Which Delivers the Perfect Bird?

I’ve cooked a lot of turkeys in my career. As the test kitchen manager at EatingWell for 10 years, I made at least five birds every May in preparation for the holiday issue. I’m also a farmer who raises 80 heritage birds on my farm in Vermont every year. Needless to say, I have strong opinions about what makes a turkey exceptional. But I didn’t want to rely just on my personal experience. To find out which method delivers the best bird, the Food & Wine test kitchen put two classic brining techniques to the test, roasting a wet-brined trussed turkey and a dry-brined spatchcocked turkey.

Both methods promise juicy, flavorful meat and golden, crisp skin, but the paths to get there couldn’t be more different. After cooking, carving, and tasting both birds side by side, we’re ready to declare a winner. Read on to learn exactly how you should brine your bird this year.

What is brining, and why bother?

Brining uses salt to season the meat and alter its protein structure. The salt helps the muscle fibers retain moisture as they cook, preventing the dreaded dry turkey.

A wet brine involves soaking the turkey in a saltwater solution for many hours (usually overnight). The salt diffuses into the meat, seasoning it from the inside out while hydrating the surface. In contrast, a dry brine skips the water entirely. You simply rub the bird with salt (and sometimes herbs or citrus), then let it rest uncovered in the fridge. The salt draws out moisture at first, but then that liquid gets reabsorbed, carrying salt deep into the meat while the skin dries, setting the stage for crispness later on.

On paper, both methods should yield a juicy bird. In practice, as we found, the differences are dramatic.

The wet brine: classic but high-maintenance

For the wet-brined bird, we tested our Roasted Salt-Brined Turkey recipe. We submerged the turkey in a brine of cold water and kosher salt for about 18 hours. Afterward, we dried it, rubbed it with a butter-herb mixture flavored with citrus, stuffed it with aromatics, trussed it, and slowly roasted it under a tent of bacon for moisture.

This is the turkey of tradition — a whole, trussed, and visually impressive bird you might see on the cover of a magazine. It roasted low and slow, with frequent basting to keep the breast meat from drying out. The aroma of sage, thyme, and garlic filled the kitchen and the finished bird looked beautiful, with the bacon lending a rustic, glossy sheen.

But while the presentation was stunning, the eating experience was mixed. The breast meat, even pulled at 150°F, leaned dry, and trussing meant the thighs lagged behind in temperature. The frequent basting (every 15 to 20 minutes for over three hours) disrupted the oven’s heat and extended the cook time. The result was a bird that was well-seasoned but inconsistent. The drippings were flavorful but quite salty, and while the wet brine did its job, the process was labor-intensive and required refrigerator space for a bucket of salty liquid.

The flavor was pleasant and nostalgic, but as someone who cooks a lot of turkeys, I couldn’t help thinking there had to be a simpler, more effective way.

The dry brine: a farmer’s dream bird

Enter the Dry-Brined Spatchcocked Turkey. Here, the process was more hands-on but ultimately far simpler. We removed the backbone (a butcher will happily do this for you), allowing the bird to lie flat, which promotes even cooking. We rubbed a measured dose of kosher salt under and over the skin, and allowed the turkey to rest, uncovered, in the fridge for about 36 hours.

Right away, I loved this method’s practicality. No sloshing bucket of brine, no wasted ingredients, and no risk of diluted flavor. When it was time to roast, we tucked a few pats of butter under the skin and started the bird hot at 450°F to encourage that deep, blistered brown crust.

From the oven came the kind of turkey every cook dreams about, with deeply golden, audibly crisp skin and tender, juicy meat throughout. The spatchcocking method meant the thighs reached the ideal 175°F before the breasts overcooked, solving one of turkey’s biggest culinary conundrums. The meat was succulent and evenly seasoned, with a subtle savory depth from the salt and just a hint of citrus and ginger from the aromatics.

This is the bird that makes you forget every dry Thanksgiving dinner you’ve ever had. It’s the bird I’d proudly serve on my own table, and the one I’d recommend to anyone looking for a foolproof method.

The verdict: dry brine for the win

After years of cooking turkeys for both editorial testing and family gatherings on my Vermont farm, I can say with confidence that dry brining is best.

The science backs it up, and so does the eating experience. The dry-brined bird retained moisture beautifully without the logistical headache of a wet brine. The skin crisped into a shattering crust that no amount of basting could achieve in the wet version. And the flavor of pure turkey, clean and concentrated, stood on its own, enhanced but not overshadowed by herbs or bacon.

A really good turkey tastes rich, a little wild, and deeply savory. The dry brine honors that flavor. It lets the bird speak for itself.

Final thoughts

If you love ritual, tradition, and the process as much as the meal, a wet brine has its charms. But for cooks who want juicy meat, golden skin, and an easy cleanup, dry brining is the clear choice. It respects the bird, rewards your patience, and guarantees that every slice tastes like the best possible version of turkey.