The Gang Cooks a Turkey

Danielle & Jesse Cook a Turkey

OR

Next Step Down the Road to Adventure!

Dear reader I’m going to be honest with you (though I have never been otherwise): I have no idea what I’m doing. My skill set would put me in the “Jack of All Trades and a Master of None” camp, though I like to think it’s “Oftentimes better than a Master of One.” I’ve done some music, some computer programming, some Boy Scouting, some language training, some event planning, some sports, some management, some hot-air ballooning, some minor construction, and so on. I like to think of myself as the type who could carry a conversation with just about anyone and lend a hand just about anywhere. Today, though, I’ve met my match. And her name is Jenny-O.

Danielle’s work as a nurse has several benefits including good pay, flexible hours, practical skills application, and (apparently) the occasional turkey. Without boring you with the details Danielle returned home from work one day as a +1; she brought us a friend in a green wrapper.

“Where’d you get the turkey?” says I.

“From work!” says she.

Me: “They give out turkeys at hospitals now? Maybe I should have read Obamacare.”

Danielle: “No, silly. Just this once.”

Well! I’ve never been one to turn down free things, so we happily pushed aside the Hot Pockets and toaster waffles to make room for it in our freezer, promising ourselves we would both educate and prepare ourselves for the day when we wanted not just to eat, but also to prepare an entire 13 pound turkey.

Fast forward to last night: I’m at work and Danielle texts me asking about sweet potatoes, stuffing, or some other delicious nonsense. Being as busy as I am, I don’t have time to properly process what she means. By the end of the night it’s largely forgotten. Until today.

We get home from church around 12:15pm and Danielle asks me to get the turkey ready to cook. Uh… Ok. So I check the freezer.

Any mother reading this who’s hosted Thanksgiving should now be laughing and realize I’m in over my head. Fortunately my wife has been blessed not only with good looks and intelligence, but also incredible foresight. She had the turkey in the fridge several days ago in preparation for today. Golly do I love that gal.

The instructions on the wrapper offer a meager table of cooking times and little else. I want food, and I’m presented with math. You’re a terrible person, Jenny-O. Nowhere am I instructed as to the handling of giblets or turkey necks. To The Oracle!

Google, how do you cook a turkey? Also (in text), Mom, how do you cook a turkey? It’s a one-two punch to ignorance. Ba-bam!

Oh sweet nectar of the internet (nectarnet?), which nourishes our feeble minds and builds us up where we are lacking. We’re saved by countless recipes and pieces of advice for how exactly to cook our bird. Mom’s advice was priceless as well, though necessarily brief and intermittent as she was attending her own church services 1,000 miles away.

Step one is to remove the neck and the giblets. Giblets, for those of you who don’t know, is a euphemism for “bag of nasty bits.” Possibly also an acronym for “Gosh, I Bet Lucifer Enjoys This Stuff.” We remove the neck, which spurs a discussion on the various attributes of avian spinal anatomy and tempted us with the prospect of an impromptu post-mortem examination on our upcoming meal. We decided to forego the autopsy and continue with the task at hand. Giblets. Hmmm… giblets, giblets, giblets…

Me: “Honey, I can’t find the giblets.”

Wife: “Aren’t they in the big hole?”

Me: “I checked and they weren’t in there.”

Both: “Mom, we can’t find the giblets.”

{The "big hole"}

While waiting for a reply we held a surprising conversation on the possibility of a preemptive, factory-supplied giblet removal. Is it possible to have a turkey with no giblets? Maybe ours has been degibletized. Un-gibbelated. He received an unexpected gibblectomy late in life. Perhaps he was born gibless.

Momma Dorius: “Did you check the other end?”

Pause.

Classic sitcom look-reaction as we both stare in consternation at the bird.

Me: “There’s another end?”

So we dive into a hesitant probing of this “other end.” I see the point from which the neck was severed, I see a sad little skin flap, and I see turkey shoulders. Why would she think anything would be in the other end? Good thing Danielle has the eyes of an eagle and the stomach of a sword-swallower because without wasting a moment she dug into "the other end" and properly identified the “sad little skin flap” as the gate to the city of New Gibbleton. We chuck the offending bag-o-bits post haste because, let’s be honest, we simply aren’t up for the double adventure of cooking a turkey and learning to make giblet gravy. We have packets for that. Happy little 2 for $1 packets of gravy that even I would be hard-pressed to screw up. Out with the giblets and on with the show!

{The "other end"}

After a little salt & pepper followed by an oil rub, our bird is finally relaxed enough to go into the oven. And that’s where we stand: a couple of hours into this whole process with a totally unknown outcome. Will we have turkey tonight? Will it be dry? What if the gravy doesn’t complement the flavor of our main dish? Will it be edible at all?

Next time, I’m voting for Hot Pockets. Hot Pockets don't have giblets.