How To Carve A Turkey

February cold this week. The greens kept simmering for hours. Three days of counseling at the middle school in East Point. The work was the work.

Daddy in his apartment in the back. I brought him his coffee and his medication this morning. He grumbled. The grumble was the love. Marcus, 20, studying for finals at Alabama.

Meatloaf Tuesday. The Brenda recipe. Glazed top. Mashed potatoes underneath.

Jasmine, 18, home from Howard for the weekend. Isaiah, 17, shot baskets in the driveway after school.

I went to bed at ten. The dishwasher was running. The day was the day.

Daddy sat in his chair after dinner watching the news. He fell asleep before the third quarter. Standard.

Andre called from LA. He told the Kevin Hart story again. Twenty-some years and that boy is still telling that story. Everyone in this family is going to hear about Kevin Hart at our funerals.

I drove to the Walmart on Camp Creek Saturday morning. The kind of grocery run that takes two hours because you run into three people you know. Sister Patrice caught me in the produce. We talked about her grandbaby for fifteen minutes.

Pastor preached about the prodigal son again. He preaches about that boy at least three times a year. The text is the text but every preaching is different. I cried in the second service this time. Don't ask me why.

The neighbors had a Friday cookout this week. I brought my mac and cheese. They have come to expect this. I have come to expect this. The block is the block.

The kids were home for the weekend. The house was loud the way it should be.

I made a casserole for the church potluck. The pan came back empty. That is the only review I trust.

Thursday I made cornbread for a sister at church whose husband had surgery. I dropped it off at the hospital. She cried at the door. I told her, eat the cornbread, baby. The food is the saying.

I had a hard counseling case at school this week. A seventh-grade girl whose mama lost her job. We talked. I gave her my number. I told her she could call.

I read for an hour Sunday night before bed. Some novel about a Black woman in 1960s Alabama. Mama would have liked it.

Darnell sent a photo from Clarksville. The garden is producing. He grew tomatoes the size of softballs. I sent him back a photo of my sweet potato casserole. We are competitive about food now in our middle age.

The blood pressure check was Wednesday. The numbers were borderline. The doctor wants me to walk more. I am walking more.

Derek and I had date night Friday. Same restaurant, same booth, same enchiladas for me and carne asada for him.

I went to the cemetery Saturday morning. Brenda's grave is on the hill at South-View. Curtis still goes most Sundays. I left a small bouquet of magnolias.

Saturday morning I had Set the Table at the Cascade Heights center. Twelve young women. We did baked chicken. One of them — Imani, sixteen — was so afraid of seasoning that she barely shook the salt. I stood next to her and put my hand over hers and said, baby, you cannot be afraid of food. We seasoned the chicken. The chicken came out right. She glowed.

Wednesday Bible study at the church. We read through Proverbs. The women in my row argued about whether wisdom is built or born. I said both. They agreed, sort of.

Miss Ernestine called Tuesday. She's ninety-something and sharp as ever. She told me my potato salad still needs more mustard.

Meatloaf Tuesday has its Brenda recipe, and that will never change — but when the house fills up the way it did this week, with Jasmine home from Howard and Isaiah shooting baskets in the driveway and Daddy grumbling his love from the back apartment, I find myself thinking past Tuesday and toward the bigger table. The kind of meal that asks you to slow down and do it right. Carving a turkey is one of those things that looks intimidating until someone stands next to you, puts their hand over yours, and says — same as I told Imani over that chicken — baby, you cannot be afraid. Here’s exactly how I do it, so the work looks as good as it tastes.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes (resting time: 30 minutes) | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 10–12

Ingredients

1 whole roasted turkey (12–16 lbs), rested at least 30 minutes after roasting
1 sharp carving knife or chef’s knife (8–10 inches)
1 carving fork or sturdy tongs
1 large cutting board with a juice groove
Paper towels (for grip and cleanup)

Instructions

Rest the bird. Remove the turkey from the oven and let it rest uncovered on the cutting board for at least 30 minutes. This is not optional — resting keeps the juices inside the meat where they belong.
Remove the legs and thighs. Pull one leg away from the body. Using your carving knife, slice through the skin between the leg and breast. Find the hip joint, press the leg outward until the joint pops, then cut cleanly through it. Repeat on the other side. Separate the drumstick from the thigh by cutting through the knee joint.
Remove the wings. Pull each wing away from the body, locate the shoulder joint, and cut straight through it. Set the wings aside on the platter.
Carve the breast. Make one long vertical cut down along one side of the breastbone, following the ribcage with your knife. Slice the breast meat off in one whole lobe, then cut crosswise into 1/4-inch to 1/2-inch slices. Repeat on the other side.
Slice the thigh meat. Hold each thigh flat on the board, locate the bone running through the center, and slice the meat off in clean strips on both sides of the bone. Discard the bone or save it for stock.
Arrange and serve. Fan the sliced breast meat across the center of a warm platter, tuck the drumsticks at the ends, and nestle the thigh slices and wings alongside. Pour any accumulated juices over the top. Bring it to the table.

Nutrition (per serving)

How To Carve A Turkey — Because the Table Is Always Worth Setting Right