| Recipes |
| • Tofucken |
The Ethiopian cooks had two antelopes brought in from the zoo. They gutted, skinned, and roasted them in spices and butter. Twenty turkeys — stuffed with herbs and bread — were thrust into the antelopes and the empty crevasses filled with hundreds of hardboiled eggs. A bleating camel, feeling something sinister in the room, was soon slaughtered as well, his innards replaced with the antelopes, whose innards had been replaced with the turkeys and eggs, whose innards had been replaced with breads, spices, herbs, and fish. And the Emperor of Ethiopia ate only just a little.
Bawdy, exorbitant, unethical. In the most mythic banquets, everything is permitted, nothing impossible. Mile-high desserts carved to resemble palaces, grapes served upon platters of young boys, vomit buckets. But aside from the slaves, drunkenness, and orgies, it is perhaps the dining upon outrageously prepared animals — much like the stuffed camel Bohumil Hrabel describes in I Served the King of England — that is most...indelible. Heliogabalus enjoyed ostrich brains and eels fattened with Christians. The Emperor Vitellius once served a dish including flamingo tongues and lamprey milt in the name of Minerva. Hampton Court under Henry VIII was often the stage for feasts of whale, peacock beaks, and the ever-popular flaming boar’s head. No organ was left unturned.
The home version of this is the Turducken, the infamous carnival of carnage that involves three unfortunate birds (chicken, duck, turkey) stuffed into each other. If you use the Chef Paul Prudhomme recipe — considered by many to be standard — you will also add pork sausage (for one stuffing) and shrimp (for another stuffing). The third stuffing, cornbread, involves duck or chicken giblets. So, pardon me: that makes for three birds stuffed with pig and shrimp and their own giblets stuffed into each other. All served with a gravy that the birds have helpfully self-produced for the project.
A few years ago, I decided to make a vegetarian version, which I call "Tofucken."
I find great pleasure in reading a well-told recipe, with the promise of a magical taste experience in each measured ingredient. The sheer verbal deliciousness of seeing "whisk" and "cream" and "grill" and "shallot" swirling about on the page is a culinary joy of its own. When it comes to the business of actually cooking, however, recipes are often cruel mistresses. Sort of like making love by the light of an instructional video — helpful perhaps, but a bit stifling when it comes to improvisation.
With that, I give you my recipe for Tofucken. Please do think of it as a suggestion rather than a manual, a bracelet on which to hang your own charms.
| Tofucken, adapted from Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Turducken recipe. |
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1. Take all stuffings and meats out of refrigerator. Make sure meats are fully thawed. 2. Preheat oven to 350°F. 3. Place one piece of duck, concave side up, atop a bed of sausage stuffing. 4. Place two pieces of chicken on the sides. Affix to the duck with 2-inch pieces of bamboo skewers. Fill the duck cavity with cornbread stuffing.
5. Slice turkey and place on top of the duck/cornbread, enough to reach the top of the chicken sides.
6. Place the 2nd duck piece on top of the turkey, concave side down. 7. Surround the Tofucken with the remainder of the stuffings (I put the cornbread in front, mushroom in back, and sausage on sides). 8. If you choose, place a decorative head in front, using a bamboo skewer. 9. Bake about 20 minutes or until you burn your fingers when you stick them into the Tofucken.
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Stefany Anne Golberg is an artist, writer, musician, and professional dilettante. She's a founding member of the art collective Flux Factory and lives in New York City. She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .
Photographs by Stefany Anne Golberg, “Veg-o-matic” photograph by Eric Tucker/Getty Images, "Plate" photograph from FoodCollection/Getty Images.
















