Turkey burgers on the grill. Photo: The Skinny Chef
Turkey burgers can be a great option for a high-protein, low-fat cookout. But what about their flavor, which often gets a bad rap for being overly dry and bland? My turkey burgers 101 guide will make your next barbecue both healthier and more delicious.
Dark or Light?
Not all ground turkey is created equal. Regular ground turkey -- labeled 93 percent lean -- is a combination of white and dark meat and sometimes contains other parts of the turkey, including skin and organ meat. Look for statements like "98 to 99 percent fat free" or check the label for calorie and fat content to make sure you're getting the lean stuff.
Get Jennifer's no-fail turkey burger tips after the jump.
Part of a continuing summer series by grilling expert Gena Knox.
Turkey burgers can be a healthy alternative to hamburgers, but they can easily lack flavor. I have enjoyed creating recipes to make what is traditionally a dry, flavorless burger into a delicious meal you will want to serve again and again.
There are usually two options when buying ground turkey. Turkey breast is 99 percent fat free, but has little flavor. Then there is ground turkey that includes some dark meat and skin, but can easily contain just as much fat as ground beef. Most of the time I purchase both and create a mixture of 75 percent breast meat and 25 percent dark meat. This gives the burger nice balance and moisture. Short on time, I use the breast meat, but add a few extra ingredients for flavor and moisture.
My favorite creation just may be my most recent: Italian Turkey Burgers.
Since they've thoroughly explored every nook and cranny of the pig, it seems reasonable to expect offal-loving chefs to turn their attentions to the chicken.
This theory is most assuredly not shared, however, by the lovely lady who mans the phones at Blue Plate Roadside Cafe, a retro Southern comfort food joint in Sandy Springs, Ga.
"Gizzards?" she blurts when we inquire if they're on the menu. She sounds as though we've chased down an obviously lousy tip: "No, no, no, not gizzards, never."
Many savvy Southern eaters are still saying no to gizzards, a humble food that's retained its stigma -- it is, after all, the tough, lower stomach pouch of the bird -- despite a wonderfully chewy, fatty flavor. But a few brave chefs are quietly sneaking gizzards onto their menus, elevating a poultry part oft dismissed as a poor man's food to a starring role.
Have you ever made chicken that came out dry, stringy or tough?I know I sure have.Chicken is one of the most popular cooking ingredients, but most home cooks aren't sure how to prepare a delicious, moist, yet healthy chicken breast.I'm here to help with my favorite method for cooking juicy, naturally low-fat chicken in four easy steps.
Get Jennifer's four steps for cooking chicken after the jump.
In the 1970s the handy little ovens we now use to reheat leftovers and frozen dinners experienced a brief golden age, with folks employing them for cooking everything from turkeys to cheesecake. This recipe dates from the glorious reign of microwaves.
Like many of Aunt Evie's recipes, her microwaved sweet-and-sour chicken is easy, convenient and surprisingly flavorful. However, it relies on hard-to-find, annoyingly coarse-textured pickling spice and employs an unnecessary amount of margarine. For the modern incarnation we selected only certain pickling spices and ground them up, resulting in a far more evenly flavored and pleasantly textured dish.
This was an interesting experiment with the tiny oven: Microwaving, which essentially cooks meat from the inside out, didn't really yield chicken that has fully absorbed its sauce (or its savory flavor). Consequently, this recipe yields meat that is tender but bland. With that in mind, stove-top directions are at the end of the recipe. Regardless of which cooking method you use, this is a fun, easy and surprisingly tasty dish. Go, Aunt Evie!
When fast food joints decide to expand beyond the burger, the first place they go is typically the chicken sandwich. After all, the kids in the back of the joint can basically do all the same things, just to a different patty. (Why don't the bigwigs just pick fish? Well, you know, the whole tartar sauce issue.)
Sonic Drive-In has recently added two new "premium" chicken sandwiches to its menu: Chicken and chicken bacon ranch. Both come either fried or grilled with an option for a "wheat" bun option (that apparently, per the nutritional details, does not actually contain any whole grain). As far as I can tell the quote-unquote wheat bun and slightly larger size are what make these suckers "premium."
Between the chicken and the bacon ranch chicken, guess which one tastes better? Well, the plain chicken (which I ordered grilled) is just that: Plain. A chicken patty arrives topped with lettuce, tomato and mayo on a less-squishy-than-usual bun. Though it's not that thrilling, at under 500 calories it's one of the less-heinous fast food options out there.
Naturally, the fried version with bacon and ranch dressing is more exciting even if it could use a bit more bacon or another dollop of ranch and you'll have to scurry double-time on the treadmill later. Is it tastier than the other chicken sandwiches on the market? Eh. Sonic falls into the chicken spectrum thusly: Superior to a McChicken, worse than a Carl's Jr. and can't compete at all with chicken-specializing chains like KFC or Popeye's. On my next trip to Sonic I think I'll just stick to burgers and Java Chillers.
Got a fave fast-food chix sandwich that makes the others look like frauds? Let us know in the comments.
Three in particular -- Pot Pie, Salad Sandwich and Noodle Soup -- have turned his head. A pro freelance shutterbug turned urban chicken farmer, he has devoted a blog to their adventures (and misadventures) called Three Chicks a Day that will break your heart with cuteness.
It all started when a friend introduced Elliott to home-raised eggs -- "definitely better than store-bought" -- four years ago. When he and roommate Chrissy Morgan finally adopted three dewy little critters last week, he decided to snap their portraits daily until they are old enough to move outside in about four weeks. The blog features photos with brief notes about the chicks' modeling preferences: Noodle Soup, for example, is a "strutter."
Elliott is among a growing number of city dwellers from coast to coast building coops in their yards. They are holding social events and even chat groups where forums range from incubating and hatching eggs to lively discussions about predators and pests.
In Portland, Ore., where he lives, three chickens are the legal limit without having to obtain a permit. With the blessing of his landlord, a teacher who found the idea adorable, he began building a coop and enrolled in a weekend-long seminar called Chicken Fest at a local nursery. Classes included Chicken 101, coop-building and chicken health and boy, was it popular: "I went to one class and there must have been 30 people [there]."
I typically use recipes in one of two ways. In the best case scenario, I consult a recipe before I shop so that even if I choose to tweak things a bit, I'm at least starting with all the appropriate raw materials. But then there are those evenings when it's chilly outside or I'm just feeling too lazy to shop, and I need a recipe that makes use of whatever's in the fridge, freezer, and pantry.
Last night was the second scenario. I had a pack of chicken thighs thawing but no plan for them. At first I printed out a recipe for chicken divan, knowing full well that I would have to substitute 2-percent milk for the cream and whole milk. Then I realized that I'd accidentally bought bone-in thighs. The thought of carving up chicken thighs to make a casserole sounded like a major pain. I remembered a recent charmed encounter with lamb biryani takeout, so I looked up some recipes for a chicken version online.
Most had a laundry list of ingredients, but then I found a very simple preparation on Mark Bittman's blog, Bitten. I still didn't have everything on the list: no fresh ginger, no saffron, no basmati. His recipe calls for a whole cut-up chicken; I figured the thighs would substitute nicely.
I added some curry powder in place of the missing spices, and threw in a pinch of fragrant dried spearmint leaves. I think whole cardamom pods are probably pretty integral to biryani (though I think the ten he calls for is a few too many), but then again, saffron and basmati probably are, too. The point is that you can work with the spices, and the kind of rice, and the cuts of chicken you have, and this ambrosial casserole will warm you right up.
For about 3.7 seconds today, I was asking myself if I have, perchance, been spending a tad too much time on Twitter lately. But, seeing as how said dallying then led to a deftly jazzed-up ramen recipe, courtesy of the author of one of my favorite food memoirs of the recent past, I don't see how any of us could afford not to. Kathleen Flinn is no stranger to the tireless, if sometimes penniless, pursuit of the delicious; The Sharper Your Knife The Less You Cry chronicles her loss of a lucrative corporate lifestyle and subsequent savings investment in a degree program at Le Cordon Bleu. While the the corner shops of Gay Paree may not have been chock-a-block with student budget-friendly ramen bricks, Flinn picked up a flavor trick or ten between puff pastry and boning lessons and shares her method for infusing the noodles with the brightness of miso, green onions, fresh herbs, Sriracha and citrus, as well as other light-wallet recipes.
Clearly, at-home ramen can be a reward rather than a last resort. How are you gussying them up, or are you hooked on the packet? Please share with the rest of the (broke...oh, so painfully broke) class, why don'tcha?
As a kid, I thought that sliced-to-order Boar's Head-brand deli meats seemed like a huge step up from pre-sliced Oscar Meyer. But then a whole world opened up before me of gourmet shops selling heritage ham and restaurants who cured their own salumi. I've partaken of true, two-foot-diameter Mortadella from a shop in Bologna and buttery, beefy pastirma--the original pastrami--from Turkey. When I thought sliced meat, Boar's Head was the furthest thing from my mind.
Unfortunately, my wallet can't keep up with my expensive taste, and I've recently resolved to do most of my food shopping at a regular supermarket instead of gourmet shops. Combine with that a commitment to preparing my own lunch instead of purchasing it out, and I was headed to the old deli section of the store for turkey sandwich fixin's. I stared at the many standard options, all unappealing despite their supposed selling points: no glaze or rub could transform ordinary, mass-produced sandwich meat.
But then a few much smaller specimens caught my eye, all labeled "Boar's Head All-Natural." No nitrates, no hormones, no 17% water added. I sampled one called "Tuscan Style Turkey," swathed through and through with an appealing, and non-artificial mixture of herbs like rosemary and oregano. The meat itself lacked any of that weird slickness found on some sliced meat; in fact, it actually tasted like sliced fresh turkey. Imagine! I took home a half pound (some pictured here awaiting sandwich duty) and have enjoyed every bit. Next I'll try "French Country Style," which throws lavender into the mix. It may not beat something small-batch and handmade and $30/pound, but it will most certainly do.
When a friend of mine recently asked me to help throw her a baby shower, I had many questionable suggestions-- like making it race-car rather than baby themed (accepted) to making a baby-shaped red-velvet cake with gooey red filling, except the diaper part, which would have brown icing filling (rejected).
But one of the things she was most excited about was my suggestion that I make a meatcake. That is, a cake made of meat, an idea I had found (like so many nutty ideas) on the interwebs. I took the concept, but created my own recipes--two, since a non-red-meat eater needed turkey. It may sound peculiar but the result was delicious and even rather spectacular. If you want to try it yourself....
The best thing about embarking on a mission to perfect one's biscuit making? You end up with an awful lot of delicious biscuits to eat. The worst thing? Holy heck, that's a lot of biscuits. I'm lucky enough to be married to an enthusiastic biscuit eater, but I don't want to try his patience too badly this early on, 'cause there are dozens more batches to be rolled out before the year is up.
Solution -- adapt one of his most dearly beloved dishes, his grandmother and mother's Memama and Mimiwag's Chicken & Dumplings a bit to accommodate extra biscuits as ersatz dumplings. The original recipe employs long, rolled strips of dough (which some have argued render it as a much more regionally specific Chicken & Pastry formation, but that's a whole 'nother post), but in lieu of that, I halved the biscuits (from the best batch thus far -- #6 White Lily All Purpose with 50/50 Lard/Butter) and stewed them into the sumptuous broth of a whole, cooked-down chicken until they were softened, but not soggy. That night, with a side of sauteed, vinegar-dashed Swiss chard, it was heaven. Two days later, plated with tangy collards -- otherworldy.
Have a favored use for extra biscuits? I beg of you, share it in the comments below.
While I usually save my kitchen adventures for the evening, on Wednesday, I decided to experiment early. I knew that I wanted an egg, but I also wanted to use up leftovers. I had some leftover chicken salad from the night before, and since it was not enough to make a substantial sandwich, I decide to combine it with my egg craving.
We pile foods into out omelets, so why not tackle the same idea for fried eggs? Once I saw that I had a two-yolker on my hands, the plan was set -- one sunny side up egg, on top of chicken salad (slightly warmed so not fridge-cold), on top of toast with cheese. It was quick and simple -- only requiring the time it took to make the toasted cheese.
As for the flavor -- le yum! It gives an added boost to the sometimes-too-little egg on toast, and makes for a wonderfully easy and filling breakfast. It might sound strange, but it's darned good.
We can change the way we make eggs -- scrambled, poached, fried -- but what about changing the eggs themselves? Mix up your scrambling routine with quail eggs.
When fast food joints decide to expand beyond the burger, the first place they go is typically the chicken sandwich. After all, the kids in the back of the joint can basically do all the same things, just to a different patty. (Why don't the bigwigs just pick fish? Well, you know, the whole tartar sauce issue.)
I typically use recipes in one of two ways. In the best case scenario, I consult a recipe before I shop so that even if I choose to tweak things a bit, I'm at least starting with all the appropriate raw materials. But then there are those evenings when it's chilly outside or I'm just feeling too lazy to shop, and I need a recipe that makes use of whatever's in the fridge, freezer, and pantry. 
As a kid, I thought that sliced-to-order Boar's Head-brand deli meats seemed like a huge step up from pre-sliced Oscar Meyer. But then a whole world opened up before me of gourmet shops selling heritage ham and restaurants who cured their own salumi. I've partaken of true, two-foot-diameter Mortadella from a shop in Bologna and buttery, beefy pastirma--the original pastrami--from Turkey. When I thought sliced meat, Boar's Head was the furthest thing from my mind.
When a friend of mine recently asked me to help throw her a baby shower, I had many questionable suggestions-- like making it race-car rather than baby themed (accepted) to making a baby-shaped red-velvet cake with gooey red filling, except the diaper part, which would have brown icing filling (rejected). 
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