Chef Jesse Griffiths is a renowned carnivore. At his East Austin restaurant and butcher shop, Dai Due, cases are filled with wild boar sausages, beef jerky, and brined quail. The chef and his team are celebrated for their skills with culinary preservation—drying, fermenting, pickling, and freezing—and much of it revolves around meat.
So when Griffiths says beef-loving Texans should be eating more turkey—specifically, wild turkey—you should probably start thinking outside the brisket. Last March, the chef debuted a new cookbook about his travels pursuing the bird, The Turkey Book: A Chef’s Journal of Hunting and Cooking America’s Bird.
“I’m a cook, and I’m an eater,” Griffiths says. “I think most of the reason I’m obsessed with turkeys is how delicious they are.”
A leaner protein than typical store-bought turkey, wild versions nonetheless have more dark meat, especially in the thighs and legs. Cooked on low heat, that large portion of dark meat takes on a subtle venison-like flavor that can elevate any Thanksgiving feast. A diet largely consisting of acorns foraged from Texas Hill Country oak trees also plays a huge part in enriching the bird’s savoriness.
“Turkey has a very resonant flavor for people—even if you only eat it once a year for Thanksgiving,” Griffiths says. “So a wild turkey is kind of exponential in presenting those flavors.”
About half a million Eastern, Merriam’s, and Rio Grande wild turkeys inhabit the state, according to the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department. But that hasn’t always been the case. For years, turkey hunting in Texas went unregulated, and the birds’ population dropped dangerously low. At one point in the 1940s, it was estimated there were fewer than 100 wild turkeys in East Texas, an area where they had traditionally thrived. To alleviate the decline, TPWD implemented conservation efforts, such as predator control and enforcing annual bag limits for hunters. During fall hunting season—which lasts from early November through mid-January—that limit can be as low as one turkey in places like Jackson County, or as high as four in La Salle County.
Even a single 20-pound bird goes far, though. One of the benefits of cooking wild turkey is that all parts of the animal can and should be used in the kitchen. Bones can be simmered into a stock, legs tossed in a smoker or slow cooker for pulled turkey sandwiches, and the breast brined and sliced into Griffiths’ favorite holiday meal: fried turkey piled high with mashed potatoes and homemade biscuits.
Even the giblets, so often relegated to gravy, present endless possibilities. Ground and sauteed with pancetta and tomato, the amalgam transforms into ragú di rigaglie. The browned pancetta helps balance out the subtle metallic taste of the giblets, making it excellent on top of cavatelli or layered between sheets of lasagna.
“The family is probably gonna love it because it doesn’t taste like what you think it’s gonna taste like—it doesn’t have that livery flavor—but you’re able to utilize it,” Griffiths says. “The dish exemplifies how much you can stretch that bird.”
Fowl Play
Don’t attempt to roast a whole wild turkey. Because the birds walk upward of 5 miles a day, their legs are bloodred and require more time in the oven to become tender. Wild turkey breasts should be separated and cooked at 350 degrees for about 90 minutes (or until the internal temperature is 150 degrees), whereas the legs are better slow cooked for around six hours (or until the internal temperature is 190 degrees). If frying, Griffiths says to marinate the breast in buttermilk for at least two hours; dredge in mixture of flour, pepper, paprika, and celery seeds; then fry in cooking oil brought to 350 degrees for about four minutes.
