ROUSES.COM
15
THANKSGIVING
But here’s the thing: every good gumbo
starts with a story, and mine begins during
a ten-year exile in central Texas. One day
in early November as friends were musing
over plans for Thanksgiving leftovers, I
inquired about post-feast plans for the
turkey carcass.
“The bones? We throw them away. What
would
you
do with it?”
The answer, as anybody raised on the Gulf
Coast knows, is obvious: make Turkey-
Bone Gumbo.
This particular variationof the gumbo theme
is a stock-first affair — where your kitchen
time starts by slowly simmering whatever’s
left of the Thanksgiving bird with aromatic
vegetables to make the richest poultry stock
imaginable. After a few hours over low
heat, chunks of turkey meat emerge from
hidden nooks and crannies and the bird’s
connective tissue and bone marrow fuse
with the water, making for a thick stock
that jiggles like savory jello when chilled.
With apologies to our friends on Sesame
Street, big birds make the best stock, and
I wasn’t about to let a gumbo-ready carcass
go to waste on my watch.
During my Austin years, I developed a
reputation as a one-man culinary cleanup crew
with a curious mission of driving around on
post-feast Friday, gathering turkey skeletons
from friends (sometimes one, sometimes ten).
That night, I’dmake a huge stock and separate
meat from bones and gristle. On Saturday, I’d
make turkey-bone gumbo spiked with grilled
hot links, then have a party to celebrate the
holiday season.
Collecting bird carcasses seems a little
eccentric, perhaps
mildly
insane, but
manageable by Texas standards.
Fast forward to New Orleans, 2010. A
friend moving to Portland offers me a two-
level meat smoker that’s not welcome in his
new apartment building.
A light bulb went on. If I smoke my own
birds, I can have turkey bone gumbo ANY
TIME I WANT. I’ll be released from a
pilgrim-centric turkey timetable! I can
smoke two birds at a time!
That smoker triggered modern-day Gumbo
Crazy. The first year, I dialed in my slow-
smoking technique with pork shoulders,
chicken wings and other specialty meats.
I’d smoke a couple of turkeys for
jambalaya and gumbo. I learned the
discrete stages of a proper turkey
gumbo (thaw, brine, smoke,
“stock up,” sauté, simmer, and
freeze). I’d load the smoker
with a pork shoulder on
the top rack and a turkey
below, and slowly baste
the bird with melting
pork fat.
Oh. Hell. Yes.
The
following
year,
I noticed that during
November, turkeys were a
bargain, so I bought one at Rouses as part
of my weekly shopping. If I had excess
freezer space, I’d grab another bird when I
went to Rouses, then another the next trip.
I started to give quart-sized containers as
holiday or “new mama” gifts. The second
year, the bird count was ten.
Twelvemonths later, cold fronts approached
and I realized that I needed more freezer
space. More cold storage would mean more
Rouses turkeys, which means a longer
“gumboification” season.
Which brings us back to my friends. As
an adult in 21st century America, I’ve got
friends who don’t cook. Like, at ALL.
As such, they’ve got full-sized freezers
containing a bottle of vodka and two empty
ice trays — empty space that YEARNS to
be filled with turkeys in exchange for gumbo.
In subsequent years, my list of “Freezer
Friends” grew along with my seasonal bird
count. I’d hit Rouses every time I needed
something and pick up a couple of turkeys as
a reflex. (A loaf of bread… and two turkeys.
Paper towels … and turkeys. A box of
Chicklets …) I’d stash frozen birds all across
town — like a manic squirrel before snowfall
— and retrieve them, space allowed.
Each Freezer Friend receives quarts
of gumbo as a token of thanks and an
invitation to eat on Twelfth Night, of after
a parade, or some random Wednesday.
(Gallons of frozen gumbo make for easy
winter weeknight dinners.)
From my stove-warmed house, the pots
never quite stop bubbling and the smell of
smoked meats never have a chance to clear,
because I know that soon enough, spring
turns to summer and multi-day gumbo
sessions won’t make any sense.
Come summer, I’ll reluctantly
turn on the AC and put
away my pots. Luckily,
I keep a few quarts of
turkey gumbo on hand
for when the craving
hits. Turkey gumbo in
summertime? It may
sound a little crazy,
but I can live with
that.
photo by
Denny Culbert
