Canadian Thanksgiving (you know, the good one) has wound down and is over until next year; same old – too much eating and nearly immobile from the caloric onrush. It’s a combination harvest festival as well as the first autumnal three-day weekend in 60 percent of Canadian provinces. We don’t make a really big deal as our neighbors to the south: with the exception of those Maritimers, most Canucks go to the market, get a turkey, eat it and give thanks for well, having a three-day weekend.

The nice thing about Canadian Thanksgiving is that it’s still relatively free of commercialism and doesn’t have the prerequisite need for a sweet potato casserole topped with marshmallow (WTF? is that anyway). Yes, it’s true that we don’t have Squanto, the Pilgrims aren’t around to make everyone feel guilty, and there’s no spectacle in watching someone try and transport the 35+ pound OleoBall to carve at the table. But we also don’t get marshmallow nor do we get trampled in the inauguration of the annual XMas shopping rush (because you have to do it early or else Robot Santa will get you). I know, my former boss Wayne will tell me that there’s also football, but what’s the point of watching a version of the game that doesn’t count the rouge?

Food-wise, we generally go with the flow, though unlike others we try to stick to a bird that’s in the 15-17 pound range so as to not be stuck eating turkey until the American version of the harvest festival. There was a bit of a change this year as there were fewer eaters to be had around the table, so rather than be in a position to stare at turkey leftovers until XMas, it was time to start considering poultry alternatives. ”Thanksgiving quail” didn’t quite have the right ring to it, though it would have been amusing to serve one (maybe next year). Poulet de Bresse isn’t legal to import into Canada (not that I can afford the per kilo price of 30+ €), pheasant and grouse are too small, and it’s too early for geese. I did have a recommendation for a turducken, but that requires more eaters, not less as a turducken is pretty much a solid mass of meat. Free-range chickens in Taiwan were about the size I was shooting for, and while those aren’t available either (darn you, CFIA!), capons are. Unlike micro-geese, capons are relatively easy to obtain, taste pretty good, and are larger than the average chicken by normal means (longer time for raising) and not by WWE-style hormonal methods like some turkey-sized examples of ”normal” chickens I’ve seen at the Star Market.

To clarify for the puzzled, a capon is a rooster that crows as a soprano (is that the sound of knees slapping shut that I hear?), and is historically a favorite of monks like Friar Tuck. What, more knee slapping sounds?

I got a nice one that weighed in at 3.638 kg / 8 pounds of high-pitched poultry goodness at my favorite boucher at the Atwater Market (La Boucherie Claude et Henri) and got rolling.

Ingredients

For the capon,

• 1 capon
• 225 g / 0.5 pound golden chanterelle mushrooms
• 1 small onion or grey shallots
• butter

For the bread stuffing,

• 2 onions
• 3 ribs celery
• 2 carrots
• 225 g / 0.5 pounds button mushrooms
• 500 g loaf of dense day-old bread
• 1 L / 1 quart homogenized milk
• thyme
• sage
• bay leaf
• butter

Preparation of stuffing

Cut the chanterelle mushrooms into duxelles and mince the onion. Sweat down the onion in melted butter, add the chanterelles and continue cooking until the mushrooms are soft. Add salt and pepper. Set aside and let cool in the refrigerator until chilled.

For the bread stuffing, cut the onions, celery and carrot into small dice, cut the mushrooms into duxelles, and cut the bread into small cubes. Dry the bread in the oven. Soften the mirepoix in butter and oil (I actually used butter and bacon fat). When soft, add the mushrooms and cook until the mushrooms have also softened and released their liquid. Add one bay leaf, and thyme and sage to taste. Add the milk and bring the mixture to a near-boil. Add the dried bread and mix until the bread has absorbed the liquid. Transfer the stuffing to the roasting pan and spread out into an even layer. Fit the roasting rack.

Preparation of the capon

Use a paring knife to remove the wishbone to facilitate carving. Run your hand under the skin over the breast meat so that it is separated from the meat. Truss the bird. Spoon the chanterelle mixture under the breast meat and work the stuffing around so that it overlays the breast meat. Baste the bird (I used a mixture of soy sauce solution, but clarified butter works very nicely too).

Place capon onto roasting rack over the bread stuffing. Roast in a 175ºC / 350ºF oven. Baste and rotate the roasting pan every 30 minutes. The cooking time will depend on the size of the capon and how much bread stuffing is in the pan; this particular capon took 3 hours. Use a thermometer if in doubt.

At the end of the roasting time, remove the capon from the oven, tent with foil and set aside to rest at least 15 minutes before carving.

Service

Gee, what’s there to say? Carve (don’t muck it up), pass around the sides, and eat. Or do the Friar Tuck thing and have at it with two hands.

Wine pairing

An atypical Kiwi Sauvignon Blanc – the 2005 Cloudy Bay Te Koko Sauvignon Blanc. Pinot Noirs are nice if a red alternative is needed.

Photos

[View with PicLens]

Comments

Obviously I made some additional sides to have with this bird though if you’ll notice there are no marshmallows lurking in the background. I served this capon with a purée of Yukon gold potato, parsnips and parsley root with fresh chives (mashed and set with milk, melted butter and nutmeg) and a sauté of snap peas and carrots. There was also cranberry compote available for whomever wanted it, but the one thing I don’t do is make or serve gravy. Why? Gravy and other sauces are carriers of additional flavor and if available, should be there to enhance the savouriness of the plate. Unfortunately,  this is a rarity with most holiday birds.

In many cases, the reason for gravy is that people have managed to roast the bird to the point where the beast is greatly overcooked, obviously dehydrated and well on its way to becoming jerky. The role of gravy in this unfortunate scenario? It’s there to rehydrate the resultant jerky and make it soft enough to be chewed. There was this one memorable occassion where I just kept dribbling gravy onto my portion of turkey only to watch the liquid keep disappearing as it got sucked into the meat fibres.

Rather than suck rocks like that, I’d much prefer to roast the bird properly so that it comes out cooked and juicy. Just how hard could that be, you ask? Apparently quite hard from what I’ve seen but still, it’s “do or do not, there is no try” so no gravy for me as a crutch to mask bad technique.

So, while I ride off on my high horse, you’ll also notice from the photo deck that there was also a tarte aux pommes au Pépin (as in Jacques – the apricot jam gives it away) and a mignardise, which just happened to be pistachio biscotti that Ka-ru bi-nu happened to have lugged back from La Boutique de Joël Robuchon in Roppongi. Nice!

Irrespective of the fact that the American one is late by six weeks, the one thing the two Thanksgivings have in common is having too much food. Case in point: even with a 3.638 kg capon instead of a turkey twice the size, it would have still been too much bird even for the normal amount of eaters. Of course, if this were the US and it was American Thanksgiving, I’d probably be laughed out of the kitchen for roasting a tiny bird. I’ll chalk that up as a case of poultry-related psychophallystisis, but still, it’s too much food.

Anyway, I’ll have managed to recover from my caloric stupor by late November. Good thing too: want to know what I’m going to be doing on American Thanksgiving? Rocket Robin Hood. Yep. It’s coming.

Popularity: 8% [?]