Eventually, these people landed inAmerica, a new land that had recently been discovered. Unfortunately, they were not aware that this new land was void of all supermarkets and so they would be forced to grow their own food. Having never done this, a whole bunch of them died of hunger. All of the others spent a great deal of time whining.
Finally, after hearing enough whining, the Native Americans who had lived inAmericaforever came to the rescue. Baring turkeys and corn, these Native Americans helped the Europeans survive, teaching them how to grow food and cook. A feast was had between the two groups. The Native Americans provided the food, the Europeans provided small pox and other diseases. It was a fairly uneven trade.
Today, we celebrate this by eating enormous amounts of food, watching giant balloons float down the street, and napping.
Yes, it’s Thanksgiving.
Most Thanksgivings, I spend a good part of my morning watching TV. Currently, though, I am watching a turkey. See, normally my Thanksgiving dinner is provided for me. Someone else does the cooking and the cleaning. I just show up, eat all of their food, then go on my merry little way, promising to eat more of their food on some other occasion. I’m giving like that.
This year, though, my wife and I had a bright idea. “Wouldn’t it be fun to cook our own Thanksgiving dinner?” we thought.
We immediately went to planning. Like mad men, we looked at recipe after recipe. We read words like brine and baste and allspice. Then, we looked those words up, nodded like we knew what those words meant all along, and continued preparing.
We went shopping and found all of the necessary ingredients for a Thanksgiving dinner. What a fun time we were going to have. This will be the best time anyone has ever had. Yippee!
Last night, we set to work. I made a glorious pumpkin pie, suppressing my constant urge to call it a punkin pie, and a green bean casserole. She boiled some eggs and made something that is sure to be delicious because it had a lot of butter and corn in it. Those two always create something magical together. Thinking we had this whole thing under control, we went to bed.
This morning, after watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and participating in my yearly tradition of laughing at the anchor’s awkward and forced banter, we pulled out our turkey. The turkey had been in the fridge since Monday. This seemed like an appropriate amount of time for defrosting, so we sat to work.
That’s when we found it.
I was across the kitchen when I heard my wife say, “Ummmmmmmmmm…” This is never a good sign. She very rarely ever ums, and when she does, bad things are afoot.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Come feel this,” she said, pointing the Turkey’s butt at me.
I walked over and gave the turkey what could only be described as a very invasive prostate exam.
Ice is the best way to ruin a turkey. It can make it where the inside doesn’t cook as quickly as the outside. Then, you have the option of either eating a turkey that is perfect on the inside but overdone and dried out on the outside, or perfect on the inside but raw and salmonellaey on the inside.
Sure enough, inside that turkey’s butt sat large chunks of ice. I thought back to my earth science and biology classes. I don’t remember studying turkeys, but I’m fairly sure they don’t produce ice inside them.
“What do we do?” I asked. The moment had become deathly serious. In my head, I heard dramatic orchestral scores fitting for a bad television drama. I did not want to be one of those people that call the Butterball Turkey Help Hotline with a question about defrosting my turkey in a dryer or if toilet water is clean enough for thawing.
“I guess,” she said, pausing as the tension grew, “we thaw it some more.”
We sat the turkey in water. There sat my meal, frozen and cold, soaking in my sink. It is not an ideal way to start cooking your main dish.
After the ice had suitably melted, we seasoned the turkey with our secret ingredient (salt) and put it in the oven. As we closed the door, I gave it a nod as if to say, “Godspeed, my turkey friend. Godspeed.”
So now, I wait. I’m getting hungrier and hungrier by the minute. Everything is riding on this turkey. If it is ruined, all we have left to eat in our house are side dishes and canned tuna. Even the pilgrims would have complained about that meal.
I guess there are things to be thankful for. Number one, we have a turkey to worry about. Number two, I did not have to kill or pluck that turkey. If I had, we would be starving today. I am not a hunter and I’m fairly certain my attention span is too short for plucking an entire turkey.
Number three, no one has brought us small pox. That is a really good way to ruin a meal.
- What’s Inside Your Turkey?: A Thanksgiving Post (badlandsbadley.wordpress.com)
- “Crazy Calls to Butterball Turkey Hotline” – Contributed by J. Federico Martin (airpoetry.wordpress.com)
- Thanksgiving Dinner (l2ee2l.wordpress.com)
- 10 Healthy Recipes For All Of Your Leftover Turkey (blisstree.com)
- Myths and Legends About Thanksgiving (socyberty.com)
- PETA Serves ‘Baby’ for Thanksgiving Dinner (newser.com)
- Friday Faves: Thanksgiving, Part Deux (collegecandy.com)
- Thanksgiving (remember-that-time.com)
- Thanksgiving: It’s not just about the turkey (yellowinspiration.wordpress.com)