It’s a big week in my kitchen. As you all know , I’m taking on the task of turkey cookin‘ for the first time. It’s something I have avoided for years. In fact, during the days leading up to Thanksgiving in 2011, my daughter Alaine specifically wanted to cook a turkey. We weren’t even going to be home for the Thursday feast so I’m not sure why she was asking me to cook the bird. But regardless of why she was asking, I distinctly remember saying this dumb thing that just stuck and became an inside joke. I emphatically said, “Listen here. I ain’t fittin’ to cook the turkey.”
Yes I know. Poor grammar. Yes I know it’s dumb. Yes I’m aware that no one else thinks that’s funny. Yes I am aware that something is wrong with me. I know. I know outside of Alaine and I no one will understand how funny that dumb phrase still is. And believe me I’ve said far crazier things than that. But that’s beside the point.
Anyway, I said that probably a hundred times over the course of the Thanksgiving holiday. Ok years later I’m still saying it. When I think something is funny, I kinda can’t let it drop. Yes, it’s a character flaw. I even had that phrase printed on a free notebook from Vistaprint. You think I’m joking… I’m not. It was funny. (Screenshot from actual order history included here to prove it.)
But here we are in 2020 and I am, in fact, fittin’ to cook the turkey. (I guess I need a new notebook. ) Mostly still in shock from the realization that I’m about to do the turkey thing, we made the trip to Publix to select our bird. They only had 10 lb and 20 lb options. Nothing in between. And I had done the turkey math and knew the size I needed. Of course, not having that size is all a part of the plan to frustrate newbies. But I was not going to let this size thing stop me. So I went with the big one. I figure part of that weight is legs and wings and we aren’t gonna eat that anyway, so it will be fine.
Now that the bird is home, I have gone over the process and created a spreadsheet of steps (also not kidding). I have the tools, the seasonings and a platter for the finished product. This thing better look like a Norman Rockwell painting when it’s done.
The bird is currently thawing. I named him Thaddeus. And when Thad is ready to be prepped for cooking, I am leaving the house. Yes, I’m leaving. I have chosen to believe that I have a special “ick-free” Butterball turkey. So at the point where that belief will be challenged by the hubby’s use of the tongs, I will be safely removed to the comfort of my car. I’m quite certain there will be a forgotten ingredient or some urgent matter across town requiring my attention. I will return when and only when Thad is cleared for seasoning.
Here we go. The countdown is on. T-minus 60 something hours till GO time in operation Turkeygate. Now, y’all just keep your stories of exploding turkeys, frozen turkeys, tur-duck-ins and all other fowl things to yourself. I gotta focus. Let’s do this turkey thing!
Oh and Honeyyyy – get the extra long tongs out for Thursday morning. Then we have to burn them.
P.S. I originally spelled tongs incorrectly. I spelled it “thongs”. That’s even funnier.