Hawaiian Turkey Burgers

The State Fair in full swing — fried Oreos, the world's biggest cabbage, the carousel. A pediatric burn case Tuesday. I came home and made adobo and did not write a blog post.

Lourdes is 74. She is in the kitchen. She is luminous. Angela came over Saturday with the kids. We cooked. We argued about pancit proportions — she uses more soy, I use more calamansi. We are both wrong, according to Lourdes.

I made pancit Sunday. The long-life noodle. The Filipino default. The dish you make when you do not know what to make.

I skipped the blog this week. Some weeks the kitchen is enough.

The week held. The kitchen held. The chain holds.

I taught a Saturday morning Kain Na class on basic adobo proportions for new cooks. Eleven people in the kitchen. Half of them had never cooked Filipino food before. By eleven AM the kitchen smelled the way it should smell. By noon they were all eating. The eating was the lesson landing.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced a fundraiser for typhoon relief in Samar. I committed to making three hundred lumpia. The number is the number. The number has always been the number. Three hundred is what I make. The math has stopped surprising me.

I drove the Glenn Highway out to Eklutna on Saturday. The mountains were the mountains. The lake was the lake. The body needed the open road. The open road did its work.

The Anchorage sky was the Anchorage sky. The mountains were the mountains. The inlet was the inlet. The geography was the geography.

I made coffee at six AM. The coffee was the start. The start was always the same.

The Filipino Community newsletter announced the Saturday gathering. I will be on lumpia duty. I am always on lumpia duty.

The break room had cake Tuesday. Someone's birthday. We ate the cake. We did not ask whose birthday. The cake was the cake.

Pete and I had a long phone conversation Tuesday. We talked about the family — his and mine. The talking was the keeping.

I took inventory of the freezer Sunday. The freezer had: twelve quarts of broth, eight pounds of adobo in vacuum bags, six pounds of sinigang base, fourteen lumpia trays at fifty rolls each, three pounds of marinated beef for caldereta, and a small bag of pandan leaves Tita Nening had sent me. The inventory was the proof of preparation. The preparation was the proof of love.

The therapy session this month was about pacing. Dr. Reeves said, "Grace. The pacing is the love for the future self." I am working on the pacing. The pacing is harder than the loving.

I read a chapter of a novel before bed each night this week. The novel was about a Filipina nurse in California. The novel was good. The novel was, in some way, my own life adjacent.

Auntie Norma called Sunday afternoon. She is now seventy-nine. She wanted a recipe. I gave it to her. She wanted to know how my week was. I told her, briefly. She told me about her week. The exchange took eighteen minutes. The eighteen minutes was the keeping.

The light was good Saturday morning. I sat on the porch with a cup of coffee and watched the inlet for forty minutes. The watching was the small therapy. The therapy was free.

I took a walk on the coastal trail Saturday. The light was good. The body was tired but moving.

The neighbors invited us over for a small dinner Thursday. They are an Iñupiaq family — Aana and her grandson Joe. We ate caribou stew and rice. I brought lumpia. The kitchens of Anchorage have always been the small UN. The food is the proof.

We argued about pancit proportions all Saturday—Angela insisting on the soy, me holding out for the calamansi, Lourdes dismissing us both—and by Sunday I had cooked the pancit and closed the debate and still had energy left over. That leftover energy wanted something bright and a little sweet, something with pineapple that didn’t require a family council. These Hawaiian Turkey Burgers are the answer I reach for when the week has been full of the big, important cooking and I just want something that makes the table happy without ceremony—the kind of food that reminds me the kitchen can be easy, too, and that not every meal needs to be the long-life noodle.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 lb ground turkey (93% lean)
3 tbsp pineapple juice (from the can below)
2 tbsp soy sauce
1 tsp garlic powder
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/4 tsp black pepper
1/4 cup panko breadcrumbs
1 egg, lightly beaten
4 pineapple rings (canned or fresh)
4 burger buns, toasted
4 leaves butter lettuce
4 slices tomato
1/4 red onion, thinly sliced
Teriyaki glaze or additional soy sauce, for brushing
Mayonnaise or sriracha mayo, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Mix the patties. In a large bowl, combine ground turkey, pineapple juice, soy sauce, garlic powder, ginger, black pepper, panko, and egg. Mix gently with your hands until just combined—do not overwork the meat or the patties will be dense.
Form and chill. Divide the mixture into 4 equal portions and shape into patties about 3/4 inch thick. Press a slight indent in the center of each with your thumb to help them cook evenly. Refrigerate for 10 minutes while you preheat the grill or pan.
Grill the patties. Heat a grill or grill pan over medium-high heat and lightly oil the grate. Cook patties 5–6 minutes per side, or until the internal temperature reaches 165°F. During the last 2 minutes, brush with teriyaki glaze and lay pineapple rings on the grill alongside the burgers, turning once, until they have grill marks.
Toast the buns. Place buns cut-side down on the grill for 1–2 minutes until lightly golden.
Build the burgers. Spread mayonnaise or sriracha mayo on the bottom bun. Layer with butter lettuce, a turkey patty, a grilled pineapple ring, tomato, and red onion. Cap with the top bun and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Hawaiian Turkey Burgers — When the Kitchen Needed Something Different