We host Thanksgiving at our house, and this year was no different. I normally cook a 16- 18-pound turkey, along with a ham. However, some of my family was going to go elsewhere, and I knew that there would be a ton of leftovers if I cooked that much food. Matt and I decided that we’d go with a larger bird and save the ham for Sunday dinner. Since he was going out, I asked him to pick one up.
What he came home with was a 25-pound turkey that looked like something Fred Flintstone would eat. I’ve never seen a bird that large. Thankfully, we have an extra refrigerator, but I had to take a few shelves out in order to accommodate the monstrosity.
The night before Thanksgiving, I wrestled the turkey up the stairs. After a combination of step, lift, thump, followed by yanking and pulling, I finally managed to get it up the stairs; then I dragged it to my kitchen. I had to sit down for a minute to get some air before I was able to tackle the job of getting it in my sink.
After a few tries, I got the bird up and into the sink, where I began to remove the wrapper. When I finally freed the turkey, I realized that it wasn’t quite thawed. The outside was fine, but the packet of giblets was still stuck to the cavity. I considered just sticking the thing in the oven, and hope for the best. Fortunately, I realized that plastic is not now, nor should it ever be, part of the Thanksgiving dinner. I came up with a plan.
I turned the faucet on full force and directed the spray at the plastic coated giblets. After a few minutes, I stuck my hand in the turkey to jiggle the package.
I probably shouldn’t have jiggled as what resulted could be considered by some as a minor debacle. My family, however, is used to my ding bat antics; nothing surprises them anymore.
As I was yanking and pulling at the package, the combination of a wet sink, slippery turkey, ill-advised plan and a Lucy, culminated into Thanksgiving chaos.
The turkey was perched precariously in the sink to begin with as I began to wrestle with it. In the blink of an eye, the turkey flipped up, flew off my hand, slid across the counter, did an Olympic worthy flip as it bounced across the stove, landed on the floor, and ricocheted off the wall.
The sound alerted the dogs, who came running to see what was going on. Their timing couldn’t have been better, as the turkey had just flown into the hall. They, of course, thought it was play time and the chase was on. They lunged at the bird, causing it to pick up more speed, rounded a corner, and, almost in slow motion, tumbled down the stairs.
I stood at the top of the stairs with two dogs at my side, looking down at the place where the turkey had finally landed. At this point, it almost looked like it was alive, as during its journey it had picked up animal fur and a bit of dirt from the floor that was going to be my next project after prepping the turkey.
The commotion caused the kids and Matt to run into the hall, and they followed my gaze to the 25-pound beast. I was as close to an all out Lucy wail as I’ve ever been in my life.
With Matt’s help, a glass (or three) of wine and a few hours later, we had that bird in the roaster and back into the fridge. The next day, the turkey actually turned out beautifully. Although, I admit, there were a few spots where the previous nights’ activities had taken off pieces of skin. After everything that happened, I was grateful that was the only visible evidence of the previous night’s shenanigans.
Blessedly, we had an uncharacteristically calm Thanksgiving dinner. Although I admit, I kept eyeballing the turkey, waiting for the other shoe to drop. With me, you never can tell.
I hope you had a wonderful, peaceful, but most importantly, uneventful Thanksgiving!
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