A fried turkey is a wonderful thing. It is moist. It is flavorful, and it's not hard to do. There are some things that only experience can teach you, and toward this end, I have some advice to offer.
First, brine the bird. A brined bird is a juicy bird. Google Alton Brown's Turkey brine and use it. It has some 'interesting' ingredients. What the hell is Candied Ginger anyway? Make the brine just like he says, and sink the bird in it overnight.
Second, check you liquor situation. Though we generally start the day with a couple of rounds of Bloodymarys, I have found that a nice glass of wine is a wonderful thing to enjoy while the turkey is frying. We buy only the best of the box wines. I recommend the Merlot. Also, be sure you have ice and enough bourbon because after cooking this dinner, you'll be ready for a couple of strong cocktails.
Thirdly, it takes a while to get the oil hot, so I go out three or four hours before I plan on cooking, and heat the oil up to 340 degress, then shut the heat off and let it cool. The main reason for this is to give me a good idea of how long it takes to get the oil hot. You want to cook the bird at 340 degrees, so if the oil has cooled to 200 degrees, and it took 90 minutes to go from 70 degrees to 340 degrees, all you have to do is find a 5th grader to figure out how long it will take to heat from 200 degrees back up to 340 degrees, and then most of us can figure out when we need to begin reheating the oil.
Fourth, it should go without saying that you should not fry the bird on a wooden deck, or indoors. The reason for this is simple. Since you've been drinking Bloodymary's all day, and you read the label of the turkey without your glasses, you believed you were cooking a 12lb turkey, not a 15lb turkey. This is important because you filled the pot up with oil to the line for a 10 to 14 lb turkey. That is a very important line. If you sink a 15 lb turkey into a pot fill to the 10 to 14lb line with boiling oil, the bird will displace enough oil so that when it breaks into a violent boil, some of the oil will splash over the side of the pot and make it's way to the open flame below igniting a fairly impressive fire, which interestingly enough, causes the oil to boil even more violently splashing more oil out....and you can see where this is going.
Fifth, when extinguishing an oil and propane fire, the first thing you should do is turn off the propane at the tank. In theory, this will cause the fire beneath the pot of flaming oil to go out. You just have to trust me on this point because at this time half the deck is on fire. There appears to be a volcano spewing napalm on your deck and the propane flames are the smallest flame in the whole conflagration. You can't see them because of the big fire. It's important to get that little fire out first, because if you don't it will keep reigniting the big fire when you put it out.
Sixth, be very careful when using the fire extinguisher. I recommend setting your wine glass down so that you don't spill it when you pull the ring thing out so you can use the extinguisher. Keep in mind that you'll want to aim the extinguisher at the base of the flames.
Now you see why the bourbon is so important. I told you you's want a cocktail.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
A Learning Experience
Every parent want's the very best for their children. We want them to be better prepared for the shifting opportunities that our 'post-modern' world presents. In many ways, this means that the better they become at learning, the brighter their future will be. And while the academic side of their life can be addressed by schools and travel, the richness of their cultural heritage is sometimes more difficult to explore.
In our New Jersey existance, Gameboys, DVDs and gaming consoles are much more likely to be the afternoon distraction than hunting and fishing are. When I was in high school, I used to go duck hunting before school. Stump and I had a duck blind in a rice field that, in addition to being on the country line, was only 10 minutes from school. We'd hunt until about 8:10, and then we'd slog our way across the rice field to his truck or my car, and we'd run 90mph to school. We'd leave our guns, ammo, and boots locked in the truck, and after school, we'd usually head back out to the blind. Daily hunting and daily practice is how you learn to call ducks, and together, Stump and I were among the best duck callers in North East Arkansas.
One time, Stump and I were hunting before school, and we hadn't seen a duck. Not a one. At about 8:00, a lone suzy buzzed our blind, and we started calling. She started working in wide loops around our blind, higher at first, but getting lower and closer with each loop. Time slid by, and the Suzy settled in circling and kept her distance. No chatter could brind her down. No contented call brought her in. Nothing would bring her in, and she continued to circle just out of gun range. We tried highball calls to 'blow her up', but no change. I glanced at my watch. ... 9:20 HOLY SHIT!!!
We bolted out of the blind and sloshed across the knee deep water. Running through a flooded rice field is tougher than you'd think. First, there's the fact that you are running in rubber boots that come to the top of your thigh. Second, you're running in water that is knee deep. Thirdly, with each step your foot sinks about 5 inches into the Gumbo mud. Gumbo mud is a heavy, sticky clingy mud that add about 5 lbs wieght to each foot. Finally, you're carrying a 12Ga. shotgun, and all your hunting hear. It was about 1/3 of a mile run across the field to the truck. By the time we got to the truck, we were soaked to the bone and covered with Gumbo mud from head to toe, and we were utterly exhausted. Despite the fact that the single lane mud road was sandwiched between a rice field on one side and a very deep and very full drainiage ditch on the other side, I prayed that the gumbo mudder tires that Stump had on his truck would some how keep traction as we ran 60 mph. 9:25...SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.
Stump's truck came off the gravel and onto the paved road like somthing out of the Dukes of Hazzard. Stump, being a country boy of the finest sort, had naturally replaced the 360cid engine in his F100 truck with a 460cid engine, and also replace the 3 speed transmission with a 3 on-the-tree shifter with a standard 4 speed (we pulled out of a wrecked Torino), a Zoom Clutch and a Hurst shifter. This truck would fly, and fly is what we did. We slid into the parking lot at Heffer High at 8:29. Niether of us even bothered to ditch our folded down waders. We sprinted into class and made it just before the bell went off.
My English teacher, Mrs.Smith was not pleased that I hunted before class and more than once had given me a lecture about it. She came over to me, presumably to deliver yet another lecture. I was sitting at my desk covered in mud and dripping water. (We had gotten very wet and muddy running through the rice field.) Before she could even start, her eyes latched onto my Buck Knife. I had a folding buck knife on my belt, and her eyes sparkeled as they seized on to it.
"Mr. Garner", she began,"I'll have that knife." And I replied, "No ma'am, that's a $10 Buck Knife. I'd be happy to put it in the truck with the guns, but you can't have it." Expecting to freighten me, Mrs.Smith said "I'll have that knife or you'll go see Coach Houge."
So, I went to the principle's office. Coach Houge was the principle....and had known me since the day I was born. After sitting and waiting for some time, finally Coach Houge came in, and said "Bill Jr., what's this about a knife?"
I told him all about hunting in the morning before class and how this morning we didn't do very well. I explained that we were late coming out of the field because a lone suzy started working late which was odd, I said, because we usually get pretty close to the limit. I was telling him about running across the rice field when he inturrputed me and, with an incredulous look on his face, asked "You're getting the limit?"
"Yes, sir", I replied.
"Where you boys hunting?", Coach inquired.
I thought for a minute. Hunting spots are valuable...very valuable, but seeing an opportunity to resolve some difficulties I'd been having at school, "Coach", I said, "I'll have to show you."
I didn't have any more trouble out of Mrs. Smith.
That's an experience you just can't get out of a Gameboy.
In our New Jersey existance, Gameboys, DVDs and gaming consoles are much more likely to be the afternoon distraction than hunting and fishing are. When I was in high school, I used to go duck hunting before school. Stump and I had a duck blind in a rice field that, in addition to being on the country line, was only 10 minutes from school. We'd hunt until about 8:10, and then we'd slog our way across the rice field to his truck or my car, and we'd run 90mph to school. We'd leave our guns, ammo, and boots locked in the truck, and after school, we'd usually head back out to the blind. Daily hunting and daily practice is how you learn to call ducks, and together, Stump and I were among the best duck callers in North East Arkansas.
One time, Stump and I were hunting before school, and we hadn't seen a duck. Not a one. At about 8:00, a lone suzy buzzed our blind, and we started calling. She started working in wide loops around our blind, higher at first, but getting lower and closer with each loop. Time slid by, and the Suzy settled in circling and kept her distance. No chatter could brind her down. No contented call brought her in. Nothing would bring her in, and she continued to circle just out of gun range. We tried highball calls to 'blow her up', but no change. I glanced at my watch. ... 9:20 HOLY SHIT!!!
We bolted out of the blind and sloshed across the knee deep water. Running through a flooded rice field is tougher than you'd think. First, there's the fact that you are running in rubber boots that come to the top of your thigh. Second, you're running in water that is knee deep. Thirdly, with each step your foot sinks about 5 inches into the Gumbo mud. Gumbo mud is a heavy, sticky clingy mud that add about 5 lbs wieght to each foot. Finally, you're carrying a 12Ga. shotgun, and all your hunting hear. It was about 1/3 of a mile run across the field to the truck. By the time we got to the truck, we were soaked to the bone and covered with Gumbo mud from head to toe, and we were utterly exhausted. Despite the fact that the single lane mud road was sandwiched between a rice field on one side and a very deep and very full drainiage ditch on the other side, I prayed that the gumbo mudder tires that Stump had on his truck would some how keep traction as we ran 60 mph. 9:25...SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.
Stump's truck came off the gravel and onto the paved road like somthing out of the Dukes of Hazzard. Stump, being a country boy of the finest sort, had naturally replaced the 360cid engine in his F100 truck with a 460cid engine, and also replace the 3 speed transmission with a 3 on-the-tree shifter with a standard 4 speed (we pulled out of a wrecked Torino), a Zoom Clutch and a Hurst shifter. This truck would fly, and fly is what we did. We slid into the parking lot at Heffer High at 8:29. Niether of us even bothered to ditch our folded down waders. We sprinted into class and made it just before the bell went off.
My English teacher, Mrs.Smith was not pleased that I hunted before class and more than once had given me a lecture about it. She came over to me, presumably to deliver yet another lecture. I was sitting at my desk covered in mud and dripping water. (We had gotten very wet and muddy running through the rice field.) Before she could even start, her eyes latched onto my Buck Knife. I had a folding buck knife on my belt, and her eyes sparkeled as they seized on to it.
"Mr. Garner", she began,"I'll have that knife." And I replied, "No ma'am, that's a $10 Buck Knife. I'd be happy to put it in the truck with the guns, but you can't have it." Expecting to freighten me, Mrs.Smith said "I'll have that knife or you'll go see Coach Houge."
So, I went to the principle's office. Coach Houge was the principle....and had known me since the day I was born. After sitting and waiting for some time, finally Coach Houge came in, and said "Bill Jr., what's this about a knife?"
I told him all about hunting in the morning before class and how this morning we didn't do very well. I explained that we were late coming out of the field because a lone suzy started working late which was odd, I said, because we usually get pretty close to the limit. I was telling him about running across the rice field when he inturrputed me and, with an incredulous look on his face, asked "You're getting the limit?"
"Yes, sir", I replied.
"Where you boys hunting?", Coach inquired.
I thought for a minute. Hunting spots are valuable...very valuable, but seeing an opportunity to resolve some difficulties I'd been having at school, "Coach", I said, "I'll have to show you."
I didn't have any more trouble out of Mrs. Smith.
That's an experience you just can't get out of a Gameboy.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Ribs, The Rebels, and Boo circa 1974
This time of year, when the air gets cool and the leaves fall, always reminds me of my high school years. My whole family used to go down the Ole Miss to watch the Rebels play. Some of the frats down there would barbeque all night long, and the odors and smoke from their pits would wander from one end of the Grove to the other. Some times, when the Rebels weren't playing at home, Dad would do his ribs.
Dad had an upright smoker, and would cook his ribs for about 6 hours. Without fail, when dad did ribs you could be sure that 1) my sister would not leave until she had ribs, and 2) Boo would show up and not leave until he had ribs. After dinner, Boo and I would go running around. I had a Datsun 510 which Boo and I painted black. It took 7 cans of spray paint and looked just as good as you think a car painted black with spray paint would look.
One time we were out running around, and we saw a friends car parked back in the woods a little at Craighead Forrest. We know what Goose was up to. Goose had a date that night, and the movie had been out for about an hour. Boo and I thought it would be really funny if one of us got a running start, ran up the trunk of the car, over the top, and down the hood. Somehow, I was chosen to go first, which ment that Boo was going to be driving for the get away. I got out of the car, and sneaked around back of Goose's car. I got a running start from about 30 feet away. It's harder than you think jumping onto the back of a car while at a dead run. I fell and rolled over the top, scrambled to my feet as I fell off the front of the car, and sprinted to the car. Boo punched it, and we made our get away while laughing so hard that neither of us could breath.
Now, it was Boo's turn. We hunted for a while trying to find another friend parking, and finally came up on Bat. Bat had a Camero, and was very proud of it. Boo sneeked around to the back of the car. He got a running start and, striding like a hurdler, leaped onto the back of the car. His other leg came around and planted squarly in the center of the roof...the convertable roof. He went through the roof and hit the top of the wind shield with his stomach. A girl was screaming at the top of her lungs, and some guy was really pissed, and Boo was fighting his way out of the wreckage of the roof. Finally, after an eternity, Boo got free of the roof and sprinted to the car, and I took off. A pair of lights came on behind us, and I knew we were in trouble. There is only one way for a Datsun 510 to lose a Camero. We had to go off road, and after driving litterally through the woods and onto the MotoCross track, we lost the Camero.
I remember Boo, still looking a little shook up, saying "That wasn't Bat's car."
Dad had an upright smoker, and would cook his ribs for about 6 hours. Without fail, when dad did ribs you could be sure that 1) my sister would not leave until she had ribs, and 2) Boo would show up and not leave until he had ribs. After dinner, Boo and I would go running around. I had a Datsun 510 which Boo and I painted black. It took 7 cans of spray paint and looked just as good as you think a car painted black with spray paint would look.
One time we were out running around, and we saw a friends car parked back in the woods a little at Craighead Forrest. We know what Goose was up to. Goose had a date that night, and the movie had been out for about an hour. Boo and I thought it would be really funny if one of us got a running start, ran up the trunk of the car, over the top, and down the hood. Somehow, I was chosen to go first, which ment that Boo was going to be driving for the get away. I got out of the car, and sneaked around back of Goose's car. I got a running start from about 30 feet away. It's harder than you think jumping onto the back of a car while at a dead run. I fell and rolled over the top, scrambled to my feet as I fell off the front of the car, and sprinted to the car. Boo punched it, and we made our get away while laughing so hard that neither of us could breath.
Now, it was Boo's turn. We hunted for a while trying to find another friend parking, and finally came up on Bat. Bat had a Camero, and was very proud of it. Boo sneeked around to the back of the car. He got a running start and, striding like a hurdler, leaped onto the back of the car. His other leg came around and planted squarly in the center of the roof...the convertable roof. He went through the roof and hit the top of the wind shield with his stomach. A girl was screaming at the top of her lungs, and some guy was really pissed, and Boo was fighting his way out of the wreckage of the roof. Finally, after an eternity, Boo got free of the roof and sprinted to the car, and I took off. A pair of lights came on behind us, and I knew we were in trouble. There is only one way for a Datsun 510 to lose a Camero. We had to go off road, and after driving litterally through the woods and onto the MotoCross track, we lost the Camero.
I remember Boo, still looking a little shook up, saying "That wasn't Bat's car."
Monday, November 1, 2010
The Operative Word was 'Diesel'
Stump and I go back a long way. We met on night at a pizza joint in the fall of 1974 after my bootlegging partner, Squat, got arrested for getting drunk and naked while dancing in a pasture that doubled as a parking lot for our high school. Squat's arrest presented me with a unique problem. I had my mother's stationwagon full of beer, wine, and liquor that our customers had 'ordered', and Squat, now fully clothed, was sitting in the Craighead County Jail with the list of who ordered what in his pocket. Ever since Stump helped me solve my distribution problems that fateful night, he and I have been close friends. We've hunted together, fished together, frog gigged together and partied together.
Friends help friends. When Stump bought 20 acres of land outside of Jonesboro and needed help fencing it, I was happy to help. This was in the early 80's which which happened to be the era of 'generic' beer, so we'd ice down two or three cases of that crap, and head out to his land each Saturday and work like dogs all day long building barbed wire fences. I'm not sure why we were building the fences because he didn't own any cattle, but for some reason, it was vital that we fence the place in. After the fencing was complete, we set about cleaning the property up some, so we tore down the old barn.
It was July or August. In Arkansas, those months are hot and dry. Stump wanted to burn the wood from the old barn because it was not worth re-using, and it was full of termites and bugs. I suggested that we throw the wood down into the old cistern and burn it down there because I was afraid that a wild fire would get loose in the pasture if we just piled it up and burned it. A cistern is a hole in the ground that is usually lined with bricks or stone, and is used to collect and hold rain water. Stump thought that burning the wood in the cistern was a good idea, too. So, together with a guy named Tom who Stump had hired for the day, we chunked all that wood down into this huge old cistern. It took the better part of the day to get all the wood down there, but finally we were finished. Stump sent Tom over to the truck to get a jerry can of diesel fuel, and had him pour it into the cistern. The operative word here is 'diesel'. Diesel fuel burns and starts a fire. Gasoline explodes and starts a bigger fire.
Stump and I were standing about 10 feet from the mouth of the cistern, and we had a torch which we were going to toss into the cistern to light the 'diesel' and get the fire going. Holding my generic beer in one hand, I took my zippo lighter out and lit the torch. Stump tossed it under handed toward the cistern. Just as the flaming torch entered the cistern, a tremendous explosion erupted from the cistern, blowing flaming wood all across the tinder dry pasture and giant chunks of earth and bricks about 100 feet into the air. The cistern opening had been about five feet across. It was now about 15 feet across.
If you've never been near an explosion, it's kind of weird. An explosion consumes a lot of oxygen, so it kind of 'sucks' you toward it just a bit, and then as the oxygen and the explosive combine, it then 'blows' you back. Another thing about explosions is that they are loud. They are so loud that your ears feel like you stuck them in an amp at a ZZ Top concert. Finally, explosions mean a hot, firey flash. Got eye brows?
The blast flattened me and Stump. When you get blown down like that, it kind of jars your brain some so it takes a minute or so for you to come back to your right mind. Lying there on the ground looking up, I watched the fire ball grow and rise into a mushroom shape, and saw the flaming wood scatter across the pasture. Dirt and broken bricks rained down on us.
I sat up and shook my head. I looked over at Stump. He was smoking some, and his eye brows were gone. I said something to him, and I couldn't hear me and because he didn't react, I figured he couldn't hear me either, so I shouted at him. Tom had been standing a bit further back, so he came running over. He was real excited and was saying something and pointing out at the pasture, but I couldn't hear him. I hollered at him to talk louder. Stump was looking at his pasture. It was on fire, and the wind was taking it toward the creek. This day was going downhill fast.
It took a good while and a lot of help from neighboring farms to get the fire out. At the end of the day, exhausted and out of beer, I got in my car to go home. I was dreading tomorrow.
Stump had asked me to help him pick up the wood from the barn again. We were going to put it in a pile in the pasture and burn it. There wasn't any danger of the fire spreading. For about a half mile in any direction, we had already burned everything that would burn. All we needed as some beer. We still had a jerry can of diesel.
Friends help friends. When Stump bought 20 acres of land outside of Jonesboro and needed help fencing it, I was happy to help. This was in the early 80's which which happened to be the era of 'generic' beer, so we'd ice down two or three cases of that crap, and head out to his land each Saturday and work like dogs all day long building barbed wire fences. I'm not sure why we were building the fences because he didn't own any cattle, but for some reason, it was vital that we fence the place in. After the fencing was complete, we set about cleaning the property up some, so we tore down the old barn.
It was July or August. In Arkansas, those months are hot and dry. Stump wanted to burn the wood from the old barn because it was not worth re-using, and it was full of termites and bugs. I suggested that we throw the wood down into the old cistern and burn it down there because I was afraid that a wild fire would get loose in the pasture if we just piled it up and burned it. A cistern is a hole in the ground that is usually lined with bricks or stone, and is used to collect and hold rain water. Stump thought that burning the wood in the cistern was a good idea, too. So, together with a guy named Tom who Stump had hired for the day, we chunked all that wood down into this huge old cistern. It took the better part of the day to get all the wood down there, but finally we were finished. Stump sent Tom over to the truck to get a jerry can of diesel fuel, and had him pour it into the cistern. The operative word here is 'diesel'. Diesel fuel burns and starts a fire. Gasoline explodes and starts a bigger fire.
Stump and I were standing about 10 feet from the mouth of the cistern, and we had a torch which we were going to toss into the cistern to light the 'diesel' and get the fire going. Holding my generic beer in one hand, I took my zippo lighter out and lit the torch. Stump tossed it under handed toward the cistern. Just as the flaming torch entered the cistern, a tremendous explosion erupted from the cistern, blowing flaming wood all across the tinder dry pasture and giant chunks of earth and bricks about 100 feet into the air. The cistern opening had been about five feet across. It was now about 15 feet across.
If you've never been near an explosion, it's kind of weird. An explosion consumes a lot of oxygen, so it kind of 'sucks' you toward it just a bit, and then as the oxygen and the explosive combine, it then 'blows' you back. Another thing about explosions is that they are loud. They are so loud that your ears feel like you stuck them in an amp at a ZZ Top concert. Finally, explosions mean a hot, firey flash. Got eye brows?
The blast flattened me and Stump. When you get blown down like that, it kind of jars your brain some so it takes a minute or so for you to come back to your right mind. Lying there on the ground looking up, I watched the fire ball grow and rise into a mushroom shape, and saw the flaming wood scatter across the pasture. Dirt and broken bricks rained down on us.
I sat up and shook my head. I looked over at Stump. He was smoking some, and his eye brows were gone. I said something to him, and I couldn't hear me and because he didn't react, I figured he couldn't hear me either, so I shouted at him. Tom had been standing a bit further back, so he came running over. He was real excited and was saying something and pointing out at the pasture, but I couldn't hear him. I hollered at him to talk louder. Stump was looking at his pasture. It was on fire, and the wind was taking it toward the creek. This day was going downhill fast.
It took a good while and a lot of help from neighboring farms to get the fire out. At the end of the day, exhausted and out of beer, I got in my car to go home. I was dreading tomorrow.
Stump had asked me to help him pick up the wood from the barn again. We were going to put it in a pile in the pasture and burn it. There wasn't any danger of the fire spreading. For about a half mile in any direction, we had already burned everything that would burn. All we needed as some beer. We still had a jerry can of diesel.
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