The Bird and I
Twenty-four. Pounds. That would be the turkey that is currently floating in a brine in a Home Depot bucket which is sitting atop a wrought iron table on my deck. Yes, it’s covered. No, I don’t expect it to be carried off by small animals.
My previous record was eighteen pounds. Twenty-four will mean that baby has to be prepped and in the oven by 7:30 a.m. in order to be sitting front and center by 2:00 p.m. Which means coffee and coherence by 6:30 a.m. to ensure enough lead time for proper bird prep.
There is no holiday better than Thanksgiving. No gift shopping. No holiday cards. No do-we-open-gifts-Christmas-Eve-or-Day? No guilting The Teenagers into Mass that’s not on a Sunday.
And no argument about what to serve. It’s turkey and all that goes with it. My turkey. My meal. My way. I consider this a small sacrifice on the part of my family in exchange for a day of an even-tempered menopausal woman and a from-scratch meal fit for the gods of home cooking.
Enjoy!
