Thanksgiving Turkey Butchering Experience

I have to admit, you wouldn’t probably ever think to connect “butch” with “butcher.”

But there’s something genuinely rewarding and maybe even enjoyable about diving headfirst into Thanksgiving prep in a more traditional way. I mean, why settle for just any turkey when you can prepare one from scratch?

When I signed up for a hands-on turkey butchering class with a group of Thanksgiving enthusiasts at Brooklyn’s Leland Eating and Drinking House, I was definitely feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

“We’ll provide you with an apron, so please wear non-slip shoes or sneakers,” a restaurant representative mentioned in an email.

I wondered what I had gotten myself into, envisioning something out of a horror movie.

Although I enjoy cooking, serious butchering is not something I’ve tackled before. The most intense I’ve ever gotten was buttering a Cornish chicken and tossing it in the oven.

Even though I come from a family of hunters, where my cousins in Pennsylvania routinely bag turkeys and deer, I never had the courage to join them. I wasn’t keen on traipsing through the woods with a shotgun.

Honestly, they were probably better off without me. It might be too much for someone like me, who usually sports a handful of rings and an apron to protect against splattered sauce.

Plus, I’m somewhat clumsy—I’ve managed to slice the tip of my thumb multiple times while dicing vegetables, two incidents that even required stitches. So the fact that I accidentally broke a glass just hours before my turkey lesson felt like a bad omen.

Yet, despite my reservations, I wanted to earn some respect for preparing a bird and perhaps inspire others to try something similar.

How terrible could it really be? Probably not too bad, right?

Arriving at the eatery, I stepped into the basement where fresh bread and baking supplies filled the space. Thankfully, I wasn’t faced with a turkey still flapping its wings and covered in feathers. That’s best left to farm workers trained for that kind of work.

Instead, my instructor, chef Delfin Jaranilla, presented me with a nearly 16-pound bronze turkey (let’s call him Tom), already prepped and cleaned.

After tying my apron and donning a camouflage hat like the instructor’s, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this might not be as straightforward as I hoped.

“This looks a bit intimidating,” I remarked, eyeing the headless turkey. Jaranilla reassured me, “We’ll take it slow. I’ll teach you some essential poultry lessons.”

This experience was far from the idyllic scene of a Norman Rockwell painting where a perfectly cooked turkey is elegantly served by well-dressed family members eager to indulge.

Instead, we’d be preparing Tom in a turchetta style—a method akin to the Italian porchetta, involving skinning and rolling the meat into a log shape.

My first task was to remove the turkey’s legs, followed by extracting its neck from a cavity packed with ice. I struggled a bit since my fingers froze quickly, and the neck even reminded me of a creature from a certain sci-fi movie.

No one can hear you scream there, but I’m sure a few cooks could hear my reactions in the kitchen.

Once I was equipped with a sharp Victorinox knife, Jaranilla shared some useful safety tips for handling it. “Hold your hand higher and place your thumb on the blade base,” she instructed, suggesting it would improve control.

After a few goofy photos with our “weapons” (her playful term), it was time to start deboning. I expected it to be a more intense experience.

“Make sure to let gravity help you, and keep your tools sharp,” Jaranilla advised.

This was exactly what I needed to remind me to be cautious with my hands.

“Avoid drastic cuts; aim for small, precise ones,” I learned. It was a slower process than I anticipated, but thankfully, there wasn’t much bloodshed.

Interestingly, it highlighted the importance of precision, similar to what surgeons need in an operating room. Although we weren’t literally dealing with life and death, Tom’s fate had already been sealed miles away.

Carving a turkey isn’t as random as one might think—it takes focus, effort, and a steady hand.

Surprisingly, the whole process of butchering Tom took about an hour and a half. The experienced cooks could have finished much quicker, but time flew by as I was left with a tray of scraps and a wooden block displaying the cuts we had made.

As a bonus, my fingers remained intact.

After seasoning the meat—think salt, pepper, Italian spices, and paprika—we rolled it, tied it up, and placed it in a tray to roast.

Our technique really made us proud. For Thanksgiving, the restaurant handles around 16 turkeys, allowing them to serve about 250 guests efficiently.

“Instead of a four-hour roast, this only takes about 45 minutes,” Jaranilla explained.

While there is a lot to do up front, the payoff is noticeable once it’s prepared. Rolling it this way also means there’s no fussing over specific cuts.

“Every piece has a mix of white and dark meat, so nobody has to argue over who gets what,” she added.

I can honestly say that the final dish was juicy and delicious. While it may not have looked as impressive as a Rockwell turkey—more like a sleeping bag near a campfire—it turned out to be far less intimidating than I had expected.

Though Freddy Krueger might not approve, I was certainly pleased with the outcome.

Leland Eating and Drinking House plans to host its inaugural turkey butchering class along with a five-course dinner for 16 on November 12 at 6 p.m. The cost is $125. More classes for pig and duck butchering are also scheduled.