My debt to Pierre Berton has nothing to do with his contributions to Canada as an author, broadcaster, historian or humanitarian. It's a more personal gift I want to thank him for: his turkey recipe.
In December, 1971, I was a Jewish girl fresh out of cooking school who wanted to impress her non-Jewish boyfriend and his circle. We were having Christmas dinner with his close friends the Houghs and I volunteered to do the turkey. Not just any old turkey, mind you, but this "half-French, half-Chinese" recipe that Pierre Berton was touting in a magazine called The Holiday Host.
The method had been adapted from a recipe by American novelist Morton Thompson. It was so complicated many of Thompson's readers thought it was a gag. But I was intrigued by the unconventional method of "painting" the bird with a special paste. The result promised to be so tender that, in Thompson's words, "You do not have to be a carver to eat this turkey. Speak harshly to it and it will fall apart." I was hooked.
Once into the process, however, I lost my nerve. I had never roasted a bird this size before (17 pounds), and there were so many ingredients I became hopelessly confused. I wasn't sure if I should roast it breast up or breast down. I finally did what nervous cooks the world over do before an important meal: I picked up the phone. But I didn't call my mother. I looked up Pierre Berton's number and called him.
Pierre's article had said he got quite a few of these calls, and he must not have minded too much because he was utterly gracious on the phone. He said he was in the middle of cooking his own turkey. He said he liked to cook his turkey breast down, and turn it once at the end. And he said not to worry, because this recipe was pretty hard to mess up.
He was right. Even though the recipe warns you not to leave out a single ingredient, I skipped the pork. It was a huge success regardless. But the fact that I had been able to speak to the master himself was almost better than eating it.
That was 33 years ago. At that point, Pierre had been doing his turkey for 24 years, since 1947, recommending it in newspaper columns and articles, and even demonstrating it once on TV. He and his family loved to cook together and in 1985 they codified the recipe in The Berton Family Cookbook (McClelland and Stewart). By then, I had met his daughter Patsy, whose cartoons appear in the book. In my copy, she has signed herself a "fellow 'Morton Thompson Turkey' eater."
I had joined Pierre's turkey club. It was like a secret handshake, knowing about the arduous basting requirements, or the fact that the blackened covering on the finished bird is utterly delicious (Thompson recommended peeling it off and discarding it). Even Governor-General Adrienne Clarkson is a member of the club, as evidenced in her statement on Berton's passing. "For those of us who remember it, his recipe for turkey will never be forgotten."
Pierre's turkey is the kind of creation that inspires memories both fond and hilarious. Newcomers who see the blackened bird think you are the world's worst cook. Then they beg for the recipe. Like all memorable meals cooked for the important people in our lives, it's about sustaining traditions and sharing joy.
In the years since I began cooking Pierre's turkey, I have written two books on how passionate people can inspire the rest of us to live richer, fuller lives. Pierre Berton was such a man, another example for me about how we must live.
I celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas, but I still make the turkey every year. And this year, I'll be having a champagne toast to Pierre.
Dr. Elaine Dembe is the author of Use the Good Dishes: Finding Joy in Everyday Life (John Wiley).
