Tacchino!

What is a Thanksgiving Feast without the traditional honored guest bird, the turkey?

With our first guests coming into town, I was determined to make a dinner that grandma would be proud of. The first major obstacle was where to find a turkey. The meat counter here barely has enough turkey to slice for sandwiches, and there is no such thing as a freezer case, so lets just say that the Butterballs aren't lined up here like they are in the states. I was told that I would have to special order one from the butcher. Now, being a culinary novice and in a new town, I wasn't even sure where the butcher was, I knew the vegetable lady and the deli stand guy, but I did not have a butcher, or machellaio, in the Italian Rolodex. Since he seemed to at least dabble in the art of meat, I thought I would start off by asking the deli guy. After explaining why I wanted a whole turkey and not my usual supply of thin sliced turkey breast, he was quiet for a minute or two and then slowly leaned over the counter and said in a low whisper that he knew the butcher of the "presidente della republica"! In fact, this presidential butcher was right in my neighborhood, what luck! I wonder if the president of the republic ever likes a nice whole turkey. I wound through our little neighborhood a few weeks before Thanksgiving to find the special butcher and put my order in for a nice little Tom. Surely there would be other crazy Americans out and about demanding poultry? I found the little shop which I must have walked by a hundred times. I am not sure how I missed the window, as I noticed with a shiver 6 or 7 dead naked birds hanging in the window along with some other parts that looked eerily like they once belonged to something alive. It was certainly the right place for meat.

I had been forewarned about this process by some seasoned expats so I came with my list ready. You cannot simply order a turkey here in Italy. Here is what I ordered: Una tacchino interna, con ossa, e pello, senza testa e pulito, sensze interiora abbastanza per quatro personi. Basically, I had to specify that I wanted a whole turkey, with skin, without feathers, without a head, with the insides cleaned out, and enough of it for four people. I encourage all of you to try to order your turkey like this next year and see how much you look forward to biting into him when the time comes. It is truly a wonder that all Italians are not vegetarians.


With the turkey ordered I moved on to other necessities, I spent a large portion of three days trying to find a can of pumpkin (ironic after the Halloween pumpkin search), cranberry sauce and a potato masher. I wound up with two out of three and still no ideas on where to find a potato masher. By the time our friends Jamie and Wade arrived the day before Thanksgiving, I had an admirable collection of American food stuff. Then, a bit of Italy came seeping back into my red, white and blue day dreams. There was a mix up with the butcher. He was not able to a small turkey. He had a few birds in the creepy window display that were large enough to lead a foul revolution, but certainly too large to fit in my tiny oven. Disappointed and confused at his rapid fire Italian, we compromised and I walked out of the shop with my new Thanksgiving tradition: a Turkey Breast Roast... who eats the dark meat anyway?


In the end we had a wonderful holiday. Jamie and I hit up the local market to buy all of our ingredients fresh on Thanksgiving morning! We ended up with quite a feast. A rughetta, pear, walnut and pomegranate seed salad, fresh bread from the baker, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, asparagus and of course a pumpkin pie... which actually turned out to be more of a pumpkin torte. We still ate it. The best part of Thanksgiving in Italy... the men do the dishes!