Is Stuffing a Farce?

There are endless articles about the compulsory Thanksgiving Day stuffing. A casual Google search will find you swimming in cut and paste posts purporting the difference between the meaning of stuffing versus dressing, cornbread or wild rice, oysters or sausage, and of course the age old, whether or not to stuff the bird in the first place (21st Century consensus is that you keep the stuffing outside the bird).

But all this stuffing talk begs the question, why would anyone stuff anything into an animal in the first place? What compelled us to get creative with the cavity? Was it some primordial anal-retentive gene to fill every nook and cranny; or a Neolithic cultic ritual, its significance long since forgotten? Whatever the reason, humans have been busy stuffing animals—especially poultry—full of all kinds of goodies for thousands of year.

The word “stuffing” dates back to 14th Century English, when it was used synonymously with the more uncomfortable sounding forcemeat. Soon after, Anglos borrowed the slicker French word, farce (from the Latin verb facire or “to stuff”). That one is still used in most French-trained kitchens, and our butcher shop, today. 

The Internet claims the Romans were the first recorded food stuffers. Apicius, the famous Roman cookbook from the first century CE, is chalk full of examples of nut, seed, bread, and fruit stuffings. But what the Romans really liked to do was stuff their whole meats with other whole meats. Engastration, the practice of cooking one (or more) animals inside another was a bit of an obsession for the ancient Italians. Small birds and mammals were constantly being crammed into geese, pigs, cows, or all three. Cowpigoose anyone?

But the Romans shouldn’t get all the credit. Engastration—which has to be the most horrific culinary word I’ve ever stumbled across—has likely been practiced since the beginning of culinary time.

The Mongolian boodog (pronounced “baw-dug”) dating back to at least the 12th Century, is a meal that conveniently uses the whole animal as its own cooking vessel. Designed for the always in a hurry Genghis Khan, the boodog, normally made from a goat or marmot, is deboned and butchered through the belly. The meat is then seasoned, mixed with vegetables and offal, and stuffed back into the empty skin with hot rocks. Sown up and barbecued, the invasion-feast-in-a-bag was a convenient meal for eager Mongol horsemen chomping at the bit to sack the next town.

A traditional Bedouin meal has the distinction of being the largest menu item…ever. The stuffed camel has gained a mythical skepticism online. Even though the Guinness Book of World Records has confirmed its existence, Wikipedia suggests it might still be a hoax. But I’ve found video proof that this succulent Sasquatch exists. The recipe starts with a stuffing of rice, nuts, lentils, beans and hard-boiled eggs seasoned with cumin, saffron, and cardamom. This is then piled into chickens (or sometimes fish), crammed into a lamb, and then stuffed whole inside a young camel. The entire meat-tastic monstrosity is raised into an enormous pot where it braises over a charcoal fire. I have eaten camel before, and I liked it. No, it doesn’t taste like chicken, maybe more like a cross between lamb and veal.

Just in time for Halloween, the most gruesome edible stuffed animal (and most creative example of fermentation) has to be the Inuit meal of kiviak. A seal carcass is basically used as a poultry pickle jar. The gutted seal is filled with hundreds of auks, small arctic sea birds—feathers and all. It’s then sealed with seal fat (see what I did there) and left under a rock until winter time when hunting is scarce. The pungent result has been described as a cross between licorice and strong cheese. Take it from me, weak stomachs will want to steer clear of the Google image search.

For me, the ultimate stuffed experience is the whole pig roast done best in Oceana. Although folks used to believe pigs were brought to the South Pacific by swashbuckling Europeans, new research suggests hogs have been on these island nations for millennia. And the extra time has allowed them to perfect their recipes. My favorite is the Filipino dish Lechon Baboy (something l enjoyed while living on Guam as a boy). This pork picnic is filled with lemon grass, spring onions, garlic, bay leaves and glazed with coconut juice (or soy sauce) before being roasted over an open flame. There’s no better holiday meal. 

Now, if all this engastration talk has gotten you thinking about ordering a Turducken from Electric City Butcher for Thanksgiving, please resist the urge. They’re a silly request. The turkey always overcooks, and the duck fat never renders, leaving a dry overcooked turkey breast and gelatinous, undercooked duck. If you really want to impress your guests, consider some of our holiday turkey rillette instead.

And, if all this forcemeat talk hasn’t intimidated you out of stuffing that bird cavity, maybe the wise words of my favorite culinary chemist, Alton Brown, will convince you. When it comes to stuffing in the cavity, “just don’t do it.” Instead, use some rosemary, or thyme, some garlic and juniper, maybe some citrus to add wondrous aromas to your meat and gravy. Try something new. Maybe you’ll write the next page in the great Thanksgiving food history book.

You can still reserve your organic or pasture-raised turkey from Electric City Butcher along with our famous Holiday stuffing sausage, gravy and cranberry sauce!