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Thanksgiving Chuckle
- By Shawnee Olson
- Published 11/27/2009
- Commentary
- Unrated
Once upon a time . . . in a far off town called Harrah, a cowboy and an Indian and their families got ready for Thanksgiving. Okay, sorry, I couldn’t help it. But really, the story I’m about to tell you took place in 1997 in Harrah.
Rick and I were still in our early 20s when he and his brothers and dad had gone hunting. I really don’t remember much about his trip, just that he got his turkey and was extremely proud of it.
Since they had been camping he didn’t have a very good way to store the bird. They ended up wrapping it in a garbage bag and stuffing it in the very small freezer they had.
He brought home his turkey and I took the garbage bag and threw it in the freezer. I wasn’t a very good cook then and didn’t realize I should have done a little more then just toss it in as-is.
On Thanksgiving Day I pulled the turkey out of the freezer to thaw. Whoops, it got freezer burn. Guess I should have wrapped it better. I ran the bird under warm water to thaw it out to cook. (What was I thinking?)
Since I didn’t bother looking at it before now I’m noticing it still has some pin feathers poking up, part of the breast has been blown away and the feet are still on it. I really shouldn’t have been handling this job and looking back I shudder to think of this. Then I usually laugh.
So I’m looking at this pitiful turkey and decide “Eh, why not?” So I stuffed him into a pan that was too small with pin feathers still visible and feet still attached. The lid wouldn’t go over his feet, which were not nicely folded up; they were sticking straight out as if he were stretching. “No matter,” I think to myself, and pushed him into the oven.
Oh, believe it or not, this was the second time I cooked Thanksgiving dinner. The first time was pretty bad too, but I’ll save that story for another year.
A few hours later I’m covered in potatoes, gravy, flour, pie and turkey juice. I was tired. It’s hard to put a big meal like that together when you have no idea what you’re doing, and doing everything backwards or wrong in the process.
The turkey is ready, kind of. I gave up basting it halfway through because his feet were really creeping me out. We set the table, complete with candles and pretty plates. Everything else looked alright, perhaps edible. It was hard to screw up frozen veggies, frozen rolls, jell-o and cranberry sauce.
There, in the middle of our table, was a turkey still in the pan, with a jagged half breast, feathers still on his wings and feet stretched out towards the heavens. None of us gave him a try, he was purely decorative.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Rick and I were still in our early 20s when he and his brothers and dad had gone hunting. I really don’t remember much about his trip, just that he got his turkey and was extremely proud of it.
Since they had been camping he didn’t have a very good way to store the bird. They ended up wrapping it in a garbage bag and stuffing it in the very small freezer they had.
He brought home his turkey and I took the garbage bag and threw it in the freezer. I wasn’t a very good cook then and didn’t realize I should have done a little more then just toss it in as-is.
On Thanksgiving Day I pulled the turkey out of the freezer to thaw. Whoops, it got freezer burn. Guess I should have wrapped it better. I ran the bird under warm water to thaw it out to cook. (What was I thinking?)
Since I didn’t bother looking at it before now I’m noticing it still has some pin feathers poking up, part of the breast has been blown away and the feet are still on it. I really shouldn’t have been handling this job and looking back I shudder to think of this. Then I usually laugh.
So I’m looking at this pitiful turkey and decide “Eh, why not?” So I stuffed him into a pan that was too small with pin feathers still visible and feet still attached. The lid wouldn’t go over his feet, which were not nicely folded up; they were sticking straight out as if he were stretching. “No matter,” I think to myself, and pushed him into the oven.
Oh, believe it or not, this was the second time I cooked Thanksgiving dinner. The first time was pretty bad too, but I’ll save that story for another year.
A few hours later I’m covered in potatoes, gravy, flour, pie and turkey juice. I was tired. It’s hard to put a big meal like that together when you have no idea what you’re doing, and doing everything backwards or wrong in the process.
The turkey is ready, kind of. I gave up basting it halfway through because his feet were really creeping me out. We set the table, complete with candles and pretty plates. Everything else looked alright, perhaps edible. It was hard to screw up frozen veggies, frozen rolls, jell-o and cranberry sauce.
There, in the middle of our table, was a turkey still in the pan, with a jagged half breast, feathers still on his wings and feet stretched out towards the heavens. None of us gave him a try, he was purely decorative.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!