As I stand in my frozen garden attempting to lower a 15lb turkey attached to a chain suspended from the frame of the children’s swing into a carefully-positioned vat of boiling oil, I am reminded of the television cookery show Masterchef — and its egg-headed presenter Gregg Wallace’s now famous catchphrase: ‘Cooking doesn’t get tougher than this!’
Well, Gregg, I might just beg to differ there. While knocking up a caramelised pepper and thyme tarte tatin may require quite a bit of skill, in terms of toughness I’m pretty sure I’ve got the beating of those lachrymose, wannabe chefs on TV.
What I am trying to do, quite simply, is deep-fry a turkey.
Terrifying task: Tom Rawstorne prepares to lower his turkey into the oil
It may come as no surprise that in the United States, the land of the morbidly obese, this is a relatively common practice at this time of the year, and particularly at Thanksgiving, just gone by. But in Britain it is an almost unheard of culinary skill.
Before I started on my deep-fried adventure, I put this down to the Brits’ innate conservatism. The oven-cooked turkey is as traditional and instantly recognisable an element of the Christmas Day lunch as the Brussels sprout. Both are generally unexceptional and unworthy of the time it takes to prepare and over-cook them. And, yet, like an episode of Antiques Roadshow, their familiar blandness is strangely life-affirming.
But there is another reason we haven’t taken the deep-fried route, and it is one that dawns on me only after I take the first step on the process. Popping a turkey in the oven is easy and is also, as things go, pretty safe.
To my knowledge, it is only Mr Bean who has ever managed to get his head stuck up a turkey’s bottom while trying to cook it (and, as everyone knows, Rowan Atkinson — the actor who plays him — has a very strangely shaped head).
But deep frying is a whole different ball game. I discover this within a couple of minutes of internet-based research. Deep-frying a turkey is DANGEROUS. In an average year in America the process kills five people, injures another 60 and causes £10 million worth of damage.
A final check of the gas pipe attachments so the heat keeps the oil up to temperature
The reason is that drunk people (indulging in festive spirits) and very hot things just don’t mix. And while incinerating a Christmas pudding with some brandy is one thing, using a giant Bunsen burner to heat five gallons of oil up to 350f (177c) before dropping in a giant turkey is another altogether. But, hey, if the nation that voted George Dubya Bush into the White House can do it, then I reckon I can too.
First off I need a pot large enough to handle the big bird. It’s not easy to come by in this country but I manage to track one down on a UK website that specialises in outdoorsy stuff. For £89 I purchase the Bayou Classic Turkey Fryer, a product in fact made in Mississippi.
This includes a 30 quart (7.5 gallon) aluminium pot, a stand on which the bird will be impaled upright during its immersion, a propane burner and a foot-long thermometer to monitor the temperature of the oil. This is crucial as oil that overheats (beyond about 200c) will spontaneously explode in a fireball that looks like a Vietnam war special effect. Turkey a la napalm. Scary.
I also buy a gas canister to connect to the burner. Next up, feeling increasingly nervous, I pick up a fire-extinguisher and a length of chain that I will use to lower the turkey into the oil.
While the chain allows you to keep your distance from any spitting oil, it is not strictly essential (even so, it was worth having if only because I sent my wife to the hardware store to buy it — when she refused to tell the shopkeeper what she needed it for, he no doubt concluded that she was about to embark on some unorthodox games in the bedroom).
With the equipment sorted, the final stop was the ingredients: a turkey weighing somewhere between 10 and 15lb is ideal (this should feed seven to eight people — any bigger and it may not cook properly) and five gallons of oil. Again, this cannot just be any oil but one suitable for frying. The Americans recommend nut oil but sunflower oil works just fine.
Bubbling nicely: The bird cooks rapidly in oil at 350f
Having gathered the ironmongery and the other bits and bobs, all I need is the expertise. Again, the internet is awash with advice and I would strongly recommend that anyone attempting to fry a turkey reads some of the warning videos posted by the various fire departments across America. I have a peek at them and then, worried beyond belief, discover an American website run by an outfit called The BBQ Pit Boys. They have lots of hair, beer, beer guts and weapons.
They also have a big following on YouTube where they regularly demonstrate their outdoor cooking skills. One of these videos features turkey frying — something they manage to combine with hurling axes into a nearby tree.
They look real tough, and nothing like Gregg Wallace, so I drop them an email.
‘Greetings from the UK!’ I write. ‘With Christmas coming, I’ve been challenged to cook a turkey in a way that we Brits wouldn’t normally do — namely to deep-fry it. I think in America it’s something you guys do all the time — if I can crack it then I think it could become the NEXT BIG THING here.
‘Do you have any tips for a first-timer? (Out of interest I saw you guys throwing your axes around — did you hunt your turkey down yourselves and then pin it down with an axe? Would that be possible do you think? I keep chickens so could practice with them first. Would a cornered turkey attack you?).
A careful and extremely well-protected Tom removes the turkey from the vat of burning oil
‘Also is it a healthy way to cook turkey? Doesn’t it all get a bit greasy? I’d really appreciate any advice as I am a deep-fried turkey virgin (in a strictly culinary sense).’
It’s only a matter of hours before the boys are in touch.
‘Hey Tom,’ their leader, Bob, replies. ‘Great to hear from you. A 12-15lb turkey not only comes out moist and tender but it is ready for the table fairly quickly. Serve it along with some traditional sides and you have a feast fit for even King George.
‘Make sure the fryer is set up in an open area away from people, traffic and anything flammable in case of an accident. When your oil has reached the proper temp (350f) you slowly drop the turkey into the oil. The turkey must be dried off completely in and out — water and hot oil do not mix! If there is a good bit of water or marinade still sitting in the cavity of the bird, it will explode.’
He goes on to suggest cooking times: for a turkey of 12lb and under, two and a half minutes per pound; bigger than that, three minutes per pound.
As for the turkey hunting, Bob also has the inside track, warning me that they are ‘smart and good flyers’ — he sticks to farmed meat.
‘Deep-frying is certainly healthy for the mind, that one component that health fanatics seem to forget,’ he concludes. ‘Always satisfy the mind first to keep in good health.’
Well I’ll be damned. Not only is Bob a deep-fryer — he’s clearly a deep-thinker too.
Buoyed by his advice, I set up my kit outside. As well as the danger of over-heated oil, another major risk is over-spill on to the flame beneath. This can happen if there is too much oil in the drum when the turkey is lowered into it.
Tom and his wife Charlotte tuck into their perfectly cooked turkey
To prevent this, I first place the turkey in the pot and then add water until it reaches about two inches above the turkey. I then remove the turkey and note the water level with a felt-tip pen.
Having dried the drum and the turkey I now add oil up to the mark, knowing it will be the perfect amount.Then it’s on with the burner — 20 minutes being enough to get the temperature up to 350f. Next, extremely tentatively, I lower in the turkey, immersing it inch by inch.
On contact the oil froths into a furious boil, something that continues throughout the process.
I set the stop-watch and for the next 45 minutes am on hand to control the gas flow so that the temperature stays constant. In that time it only fluctuates slightly.
As anyone who has ever cooked a turkey will know, judging when it is ready isn’t easy. With this one I’m trusting on time — but, if you’re doing this at home, to be doubly sure, you could use a meat thermometer as well. Well you could if you could get near it safely.
When I winch the turkey out, it certainly looks like it’s had enough — its skin is brown and almost crisp to the touch. I leave it to stand for a minute or two to drain and while I’m waiting chuck some sprouts into the oil, figuring that a good deep-fry can hardly harm their prospects.
Back in the house and it’s clear the turkey is cooked through.
However, my initial delight at what I have produced takes a knock when other members of the family see it in all its glory. ‘What is that?’, my horrified eight-year-old daughter exclaims, reversing out of the room.
And, I have to admit, the more I look at it the more it reminds me of a cartoon chicken that’s been hit by a bolt of lightning.
The bird itself is the deep burnished red brown colour of a rotisserie chicken and its skin is as crunchy-looking as that of a Chinese crispy aromatic crispy.
As for my wife, she’s deeply suspicious of it just because it has been deep-fried.
Ignoring her prejudices, I force a few slices down her along with a couple of sprouts. She is marginally appeased. The meat is moist and the taste is good. It’s like a perfectly-timed oven-roasted turkey — after all it’s only the outside of the bird that comes into contact with the oil.
So would I recommend it for Christmas Day? Well, it would be a big gamble. Because deep-frying must be performed outside and in the open, any rain or snow would be an insurmountable problem (quick recap: water and hot oil are a no-no). And while the cooking time is shorter than using an oven, there’s quite a bit of preparation involved.
Finally, and I can’t stress this enough, you’d be suicidally bonkers to try this after drinking even half a glass of sherry — it’s genuinely dangerous.
But that being said, it was without doubt the most exciting bit of cooking I’ve embarked upon for many years. And — as the nation’s army of cooks will no doubt agree — that’s an emotion rarely associated with the grind of Christmas Day lunch.
