Growing up in Georgia, Thanksgiving for me meant driving a couple hours south to my Aunt Joy's house in Augusta. We'd arrive Wednesday night and stay up late playing video games with the cousins. First thing the next morning, at around 4 or 5 a.m., my mom and aunt would put the bird in the oven and roast it low and slow for eight hours, basting it every 30 minutes and watching it like hawks. It was such an ordeal. Because of this ritual, for years I thought turkey was the absolute hardest thing to cook in the world because anything that takes eight hours to become edible must be an impossible feat of black magic, right?
I also thought that turkey was, on principle, meant to be dry.
The thing is, roasting a great, juicy turkey isn't as complicated as people make it out to be. I imagine there's a lot of hullaballoo over it because many of us have been raised on dry Thanksgiving turkeys, mostly as a result of our overcooking them. We're terrified of undercooked poultry (and rightfully so!), but with this fear comes an overcompensation in roasting time.
So how should we cook a turkey?
That's like asking someone how they tie their shoes or take their coffee or boil their eggs. You may be a wet-briner or a dry-briner, and both certainly have their merits. A brine is like insurance; the former produces meat that's wetter and a touch squishy—kind of like what you'd get from a deli counter (which isn't necessarily bad; many prefer it). The latter means the entirety of the bird is salted through and through (no huge bucket of salmonella water to deal with).
Our most popular turkey recipe is, after all, the "Judy Bird," a Genius Recipe that lets you dry-brine (that is, apply kosher salt all over) a frozen bird while it's thawing. Excavated from the greatest culinary depths by our columnist Kristen Miglore, this very smart recipe won a turkey taste test over at the L.A. Times back in 2006. And who's to argue with its four-star rating and over 600 reviews?
For me, after much soul searching (and many tests in my tiny N.Y.C. kitchenette), I've found that the best method is to just roast the darn thing. Like a chicken. No brining, no hair dryer, no black magic. Just a bird and a boy and an oven.
Ideally you'd let this happen gradually, a few days before, in a 40°F refrigerator. The golden rule is about 24 hours of thawing for every 4 to 5 pounds.
But sometimes that doesn't happen! And sometimes it's Thanksgiving morning and your bird is still hard as a rock. In that case, the water thawing method can save lives. For this, place your frozen turkey (still in its packaging) in a bucket and cover with cold tap water, weighing it down with a can or something to ensure that it's fully submerged. The golden rule here is 30 minutes per 1 pound of turkey. Don't forget to replace the water every 30 minutes.
Leave the turkey out on the counter for an hour or so before roasting. A fridge-cold bird will not cook as evenly as a room-temperature bird.
This isn't as complicated as it sounds. Just take a few inches of kitchen twine and tie the legs together, which will ensure even cooking.
"In the sink?" you ask. This is a weird "me" thing. Most people season their turkeys straight in its roasting pan, but I find that this leads to excess salt at the bottom, and since I like to use the drippings to make a gravy later—often straight in the pan itself—this can also lead to an oversalted gravy. Another issue is that if you're applying melted butter and some of that drips off into the pan, the milk fats can burn, and the one thing we don't want on Thanksgiving Day is for the smoke alarm to go off.
Which is why I like to place my bird on a cutting board, and place that cutting board in a very clean, very empty sink. That way you can:
I don't stuff my bird for good reason: It will cook much faster, not to mention that I just really don't think it makes much of a difference in the turkey's overall flavor.
Many recipes call for a high start and a low finish (i.e., 450°F for the first few minutes, then 350°F until it's done). But I like to roast my turkey from start to finish at a moderate 350°F. No need to cover the bird in aluminum foil either—just cook it! You should account for about 13 minutes per pound.
But since all ovens differ vastly, I highly recommend that you don't go by time, but rather by internal temperature. The golden rule is 165°F in the innermost part of the thigh and the thickest part of the breast. I like to pull my bird at 160°F because it will continue to cook as it rests, which you should absolutely let it do.
Do not carve the bird until it's rested for at least 30 minutes, but 1 hour is a very good number in my book. Don't worry, it'll still be hot—better yet, all of the juices will have redistributed and you'll be looking at the tenderest, moistest turkey of your life.