Ah, so it begins.
From my cousin:
“Well, so far, there will be about thirty of us. We should talk about
the menu and see what we want everyone to bring. We’ll need two
turkeys. Kevin says he wants to deep fry one.”
This, from my cousin Leland in Kansas where we will meet for
Thanksgiving. I will happily fly to Tulsa from Los Angeles, then drive
on cruise control 120 miles to the small town of Parsons for
Thanksgiving dinner at his big blue Victorian home with a host of
cousins, grandchildren, stray local teen-agers and two uncles well into
their 80s. (One will bring a cream pie and the other, green jello.)
Once we settle where the out-of-towners sleep we will find ourselves
smack in this small town of 13,000 in the middle of the country, the
grocery shopping dependent on a Wal Mart just outside the city limits
where there is never a shortage of iceberg lettuce, year round. (A
side note: I felt slapped down, yet hopeful to discover a small plastic
container of basil buried among the radishes when last there.)
I’m grateful for many things at Thanksgiving– family, friends, health, light traffic on the 405…all the usual suspects. But as the person who hosts that gathering year after year, I am also grateful for this technique for a perfect dry-brine roast turkey that makes my old wet-brine birds seem spongy, bland and far too much work by comparison.
, Rodgers goes into great detail on why salting meats and poultry days ahead of the actual cooking promotes juiciness, texture and enhances flavor…flying in the face of what, until then, had been the conventional wisdom that the salting of meats should be done only at the last minute. Per her instruction, I tried it with dozens of dishes–from chickens to chops to pot roasts–and, in every instance, the technique worked beautifully. But it never occurred to me to use it on the all important Thanksgiving turkey until The Los Angeles Times’ Russ Parson, one of my favorite food writers, declared it the definitive way to beautify the bird. And, boy, was Russ right.
If by some chance you are looking for something really easy to do with your turkey leftovers, this is it. It's a variation of the chicken chow mein you used to be able to get at the Trader Vic's at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, which is now more or less out of business. Trader Vic's flameout was sad, because except for the mysteriously inept service, there were still wild and exciting things to eat there, starting with the classic Pupu Platter and including a curry served in a dish with room for about nine tiny little garnishes. But oh well. So it goes. Restaurants tend to break your heart. The chicken chow mein was divine, especially if you ate it with a double order of toasted almonds and lots of chow mein noodles, and it's even better with turkey.
My grandfather and several of my great uncles had a fur store in N.Y. It was called Windsor Furs (to indicate, one can only guess, a regal presence previously unknown to 14th Street and 7th Avenue). Uncle Simon and Uncle Harry kept Windsor Furs well into their 90’s. And I would like to tell you all the funny, memorable stories I know about them and the shop. But the thing that springs to mind at this moment is their business card. 
