Turkey in brine. Two cups kosher salt, one cup sugar. 

Oiled (olive oil).  First baking portion set upside down so internal moisture tends to settle into the breast, to be inverted later to brown the breast in an attempt to produce the elusive Norman Rockwell pictured turkey.

Half baked.

Inverted.  A bit lop-sided due to the absence of a rack.  Rockwell would not approve. Re-oiled.  Returned to oven.

Turkey done!  Beyond done, actually.  I don't much care for the recommended temperatures.  I do prefer to slightly overcook poultry.  I realize this is bad, but I don't care.  La la la, it's my bird and I'll do what I want.  I brined the thing, and I'm certain it'll be moist enough for me.  I like to observe the meat pull away from the bones at the legs.  This assures me I won't be messing with any of those disobliging resistant uncooperative tough tendons, which are loaded through the bone legs.  I hate those.  Notice that unreliable automatic red popper thingie failed to alert me the turkey is done, worse it failed to alert me that it's slightly over done.  I learned at seventeen years old not to ever trust those things.  I burnt a roaster to charcoal because I misplaced my faith in those timers over my own good common sense.  
There's the timer!  It popped while I was photographing it.  Ha ha ha.  Beat you!

In'nit purdy?  Lopsided, I know.  But I'm going to tear it apart.  

))) Knock.  Knock. (((


"It's me, Norman Rockwell.  Your turkey is lopsided."  

"Piss off, Norman.  I'm carving." 

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