The annual task of sourcing the Christmas Day turkey normally falls to my brother, who being in the trade, knows what he’s looking for and where to get it.
Sourcing the turkey and picking it up are separate tasks, and the job of actually transporting Rob’s carefully hunted prize birds usually falls to Dad.
Last year, things went a bit awry.
Dad decided that a Christmas Eve drive to a far away butcher was too much trouble.
Parking, you see.
Really, he was just getting on a bit, and didn’t relish the prospect of carrying three large turkeys any distance at all, even just from the shop to the car park round the corner.
So, he began enthusing about these apparently incredible turkeys from a butcher close to the swimming pool he used.
Top quality, he kept saying.
The absolute business.
Dad, being Dad, didn’t bother to ask how much before ordering (I mean, really, who doesn’t find out the price first?), so the cost come Christmas Eve was quite the shock, but we got a perfectly good bird each, which came nicely boxed, with cooking instructions on a glossy leaflet, a complimentary sprig of rosemary and a certificate.
That’s right…a certificate.
My turkey came with a certificate to prove its ‘authenticity’.
We paid handsomely for all that marketing, all of that presentation and ‘added value’.
It all made me wonder how much I’d paid for ‘turkey’ and how much I’d paid for ‘marketing guff’.
The turkey is such a big part of Christmas – literally and figuratively – and it’s right to want to do a good job, to push the boat out a little, but, as we learnt in slightly awkward retrospect, there are good deals to be had if you know a thing or two about how turkeys are raised and go armed with a couple of good questions for your butcher.
The first thing to know is that a bird doesn’t need a certificate or a fancy box and a hefty price tag to be good.
Whether a turkey is good or not is dependent on how it was raised, and how it lived its life, and that’s true of all meat and fish.
Look for a bird that’s been grown in a small flock, free-range, hatched in June or July so that it’s slightly older and more mature than it’s intensively reared cousins come December. A bird that’s spent more time growing will be more flavoursome.
That longer growing season is a commitment on the part of the producer, though. More time means more feed, and more cost. A farmer will only do this if he or she is bothered about quality, which is all they should be bothered about.





