I don't consider myself a violent person. Deviant acts are for criminals. But I have a culinary confession to make: I recently assaulted and humiliated the corpse of a small bird. And the results were delicious!

Before we get down and dirty, I want to make it clear I peacefully, though not always gracefully, dabble in the culinary arts. When properly inspired by Top Chef, I clatter around attempting to sous vide (fail) and brulee (meh). I see ingredients as guidelines, not hard-and-fast rules. The kitchen is my canvas on which I splatter cookie batter, Pollack-style.

As for Thanksgiving? Well, it's never been pretty. Helping my mother prepare her four-course feast by opening a can of pumpkin goop is one thing; having hungry people watch balefully as I dump vegetable oil into the mashed potatoes because I forgot to buy butter...not so much.

But this Turkey Day, things were going to change. Continuing on my recent quest to learn a thing or two beyond shake n' baking, I found myself at the homegrown cooking school Hipcooks, founded by professional-cook-with-a-masters-in-economics Monika Reti. (It's not school for soccer moms who want to get down with radicchio, but rather hipster socialites.)

Laid-back folks casually throwing together a Thanksgiving dinner over (hopefully) many glasses of wine? How could I resist? And so begins the "Cornish Game Hen Experiment."

When I took a look at the Hipcooks West location on Robertson, it screamed trendy art gallery more than casual kitchen (a departure from the original East side enclave tucked amongst the Brewery Arts Colony). Had I been misled? Was I now a soccer-mom-in-training?

Minimalist surroundings be darned. I was here to roast some fowl.

This class, titled "I Ain't No Turkey!" featured Cornish game hen with apple-pecan couscous stuffing, orange-ginger cranberry sauce, roasted root vegetables, and pumpkin soufflé with hand-whipped cream. I know!

We started with the basic chef's knife skills, but even as our teacher Bonny, made the rounds, there was never quite enough hands-on instruction to make me become "One" with the knife.

We diced, sliced and stirred up some sweet-smelling goodness here and there, but we mostly watched- and drank wine. (No complaints here, but did learn chefly factoids like what comprises mirepoix and the many wonders of sea salt).

And then, things got squeamishly fun. Out came a pan filled with adorable raw little Cornish game hens, and I gleefully molested my headless little guy, stuffing his tuchas with couscous and shoving herbs under his skin.

It was really kind of sick how fun-and easy-it was. Just stuff your bird full of goodies, rub him down good with salt, pepper and olive oil, pop him in the oven at 375, and an hour later out comes a very tasty-looking meal with scrawny legs.

By 10 PM it was finally time to dine. As our hunger pangs were kept at bay only by more wine, the mood around the dinner table was festive, if a little punchy.

When our haphazard stabbing with butter knives failed to phase the hens (motor skills are first to go), we lapsed into caveman mode, tearing them apart with our fingers, delicate couscous raining on our plates.

Roasted root vegetables had never tasted-oh hell, I've never had a plate of roasted root vegetables in my life, and I was thrilled that they didn't taste like dirt. And that pumpkin soufflé, practically floating out of its ramekin, brought the holiday spirit home.

THE DETAILS: Hipcooks
www.hipcooks.com
Classes $55-65 (gift certificates available for the holidays)

Story Sarika Chawla.

CONTINUE THE FOODIE ADVENTURE WITH THE UNDERCOVER CARNIVORE.