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" Part of a Thanksgiving series celebrating (and eating) the bird \u2014 all of it \u2014 from head to feet. The bird was slaughtered on a Friday, and on Sunday, a meal came together. It was far from perfect. Many times, the turkey humbled me, dashing any grandiose vision of a fluent spread. I broke a ceramic knife while trying to cut into bone. (Not my brightest moment.) I didn&amp;#039;t have enough duck fat to confit the turkey feet properly, so they came out a dehydrated mess. And since I couldn&amp;#039;t pull out all the feathers from the neck skin, the sausage I had planned to make that used the skin as casing shrunk to the size of two Lit&amp;#039;l Smokies. But the whole roasted turkey turned out well, and, in the end, it was good enough because it fed all the hungry friends who came to eat. So often we worry about our Thanksgiving feast, slave over it so that the turkey isn&amp;#039;t dry and the potatoes aren&amp;#039;t lumpy and the piecrust preserves that image of a whole, flawless dessert. And, yes, a good meal is an elevating experience, but even when it doesn&amp;#039;t quite work out as you planned, people are usually just grateful to be fed and with good company. With that in mind, here&amp;#039;s how I attempted to cook up the whole bird. The menu is a list of mishaps, but all in all, it was a great time. THE MENU NECK SKIN SAUSAGE I blended the heart, liver, and kidneys with caramelized onions and spices \u2014 fennel, paprika \u2014 then used the neck skin as a casing and stuffed the meat inside, following the suggestion of Chef Edward Lee (61 Magnolia, Louisville, Kentucky). I unwisely traced the knife along the neck, and the skin fell away in a square. But Lee recommends that you braise the whole neck until the inner meat and bone slide easily off the skin. This allows you to preserve the skin&amp;#039;s tube shape and makes for much easier neck-stuffing.  TURKEY LUNG The lungs were smaller than you&amp;#039;d ever imagine, each the size of a matchbox, and they cleaved so tightly to the ribs that the bones etched into their shape. They had the earthiness and bite of a mild mushroom.  CONFIT TURKEY FOOT Gelatinous, chewy, bumpy along the foot&amp;#039;s padding, and so many tiny bones. Whether you find it beautiful or horrifying, there&amp;#039;s no denying that a turkey foot looks like a turkey foot. And if you like nibbling on bone and don&amp;#039;t mind maneuvering between the toes, it can be delicious marinated in an abundance of duck fat, sage stems, and garlic. ROAST TURKEY When it came to roasting the bird, I followed Chris Cosentino&amp;#039;s instructions and broke the bird into two parts so that the dark meat cooked through but the white meat stayed tender. Fully assembled, the whole bird would not have fit in my oven. I wanted to get my grandmother&amp;#039;s recipe, but no one had written it down. There&amp;#039;s speculation that she cooked the turkey for hours in a 200-degree oven. Anyone who tried her turkey remembers it as the best \u2014 golden skin so crisp it was almost like eating bacon. The bird never made it to the table with both legs, because the kids couldn&amp;#039;t resist snacking while their mother carved the meat. This year&amp;#039;s turkey tasted like a good, classic bird, but perhaps nothing can compete with a memory.   DO-GA-NI-TANG-INSPIRED BROTH Without hesitation, this was my favorite dish to come out of the whole experiment. It is fantastic for Thanksgiving leftovers, and I can vouch that it is fairly foolproof, given last weekend&amp;#039;s comedy of errors. The broth for Do-ga-ni-tang is traditionally made with ox bone, but I imitated the process using turkey. Turkey bones can make for a hearty broth, and the neck is especially wonderful when cooking this rich, warming winter dish. Start by simmering the bones, gizzard, and neck for four hours. You can throw in the head and the feet, too, if you like. Skim the film of impurities off the broth every once in a while. Reserve the liquid, then simmer the bones again in fresh water for another four hours. (I know this is a time commitment, but you don&amp;#039;t really have to do anything while it&amp;#039;s simmering; just putz around the house and go about your Sunday.) You can repeat this process a few more times. I did it twice, but the goal is to extract as much as you can from the bones. Combine the liquids from each stage for a strong, murky broth. Once you&amp;#039;ve combined the stocks, throw in some aromatics and simmer for another hour. I added fresh ginger, leeks, carrots, garlic, whole black peppercorns, and fresh basil just at the end. Strain and salt to taste. Since Sunday, the broth has turned to jello in the fridge, but it melts down beautifully. I&amp;#039;ll be chopping up bok choy, maybe some shitake mushrooms, and poaching an egg in the broth before serving.  THE EXCLUSIONS The goal was to use every edible part of the bird, and though I tried, that didn&amp;#039;t quite happen. Such is life. Here&amp;#039;s a list of edibles that didn&amp;#039;t make it on the menu. Perhaps you, adventurous reader, might attempt one of these on your own.  The intestines: For sanitary reasons. You can eat them, but with a smaller animal, the yield is insignificant, given the time it would take to dispose of the excrement and clean them adequately. Trust me, when a bird&amp;#039;s purpose in life is to be fattened up and eaten, its digestive system is completely full of food in various stages of getting broken down, and the smell is none too pleasant, either.  The sex organs: This is a little embarrassing, but I never found the turkey balls. (They look like white kidneys.) The turkey was essentially prepubescent, and it&amp;#039;s hard to say if I couldn&amp;#039;t find the testicles because they were small and lost among the glop of innards, or if the turkey was a female. Many consider turkey testicles a delicacy. There&amp;#039;s even a Turkey Testicle Festival. Had the turkey been female and sexually mature, there might have been ovaries with yokes inside, or even possibly a forming egg. The blood and the brains: There&amp;#039;s a cup of blood in my freezer, and in the fridge, a head stored in Tupperware. I had plans to cook these parts. I was going to make a turkey variation of the Portuguese dish Arroz de Cabidela (rice soaked in chicken&amp;#039;s blood) and roast the head and eat the brain on toast. But since, as I mentioned before, I had shattered my chef&amp;#039;s knife, I didn&amp;#039;t have adequate tools to cut open the head. And the rice \u2014 in all honesty, I couldn&amp;#039;t summon the willpower to make it. I commend the person who can confront a frozen cup of blood and cook it and smell its smells and eat the result. THANKSGIVING 2012: Hacks, Recipes, and Wisdom on Eat Like a Man &amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;gt; "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/food-drink/food/a16863/whole-turkey-cooking-and-eating-14761950/>