salt and a few herbs.

Cooking the bird went fine. It cooked really fast compared to the old method. The first problem I noticed was the stuffing that had been carefully tucked under the bird was extremely dry. The TV cooks said the turkey juices would drip down into the stuffing and keep them moist. Not good, but not catastrophic. A little extra gravy would moisten it right up.

After the bird sat for the prescribed 30 minutes, it was time to carve. This is when things got crazy. I first cut off one of the breasts. To my surprise, it was bright pink! Bright PINK! Our 20 or so guests were ready to eat, and I’m about to serve them a pink turkey. The mashed potatoes are ready, the gravy is ready, the stuffing is ready, the drinks have been poured, the appetizer tray was empty and I’m about to serve up pink turkey.

Even though my instant read thermometer said the bird was cooked to 165 degrees (I checked it multiple times in multiple locations). I figured something must be wrong and that the bird really hadn’t been cooked long enough. The only solution was to put it back into the oven for another 15 minutes.

I had visions of all our dinner guests all showing up at the local ER with food poisoning. After the additional cooking time, the pink was only slightly less pink. We couldn’t wait. I carefully sliced the breast with my new Cuisinart electric knife into perfect pink slabs of turkey breast. I put sprigs of parsley around it and we served the meal.

Everyone raved about the dinner (our family is very polite). Despite my fears, no one got sick! Big success. By Sunday afternoon everyone had gone home. It was then that I started doing a little research into what had happened. I don’t know the science behind it, but when a turkey is brined, then cooked, it will have a pink tinge to the meat. If the bird is allowed to drain after removal from the brine in the refrigerator, then the meat color is fine.

Who knew. When it’s my turn to cook in another 7 years or so, I’ll try to remember that one.

Circleville’s Pumpkin Show Again

It’s called one of the longest running free shows in the country, the Circleville Pumpkin Show, which starts on the third Wednesday of October every year. I don’t know if was that way back in 1903 when the show started, but according to Slim Ginnings of Fairfield County whose daddy used to live in Circleville, “My daddy use to talk about going to the festival back when he was a kid. That must have been in the late 1920s. He loved it.”

I asked Slim if his daddy grew pumpkins. Slim said, “Nah. He liked what he called those ‘riding devices.’ That’s what he called them, riding devices.”

“What’d he mean?”

“You know, merry-go-round, ferry-go-round, the whip, and something he called the merry-mix-up. I never could get my head around that one. He also like the hog calling contests. I guess they don’t do that anymore, do they?”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” I say.

“It was always a big blow-out,” he said. “His sister, my Aunt Carla, loved the dancing every night. Dad said Mom always got upset with her when she got home so late.”

“Did your daddy remember the big pumpkins?”

“Nah. Back then it was just good lookin’ pumpkins that could make a good jack-o-lantern. Not like today — you have to have a crane to get the darned thing off the ground.”

“Are you going to this year’s festival?”

“Oh sure. Never miss it, been going just about all my life even before I knew I was going.”

Marblehead Lighthouse Festival

Last week was the Mablehead Lighthouse Festival. This year the weather was great. If it had been a week or so earlier, there would have been some real excitement. The Saturday before there six foot waves crashing over those big rocks around the point. It was pretty dramatic. But last weekend, it was picture perfect with great crowds.

The lighthouse, the star attraction was packed to capacity. I used to try and make it in and take the climb up to the top, but it hasn’t been a good year for me and stairs so I skipped that thrill. I did make it over to the Lighthouse Keeper’s House on the south side of the peninsula.

For those few Ohioans who haven’t visited the Keeper’s House, it dates back to the early 1800s when the lighthouse first started operating. Today, there’s another house that was built about 60 or 70 years later that’s right next door to the lighthouse. But the keeper’s house was built by Benajah Wolcott who first purchased the entire Marblehead Peninsula back in the early 1800s and it was Benajah that was the first lighthouse keeper. Everyday he walked the 2+ miles to and from the lighthouse to check on the light and refill the fuel tank.

The house is the oldest known residence still standing in Ottawa County and is a fine example of a “hall-and-parlor house,” an early American home design and last weekend it was staffed by a several folks dressed in period attire and cooking applesauce and cabbage cakes. When I asked what the most common question people inquire about, one of the ladies said: “That’s easy. Why did Benajah build his house so far away from the lighthouse?”

“And…” I asked.

“Simple. He was a farmer, and the soil on this side of the peninsula is better for farming. The soil on the lighthouse side isn’t worth anything for farming. So he built his new house here, and walked to the lighthouse. Plus, he didn’t have to light the light during the winter months when the lake is frozen.”

“Never thought about that before. Good answer”

The Great Punkin’ Show

Got a note from Mary saying she already has her reservations in for visiting RoundTown’s Great Punkin Show. I wouldn’t miss it for the world Mary said. I wrote back saying it was good she was so enthusiastic about her vegetables, but wasn’t she worried that maybe this year’s punkins were going to be smaller than usual cause of all the rain we had earlier this summer? She replied, “Nope. Like I always say, ‘Size don’t matter when you got friends!’ ”

Ain’t that the truth!

The Spud Bar

I have a small cottage up on the Marblehead peninsula and my wife wanted some new plants put in on the side yard. I told her no problem. She went over to Barnes Nursery on Catawba and picked up four boxwoods. It was a warm Saturday afternoon, I figured it would take no more than a couple hours at most. It took me about 5 minutes to dig through the extremely thin layer of top soil before I hit limestone. No matter how hard I tried to chip at it, nothing.

Then my neighbor Tom stopped by. “Those are going to look good, once you get ’em planted,” he said with just the hint of Kentucky twang.

“Yep,” I said. “the problem is that bed rock.” He peered into the shallow depression. If Tom was a spitting man, I’m sure he would have right at that moment… but he wasn’t and he didn’t.

“What you need is a spud bar.” I’ve been in the trades for a few years, but never heard of a spud bar and I never knew if ole Tom was kidding or if he was on the level. Sometimes Tom can really lay one out without me even see its coming. He could see I was puzzled.

“Yep. A spud bar. I don’t have one myself, but Bob Sachet–he’s got one. If you’d like, I could ask? He’s got just about every thing tucked into his shed. Yep, spud bar. That’s the ticket.”

“Spud bar? Sounds like some Idaho hangout?” I say with a little grin.

“Huh?” Tom says like I’m stupid. I guess I am since I’m the one that doesn’t know about a spud bar.

“Ole Bob, he sure is one that doesn’t do anything if he doesn’t have to do anything. His dog is the same. I think that ole mutt has to lean against a tree to lift his leg. I’ll go see if Bob can find that spud bar. That’s what you need. That limestone around here is always everywhere you want to dig.” And with that Tom started off down the road. I’m kind of new here (3 years now) but I’ve never heard of Bob Sachet, or his dog, but Tom seems to know him. Tom seems to know just about everyone and everything about everyone. I kinda like Tom– he’s what my grandpa would call a good ol’boy.

Forty-five minutes later I can see Tom walking back. He’s got a long metal bar slung over his shoulder. A spud bar no doubt.

“There you go,” he says handing me the long heavy bar. “I used that bar to dig some fence holes some time back. It’s not easy, but it works. Limestone– everywhere. I don’t know how a tree can grow here and stand up.” With that he takes the long bar and straddles the depression where my wife wants me to put the boxwood. “Use it like a jack hammer. Raise it up and slam it down. That pointed end will cut through that limestone in no time.” A few quick strokes, sure as he said, a big chunk of limestone came out revealing a deep chasm big enough for the boxwood with room to spare.

“Thanks Tom. I never would have thought…”

“Yep. Spud bar. I think Bob used it for ice fishing to chop a fishin’ hole. Sure as heck he never used it for diggin’ holes in the ground. That’d be too much like real work,” he paused a moment admiring the future boxwood home.“I don’t know where the name came from. Maybe it was used to plant potatoes.”

I thanked Tom and he turned and walked off down the road. “Let me know when you’re done. I’ll get it back to Bob.”

By the time my wife got back from shopping down in Port Clinton I had all four boxwoods planted in a neat row. I’m sitting in one of our Adirondack chairs admiring my work. “Well look at you. I thought you’d still be digging holes. You know there’s lots of limestone around here?”

“Yeah, I know.”

Save

Last Hummingbird for the Season

BUCYRUS: Connie G. reported that she hasn’t seen any hummingbirds at her feeders for about a week now. “It seems this year the little guys hung around a little longer than usual,” Connie said to her brother, “but, then I kind of hung around a little longer myself.”

From my perspective, it’s always better to be able to hang around a little longer, whenever you can without becoming too much of a nuisance or a tripping hazard.