There’s a twenty pound turkey in my basement freezer and it’s making me nervous.
The P-Dawg and I are hosting Thanksgiving for the first time this year. It’s been awhile since we made a turkey, the last time being for the V-meister’s first birthday party. I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
We started discussing the turkey last Thursday.
P-Dawg: “We have twenty minutes to kill before the parent teacher conference. Do you want to stop at Heinen’s and buy a turkey?”
Rima: “I’m not sure if I’m ready yet. Also, it seems risky. What if it goes bad in the car? Should we take it into the parent-teacher conference with us?”
P-Dawg: “Forget it. Just buy one when you do the grocery shopping next week.”
On Monday morning, I went to the grocery store and marched up to the Butterball turkey display. The turkeys all looked pretty much the same, so I picked a medium sized bird off the top and was about to lob it into my cart when I noticed that other customers were inspecting the turkeys much more closely, turning them this way and that, discarding the unacceptable ones, and digging into the bottom of the vat for more, better turkeys.
I decided my turkey wasn’t good enough. I mean, I hadn’t even smelled it.
I put the turkey back and picked up another one, much bigger. I turned it over and looked at the expiration date. It was November 25th, which seemed a little cocky. I sniffed the turkey and made sure it had two legs, then knocked it up against the side of the bin a couple of times. Seemed OK.
The turkey weighed twenty pounds. I wheeled it up to the checkout lane and hoisted it on the conveyor.
“Cooking for a crowd this year, I see” the cashier said to me, and I began to wonder. Is my turkey too big? Does the cashier know something about this turkey that I do not? Will I have to wake up at four AM to cook it? Should I start de-frosting it now?
The turkey is keeping me up at night.
I hope it turns out OK.Subscribe to the blog. (It's free!)