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Turkey in the sky - 2005
Have bird - did travel
By Sue Frause
Northwest Palate
November 2005
Living with a turkey farmer has resulted in many a memorable moment. But flying with one of our homegrown birds from Seattle to New York City was an all-time high.
First, a clarification. My husband, Bob, is not a full-time turkey farmer. He owns a public relations firm in Seattle. The gentleman farmer label was slapped on him shortly after we moved to our three-acre spread on Whidbey Island 30 years ago.
I'm not sure how this turkey gig got going, but for the past two decades, Farmer Bob has been raising anywhere from 5-20 birds a season. We usually keep one or two, and give one to friends who help with the butchering. The rest are snapped up by eager buyers for two bucks a pound.
When our son moved to Manhattan several years ago, I thought it would be fun to bring Thanksgiving to him. So we did what any non-normal family would do; we rented an apartment in the city for the holiday weekend and readied our turkey for the flight to the Big Apple. Her stats: 27-pounds, white, no name. But for this turkey tale, we'll call her Big Bird, or BB for short.
Now, traveling with small children is one thing, but flying with a frozen bird? Not only did we hope to sail through security without a lot of unwanted attention, i.e., "Sir, could you please hand over the ID for whatever is in that bag?" was not a question we hoped to encounter in security.
Once on the airplance, we did have to make sure BB was happy and secure in the overhead bin. So Farmer Bob swaddled her in a blue foam camping pad, secured it with mass amounts of duct tape, placed her in a nondescript black duffel and plopped her in the freezer until our 2,400-mile journey commenced.
When departure day arrived, BB didn't raise any eyebrows or alarms at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. We were also carrying our son's alto sax, which seemed to interest security so much more. My husband gave me the international zip it up signal, meaning "No smart comments, Sue."
When BB emerged from the screening machine with the rest of our carry-ons, I felt a small surge of victory. Our Little White Hen was on her way to The Great White Way. As we hauled Big Bird and our bags up the three flights of narrow steps to our Chelsea apartment, I was somewhat apprehensive.
Although I'd seen several photographs of our rented digs on the web site, who knew what was really behind that dark brown door? Well, not only had it not been cleaned since the last renters had been there, it was small?Big Apple small. In fact, the kitchen was not much larger than a potholder.
After Farmer Bob transferred BB to the fridge to finish thawing, we set to work on cleaning the joint. The next morning was unseasonably warm and sunny. I walked twenty-some blocks to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade while Chef Bob prepared for the big meal: shopping at nearby Chelsea Market and Whole Foods, purchasing a Global carving knife. We didn't dare board an airplane with our own knives.
I returned after the parade to the sweet smells of November. Fortunately, we had brought along our favorite Thanksgiving recipe, roast turkey with Grand Marnier apricot stuffing from "The Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook." BB was ensconced in the oven with barely an inch of clearance. Farmer Bob, now known as Chef Bob, was also preparing mashed potatoes and gravy, vegetables and cranberries in port. Our guests were bringing the requisite pumpkin and pecan pies.
The tiny living room/dining room wasn't much bigger than the kitchen, but we managed to set up two makeshift tables in the cozy space. A dresser from the lone bedroom was recruited as the turkey-carving table, and I decorated the little brick walled room with fresh tulips and lots of tea lights. Throw in plenty of television football and red wine, and you have the makings of a truly memorable Thanksgiving feast.
Now, if only I could talk Alaska Airlines into giving me Big Bird's frequent flier miles.
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