How Turkeys Are Slaughtered and Processed in Upstate NY
Matt Duckor1/12When it comes to Thanksgiving, we here at BA are almost always willing to do things the hard way. We'll bake and dry out our own bread for stuffing. We'll spend the weekend before making quarts of stock for the richest possible gravy. We'll risk frostbite to pick up some picture-perfect fall produce at the farmers' market for an epic tablescape. We're just kind of obsessive like that. But, as someone pointed out at a meeting earlier this month, none of us had ever killed our own Thanksgiving turkey. Sure, we're all getting groovy, pasture-raised, heritage birds from local farms, but we were in the dark when it came to the exact process by which our turkeys went from the farm to our, er, tables. Which is how we found ourselves at Stone & Thistle Farm in East Meredith, N.Y., on a cold, misty morning last week.
Matt Duckor2/12Tom Warren, who has been raising all kinds of livestock on his land for close to 20 years, had agreed to let us take part in the annual pre-Thanksgiving turkey slaughter. Every year, Tom hosts a crew of local volunteers who help process hundreds of birds in exchange for a turkey for their own table and a warming lunch provided by Tom's wife, Denise.
Matt Duckor3/12First, the turkeys are herded into trailers for transport from the pastures where they were raised to the slaughtering and processing area across the road.
4/12You carry the birds one by one to the slaughtering rig. The trick is to grab them above the knees and flip them upside down—this seemed to chill them out significantly. It did not, however, have the same effect on me.
Matt Duckor5/12The slaughtering rig—a collection of "killing cones" made out of five gallon buckets—is as effective as it is rudimentary. You put the bird in upside down, pull its head through a hole cut in the bottom, and then cut through the arteries in its neck. After a few (admittedly, long) seconds, the turkey stops struggling, bleeds out, and is ready to be processed.
Matt Duckor6/12After it's bled out, you dunk the bird in a 145-degree water bath for a minute or so to loosen its feathers for plucking. A dozen or so birds into the process, the water bath begins to smell like the rankest turkey broth you've (thankfully, never) had.
Matt Duckor7/12Once the bird's feathers are loosened, the bird is ready for the plucker—a motorized wheel covered in three-inch-long rubber fingers that quickly strips the majority of the feathers off. Tom's plucker is sized for chickens, so working with the much larger turkeys had its challenges.
Matt Duckor8/12You remove any resistant feathers manually, with forceps and tweezers—not the most enjoyable part of the day when the temperatures are in the low 40s.
Matt Duckor9/12Once all the feathers were removed, it is time to butcher the bird. First you remove its head and feet (the feet are sold to a local restaurant to make stock), and then cut the bird open to eviscerate it. Most of the organs, save the heart, liver, and gizzard, are thrown out, and the bird's cavity is cleaned out thoroughly. On this frigid morning, I was grateful to learn that a turkey's internal temperature is 104 degrees.
Matt Duckor10/12Once the turkey is cleaned, you put the gizzard, heart, liver, and neck back into the cavity and truss the bird. At this point, it looks like any turkey you'd buy in a butcher or fancy market. These, in fact, are sold at New York farmers' markets and through Marlow & Daughters in Brooklyn.
Matt Duckor11/12The birds then go into an icy chill tank to get their internal temperature down before they are bagged.
Matt Duckor12/12In four hours, we slaughtered, scalded, feathered, eviscerated, and bagged more turkeys than we'll eat in a lifetime of Thanksgivings. It was fascinating, to be sure. But it was also completely exhausting, and reminded us that death, no matter how humane, is still inescapably, inevitably brutal—not something to be taken lightly or for granted. We're glad to have learned how to dispatch our own turkey (thank you, Stone and Thistle Farm). And even more glad that we don't have to do it all the time.
