By
It’s odd that the most iconic
feature of Thanksgiving — the turkey — is likely the most unnatural. It’s got competition, of
course, from the jellied cranberry sauce that retains the shape of its can and
various food products sold in boxes marked “Just Add Water.”
(Really, is it so hard to mash
potatoes yourself, especially given their divine taste and creamy texture after
you’ve added in all the cream and butter required?)
But it’s the turkey that takes
the cake. Not that most of us would know that, since the last time most of us
met a turkey was in a sandwich, not on a farm.
Not a Butterball (photo by Will Collette) |
Before those domesticated
turkeys reached the iconic site of the first Thanksgiving, they were first
imported to Europe, and then brought back to New England.
Prior to that, the land we now call our country was only home to wild turkeys. Not that the Pilgrims didn’t eat them whenever they could catch one.
Prior to that, the land we now call our country was only home to wild turkeys. Not that the Pilgrims didn’t eat them whenever they could catch one.
But turkey somehow remained a mostly American food despite its introduction to Europe. During a summer I spent in England when I was in college, turkey was one of the American foods I missed the most. Brownies were the other.
But American or not, today’s
turkey ain’t what the Pilgrims ate. It’s not even what your grandparents ate at
their Thanksgiving table.
For starters, today’s turkeys
can’t even mate. That gives way to the ultimate joke, of course, that the only
way to get turkeys to breed is with…wait for it…a turkey baster (ba dum dum).
From domestication, turkey
breeding continued along a certain trajectory, creating a turkey with maximal
breast meat, fast growth, and extreme “feed efficiency” — meaning that the
birds gain as much weight as possible per pound of feed they eat.
The result is, predictably, a
fast-growing, heavy-breasted bird that produces a hefty carcass. But while
alive, these birds can hardly survive in nature or captivity. And they can’t
carry out the most essential task of life for all species: reproduction.
What’s the alternative? Frank
Reese, Jr., a farmer famous for his turkeys, notes the difference between his
slow-growing “heritage” breed turkeys and the commercial breed most Americans
eat on Thanksgiving. His birds are higher in protein, lower in fat, and they
beat the commercial birds on flavor when compared by professional taste
testers.
At the slaughterhouse, more
differences show up. Commercial birds reach the end of their short lives with
bone fractures and open sores, whereas Reese’s don’t. This is why half of the
turkeys pardoned by the President don’t survive to celebrate a second
Thanksgiving.
As an experiment, Reese once
tried raising commercial breed turkeys in the same way he raises heritage
breeds. As he put it, “They wanted to be turkeys and do the things that turkeys
do, but they couldn’t. They physically couldn’t.”
The other differences between
heritage and commercial turkeys are size and price. Most heritage breeds are
smaller than a Butterball, and they cost upwards of $4 per pound. Compare that
to the enormous, flavorless bird you’ll find on sale for practically nothing at
most supermarkets this time of year.
Is it worth it to you to
splurge once or twice a year on this most American of foods?
I think so. Choosing a heritage
breed turkey for Thanksgiving is better for the turkeys, the farmers, the
environment, your health — and your taste buds.
OtherWords columnist Jill Richardson is
the author of Recipe for America: Why Our Food System Is Broken and
What We Can Do to Fix It. OtherWords.org