I’ll admit it right away: I’ve never been the type to put the “butch” in “butcher.”
But this Thanksgiving, I wanted to get back to basics — to skip the Butterball and go full Pilgrim. There’s something appealing about preparing your holiday bird the old-fashioned way, even if it means stepping far outside your comfort zone.
So when the Thanksgiving experts at Leland Eating and Drinking House in Brooklyn invited me to a hands-on turkey-butchering lesson, I said yes — not realizing I’d also be getting a side of mild horror.
Before class, I received an ominous email: “We have an apron for you, and wear non-slip shoes or sneakers.”
That’s when it hit me — this wasn’t going to be your average cooking demo. As someone who’s managed to cut through the tip of his thumb (three times, two with stitches), the prospect of wielding a butcher’s knife was… intimidating. I even shattered a glass at work just hours before my turkey tutorial, which felt like an omen.
Still, I wanted to earn some butchering credibility — maybe even inspire others to ditch the shrink-wrap and give it a try.
When I arrived at the restaurant’s basement bakery-turned-butcher-station, I was relieved to see that my “subject” wasn’t a live bird fresh off the farm. No feathers, no talons, no snood — just a cleaned and plucked 16-pound Bronze turkey, raised in Kansas by Frank Reese of Good Shepherd Poultry Ranch.
“Let’s call him Tom,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
Chef Delfin Jaranilla, my instructor and Leland’s co-owner, explained we’d be preparing Tom turketta-style — inspired by the Italian porchetta, where the meat is deboned, flattened, seasoned, and rolled into a log. The result? Juicier, faster-cooking turkey with both dark and white meat in every slice.
First came removing the legs and retrieving the neck, still packed in ice inside the cavity. My frozen fingers fumbled as I yanked it out — it looked disturbingly like the alien creature from that famous movie scene.
“In the kitchen, people can hear you scream,” I joked.
Jaranilla offered a few safety tips before I picked up the knife. “Hold your hand a little higher,” he said, “and rest your thumb on the base of the blade for control.” Noted — I wanted to keep all ten fingers intact.
Then the cutting began. With careful, precise slices, we separated wings, breast, legs, and thighs. “Use gravity,” the chef said. “And never take big, sweeping cuts. Find where the joints give way.”
To my surprise, the process was more delicate than gruesome. Within 90 minutes, we had a beautifully deboned turkey ready to season and roll. I sprinkled salt, pepper, Italian herbs, and paprika across the meat, then tied it tight with twine — a compact bundle ready for roasting.
The restaurant prepares 16 of these rolled turkeys every Thanksgiving, feeding about 250 guests. The method saves hours: “A whole bird takes around four hours to roast,” Jaranilla explained. “This? Forty-five minutes.”
The best part, he added, is harmony at the dinner table. “Everyone gets a little white and a little dark meat — no fighting over pieces.”
When the final roast came out of the oven, Tom had transformed into something golden and delicious — more like a campfire-roasted sleeping bag than a Rockwell centerpiece, but every bit as satisfying.
By the end, I’d learned that butchering isn’t about brute force or gore. It’s about patience, focus, and respect for the craft — more surgeon than slasher.
And yes, all my fingers survived. Freddy Krueger would be disappointed, but I definitely was not.
Leland Eating and Drinking House will host its first-ever turkey-butchering class and five-course tasting dinner on Wednesday, Nov. 12 at 6 p.m. Tickets are $125 at LelandBrooklyn.com.