Feasting Outside the Calendar
Why we roasted an 18-pound turkey in May
“We’re very flexible,” my husband Phil said. “We’ll just cook another turkey and then you can get your picture.”
That made me feel a bit better about forgetting to take a photo at the culmination of our great turkey adventure. For now, I’d have to settle for a stock photo rather than the real thing. But you get the idea!
We had spent four days defrosting a gigantic bird that took most of a day to cook. The picture would have been nice, but it was collateral. The real goal was to prove that even in May, it’s possible to feast on a fresh turkey and avoid the ultra-processed meats that plague most American diets.
Eating large amounts of ultra-processed meat products—like hot dogs, bacon, and deli meats—can disrupt the balance of healthy gut bacteria, weaken the gut lining, and increase the risk of colon cancer, according to Impact of Ultra-Processed Meat Products on Human Health: Review and Outlook, published in the Journal of Food Science on February 10, 2025.
So, I set out to see just how hard it would be to avoid those products. I wanted to buy a large, high-quality source of protein—pasture-raised and antibiotic-free—that could yield multiple meals.
Turkey might not seem like the most obvious or exclusive choice. Many foods—from eggs to tofu—are good options, but each has its complications. Cholesterol is a constant concern, as are calories. Plant-based proteins like black beans are appealing for their affordability and minimal processing, yet balanced meals often include some animal protein—and turkey holds up well in that category.
There’s another factor that’s not often discussed enough: culture. Turkey, in all its variations, is a part of American food tradition. A big turkey feels more like a feast than a diet. It’s easier to embrace emotionally than a string of veggie-only meals (though we enjoy those, too). So, we chose turkey. We believe holiday-style meals can be enjoyed any time of year. A massive turkey doesn't have to be reserved for Thanksgiving.
When it arrived, the turkey was essentially an 18-pound frozen rock. It took some effort to get it out of the cardboard box and insulation and into a freezer tote. From there, we hoisted it into the fridge. Four days later, it had defrosted and we were ready to begin.
I pulled it from the fridge, tipped it from the tote onto some parchment paper on the kitchen counter, and cut the plastic.
“Whoa, watch out, it’s leaking,” Phil said, grabbing paper towels.
I reached inside the turkey to remove the neck and other parts, making sure I got everything. We angled the roasting pan so that we could push the bird onto the rack, adding water to the bottom of the pan. I seasoned the exterior with extra virgin olive oil and my favorite spices: paprika, sumac, Za’atar, Mrs. Dash table blend, and garlic powder. It was complete with its aluminum tent.
The event was about to begin. Into the oven it went, at 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Phil grabbed one handle, I the other, and together we carefully lowered it into the oven like a giant gold bar into a vault.
A little more than five hours later, we had our turkey—golden brown with a crisp outer shell. What I could see underneath looked tender and moist. We let it rest for 30 minutes before carving.
As I started cutting, I gasped. “Oh no! I left some of the giblets inside. I thought I got them all.”
“It’s okay,” Phil reassured me. “They’re wrapped in paper—it won’t harm us.”
It may have been a minor—or major—turkey-cooking faux pas. I later looked it up. Turns out, this is a common mistake. As long as the meat reaches 165 degrees Fahrenheit and the giblets are in paper, it’s safe.
We carved up a corner of the turkey, including a leg. I already had spinach and potatoes prepared and I had a good cranberry sauce too. But I needed stuffing and gravy. It just wouldn’t feel like Thanksgiving in May without it.
I quickly whipped up both. The stuffing was a bit inventive: sautéed onions and celery in extra virgin olive oil with my go-to spices (paprika, garlic powder, sumac and Za’atar), plus a few slices of our homemade cinnamon raisin bread cut into cubes by Phil. Then I added vegetable broth to the whole mix and stirred vigorously. Believe it or not, the cinnamon gave this creative stuffing a delicious twist.
After dinner, we stripped the bird of all its meat, saved the carcass for soup (though I’ll have to read up on how to make it), and packed away six portions for future meals, plus another three portions in the refrigerator for the week. It was a bit of work—but I’ll do it again. And next time, I won’t forget the picture.