What happened to the turkey?
|I am not a vegetarian! I am not a vegan! I am a omnivore, with carnivore tendencies. On Thanksgiving, I want a traditional turkey feast, with heaps of mashed potatoes and gallons of gravy. I want creamed spinach, fresh baked rolls, a green salad with honey-mustard dressing, and pumpkin pie for desert. That is the reason I prefer to make Thanksgiving dinner myself or have it catered.
Unfortunately, this year Thanksgiving did not go as planned. November started out good. I went to Smith's Food and Drug store, purchased the largest turkey I could not afford. This year the bird was so big that I went over my November and December food budget by fifty dollars. I shrugged and decided that leftover turkey for Christmas and New Year was a good idea. Never mind that Grandma always told me that leftovers on New Year's Day was bad luck.
I took the turkey home, and attempted to put it in the freezer. It was too big for my freezer, so I cleaned out the bottom shelves of my refrigerator, and put it down there. Since the bird was frozen when I bought it, I figured it would stay good until Thanksgiving Day. I went about my regular November chores of decorating the house for the big Thanksgiving feast.
On Thanksgiving Day, at 12:01 A.M., I took the bird out of the refrigerator, dressed it--I have never understood why preparing a turkey to roast was called dressing it--and placed it in my oven. It was a tight fit, but--with a little creativity and cursing--I was able to get the turkey in the unpreheated oven. I set the timer, turned the oven on, and went back to bed. A few hours later, the smoke alarm woke me up. Since the smoke alarm is my back up cooking timer, I was not worried.
I got up, and ambled into the kitchen. There I found my husband spraying the smoking oven and turkey with the foam from the fire extinguisher. "You know, Dear," I said. "That isn't the way you baste a turkey. I think the foam is poisonous."
"Sweet Heart," he sighed, I could see he was trying hard not to get angry. "My mother and her new husband will be here for dinner. What are we going to feed them?"
"I'll go to Smith's and get another turkey." I put my arm around him. "May I have the credit card?"
"I'll go, Honey Bunch," he kissed me on the forehead. "You stay here and clean up this mess."
I knew letting him go to the supermarket was not a good idea. However, I also knew that he did not have the experience or the patience to clean up a smoke filled kitchen. It took me about three hours to clean up everything, except the soot covered kitchen walls. Because we were going to repaint the kitchen in the New Year, I did not think the walls mattered.
He returned with a box containing, what appeared to be, a turkey breast, which was fine with me. The regular oven no longer worked, but a turkey breast I could fix in the microwave. I took the box from him, read the letters on the front. Tofurkey stood out in bold, black letters.
"Dear," I glared at him. "Why didn't you get a real turkey breast?"
"That is a real turkey," he smiled. "Somebody doesn't know how to spell turkey?"
The doorbell rang, so, instead of throwing the box at him, I went to the microwave. "Answer the door, while I warm up our faux turkey. And don't forget to wish your mother and whatever his name is a Happy Thanksgiving!"