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Now, having eaten some turkey leftovers (and inspired by the scent of the turkey carcass simmering in my stock pot along with onion, garlic, celery, carrot, parsnip, some herbs), I am prepared to talk a little more in depth about the taste and texture of the pastured turkey we had for Christmas.

I’m glad I didn’t brine it

Although I suspect brining the turkey might have provided a somewhat more pleasing texture, I am glad I didn’t because brining might have confused my tasted buds. In other words, when I sampled the turkey away from the agreeable distractions of conversation and host responsibilities, I knew I was tasting only the lightly seasoned turkey, not the brine. And it tasted…like turkey.

If, like me, you’ve never had (or it’s been decades since you had) an old-fashioned turkey that wasn’t shot full of water and “prebasted” with some kind of fat, you may not know what “real” turkey tastes like. Here’s my stab at describing it.

1. First, imagine what that overprocessed turkey tastes like that they sell in delicatessens. You know the kind; it’s got a mottled appearance and it’s shaped into a loaf. Salty, right? Salty and slick and with an unidentifiable kind of sweetness to it, just as with overprocessed roast beef and ham.
2. Now, imagine the taste of the Butterball you had last Thanksgiving. Notice that it isn’t slick like the deli turkey, and the salty-sweet flavor is less intense.
3. OK, now imagine taking away the rest of the salty-sweet flavor and pumping up the turkey taste just a little. That’s what this bird tasted like.

Let’s talk texture

This turkey was a little tougher, a little chewier, I’d say, than the industrial turkey. That could be at least partly because I accidentally roasted it at 350 instead of 325 as I intended. It could also be the nature of the pastured bird. Or, it could be that I should have brined the bird to keep the turkey tender, which may be part of the reason for the retained water in the industrial turkey.

On the other hand, the meat wasn’t dry, so that’s a good thing.

Light or dark meat?

I’ve generally been one to prefer white meat, but several family members prefer dark, and this turkey’s dark meat was darker than the industrial variety and, perhaps, slightly more plentiful. I’m not sure about its abundance, however, since I know this turkey is the same breed as the commercial ones. Still, we didn’t run out of dark meat as has happened from time to time.

Worth a repeat?

Would I do it again? Oh, sure. I’d like to try it at the right temperature, and I’d like to try it brined, although I might try each of those techniques separately so as to be able to discern which approach has what effect.

I’d also like to try a heritage turkey, but I don’t know whether I’ll do it. I’m not sure I like turkey enough to pay 50 percent more for the privilege, even if it does have a better flavor.

Added benefits

I generally, but not always, make turkey soup after roasting a turkey. This year, you can be sure I’ll make the most of the higher-priced leftover turkey. When you factor in all the turkey soup and sandwiches and casseroles I’ll get out of this turkey—even after the big family meal and sending away leftovers with the guests—I’ll get enough meals to get my money’s worth out of it.

And, of course, I like knowing that my turkey is a good source of Omega-3 fats, unlike the industrial turkey, and I get the good feelings of knowing that my purchase was another drop in the bucket that sustains one family farm that is doing its part, however small, to keep agriculture from being entirely run by monolithic organizations. That’s important because, as the story “Beef’s Wake-Up Recall” in the Washington Post (registration required) says, USDA policy “exempted the largest [beef] processors” from inspections. From my perspective, that’s another sign that the USDA is protecting the giant agribusinesses, not public health, and another reason why it’s good to know where you food comes from.