This Thanksgiving season, I decided to try something new. It seems to be all the rage on cooking shows for one to brine ones turkey prior to cooking. Having never brined before, and a violent opposer of all things salty, I was very hesitant to try this technique. However, the interwebs assured me that my turkey would be moist and delicious, tender and juicy, and most importantly, not at all salty.
We have a modest bird, 13 pounds and a little extra. I spent the day concocting Thanksgiving delicacies, and finally, at 11pm, sent the Hubbin' out to Wegman's, to purchase your turkey size bags to brine my turkey. We rinsed and patted down our bird, set it gently into your (paper-thin-piece-o-crap) bag, and poured our cooled brine into the bag. We tied it off and set back to admire our handy work.
"Wouldn't this be a huge mess if the bag popped?" I foreshadowed.
The Hubbin' agreed, so we decided to set the whole thing in a large stock pot, to ensure that any leakage would not befall my other Thanksgiving accoutrements that were residing in my fridge.
As soon as the turkey in the brine in the bag was settled into the pot, there came an awful sound. The sound of gushing fluid. Your stupid Reynolds gianormous "oven safe" bag had split at the seams and was overflowing out of the pot, spewing forth a mixture of raw turkey germs, brine, citrus bits and bay leaves all over my pristine kitchen*!
The Hubbin' and I made scrambling attempts at damage control, one of us feebly trying hold the ever-ripping bag together, the other grabbing any towel, cloth or paper product we could find, making our best effort to keep the germy brine from flowing over the edge of the countertop and onto the floor, or worse, dribbling in between the cabinet and the stove. We managed to scoot the whole mess into the sink, where our poor naked turkey bobbed listlessly in its broth, a deflated, useless bag hovering around it like a shroud.
"Maybe we should scratch this whole brine thing," the Hubbin' said, trying to be helpful.
"No. Absolutely not. I made this brine, and I will use this brine," I argued, stubbornly.
Luckily, you folks at Reynolds must know how pathetic your bags are, and were kind enough to package two in a box. We very carefully set the same scenario up again. Knock wood, Reynolds, it seems to be holding. But if I wake up tomorrow, and my fridge looks like anything other than this:
we will be having words tomorrow.
PS - I really didn't feel like bleaching down my counters, cabinets, dishwasher, stove front, floor and sink tonight, especially since it is well after midnight. Just so you know.
PPS - This is all your fault.
* Read: super-messy-I've-been-cooking-since-six-this-morning kitchen.