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Any way you slice it, turkey carving's tough Attention, would-be turkey carvers. Tonight you may be riveted on stuffing recipes and roasting ratios (Is it 20 minutes a pound for a 15-pound bird or 15 minutes a pound for a 20-pounder?) But tomorrow, I guarantee, there will come a moment when correct carving becomes your first focus. The thing is, there is as a right way to carve a turkey. And if I were a less cynical food journalist, I would publish a series of photographs demonstrating the proper technique. But I know that even if I ran such photos -- clear, colorful and sequenced from drumstick to wishbone -- it wouldn't matter because you wouldn't pay attention to turkey carving instructions, anyway. No one ever does. When it comes to slicing the Thanksgiving bird, spontaneity rules the day. Sure, there are directions out there. Check back issues of Bon Appetit or Gourmet magazines, or, if you're truly particular, old copies of Cooks' Illustrated. Those guides will offer step-by-step instructions that assume the impossible is true: that a person with a hot turkey and a dining room full of bickering relatives will be able to slice the bird with the equanimity of a Norman Rockwell character. At the table, no less. The truth is, carving a turkey is an act as individual as the person who wields the knife. It's an intimate endeavor rather like other intimate endeavors: strenuous, messy and not nearly as easy as it looks in the book. And when turkey carving is performed in tandem, by a husband and wife, say, who happen to be hosting the holiday dinner at THEIR house this year, the intimacy becomes intense. Personally, I rank turkey carving right up with installing wallpaper and getting lost in foreign cities as tests of marital endurance. It's a testament to my devotion, for instance, that I'm still speaking to my husband after he A) abandoned me following a late-night argument at the Piccadilly Tube station in London; and B) turned a beautiful 23-pound bird into an unrecognizable pile of turkey-flesh on Thanksgiving Day 1993. I'm still mad about the subway scene, but I forgave the turkey debacle, mostly because I'd witnessed holiday deeds far more foul. My sister and I still shudder at the memory of my mom, my dad, a cooked turkey and a electric knife, all in the same small room. What a whir of blades! What a hail of curses! What a spray of turkey parts in every kitchen corner! Year after year, when my mother emerged, lips pursed, knuckles white, clutching the platter of carnage, I wanted to cheer just because she'd survived another go-round. Other families have similar troubles, I'm told. One friend recalls the year her mother burst into tears at the table after her father used his hands to yank off the drumsticks: "Who wants a leg?" he reportedly shouted at the startled guests. Another gal pal reports that she was all set to carve the turkey at the table, a la Norman Rockwell, one year, only to have the big bird slide off the platter just as she stepped into the dining room. Mortified, my lace-aproned friend picked up the turkey with great dignity, ignored the grease on the rug, and returned to the kitchen to slice it in private. But for some folks, turkey carving inspires no great distress. "I follow the instructions in the cookbook," one male friend explains patiently. Why didn't I think of that? I say. And then I wonder where I put the hacksaw. The good thing about turkey-carving, of course, is that no matter how badly it's butchered, the big bird still tastes the same with cranberry sauce. Below you'll find a recipe that makes the most of the turkey pieces too small for sandwiches and too big to toss to the dog. Spaghetti With Turkey, Broccoli Raab Pancetta, Parmesan and Toasted Crumbs 5 ounces country-style, whole-grain bread Olive oil cooking spray as needed 2 teaspoons cornstarch 1 1/2 cups turkey or chicken broth 1/3 cup evaporated skim milk 1 ounce thinly sliced pancetta or 2 strips bacon, cut into thin strips 1 cup diced onion 4 teaspoons minced garlic 3/4 pound broccoli raab, cleaned and chopped 2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme (or 1/2 teaspoon dried) 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes, or more to taste 1/2 pound roasted turkey meat or more to taste, cubed 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice 3/4 pound thin spaghetti 1/3 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese 2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley Preheat the oven to 350 F. Remove the crust from the bread and discard. Cut the bread into large cubes and pulse in a food processor to make medium-sized crumbs. Spread the crumbs on a baking sheet and spray with the oil. Bake, stirring frequently, until golden brown, 8 to 12 minutes. Set aside to cool. Combine the cornstarch with 1 tablespoon of the broth. Bring the remaining broth to a simmer in a small saucepan. Stir the cornstarch mixture until smooth. Add the cornstarch mixture and milk to the broth, stirring constantly. Simmer until thickened, about 1 minute. Remove from the heat and set aside. Heat a large saute pan or wok over medium heat. Add the pancetta and saute until just beginning to brown, about 2 minutes. Add the onion and garlic; saute until the onions are softened, 6 to 8 minutes. Add the broccoli raab, thyme, red pepper flakes and 2 tablespoons water; cover and cook until the broccoli raab is just tender, about 5 minutes. Stir in the broth mixture and turkey. Simmer until the turkey is heated through. Season to taste with the lemon juice. Meanwhile, cook the spaghetti in boiling water until tender to the bite. Drain and toss with the broccoli raab mixture. Transfer to a serving bowl and sprinkle with the toasted crumbs, parmesan and parsley. Serve immediately. Makes 4 servings. Nutrition information per serving: 668 calories, 41 grams protein, 13 grams fat (4.5 grams saturated fat), 95 grams carbohydrate, 760 milligrams sodium, 56 grams cholesterol, 10 grams fiber. Send questions to a la carte, P.O. Box 1108, Medford, OR 97501. Reach JoNel Aleccia at 776-4465 or by e-mail at [email protected] Mail Tribune Copyright � The Mail Tribune 1999, Medford, Oregon USA