Several weeks ago we repossessed the BBQ pit from the Worrier. For the last few years, it has resided at his lake house where he modified it by adding the firebox. Being it was his BBQ pit in the first place that he donated to us and was donated back to him, I guess he could modify it all he wanted. Lately however, the Worrier has decided wood BBQ pits are too much work and now uses a gas pit. A gas pit! That is as unTexan as one can get. But hey, whatever cooks his meat, cause now we have the pit back. And it is a great pit. Even better now with the added firebox. Thank you Worrier for your unTexan cooking.
Being Thanksgiving and all, having family come to help us move, and not being cold outside because hey this is Texas after all, it was decided to spend the weekend cooking a Turkey on the pit. Nowhere in the Thanksgiving manual does it say turkeys had to be cooked in the oven. So sue me if I am screwing up your image of the perfect Thanksgiving. Oh, did I fail to mention that on Thanksgiving day, we had leftover brisket and all the trimmings for lupper? Yes, lupper. Lunch combined with supper is lupper. Yes, brisket. And let me tell you, the brisket was delicious. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Thanksgiving brisket.
Never having cooked a turkey on the pit, the Planner did some research and found this great post about splitting a turkey down the middle. Butterflying. Cooking in this fashion reduces the cook time and leaves the breasts moist. Heck yeah, who doesn't love moist breasts? Once the difficult process of removing the turkey's backbone was done, the cooking process was exactly as it was claimed. It was a minimalist's dream come true. Less cooking time, less time cutting because it falls off the bone, and no aluminum foil needed to maintain its moisture. This was the best turkey ever. Oh, and a butterflied chicken. It was a poultry smorgasbord. Deep-fried turkeys have nothing on the butterfly BBQ turkeys. Delicious!
And while there is nothing more relaxing than watching food cook on the pit, work had to be done. Unfortunately, this work required correct footings.
My footings to be exact. The trench lines needed to be covered in with dirt and compacted before filling with the tractor. The Planner's feet were too big, the kids' feet were too small, and mine, well mine were just right. Damm the luck. 250' feet of trench stomping was my reward for the perfect size feet. The price of running water and electricity. Guess there are worse outcomes. Stomp, stomp, stomping my way to BBQ turkey in aluminum foil.....