(From the archives and back by popular demand)
Okay, Randyman...You. Asked. For. It. (Randyman wanted me to write a food review, so I am choosing to write about my worst, yet most memorable Thanksgiving meal.)
The year was 1970 and I was at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. All of my roommates were leaving for the holiday, so I decided to stay and make Thanksgiving dinner there and invite my family and a few friends. Let me set the stage by saying that I was 20 and doing a lot of drugs. A hit of acid a day keeps reality away. That's all you really need to know. The stage is now set.
Okay...I had plenty of time to prepare. I made candles. Don't ask me why, but if I told you that I also made a tie-dyed tablecloth from a sheet, maybe that would explain the candles? I had no perception of proportions, or timing...or anything, for that matter. But I was determined to make this happen.
Now, Mothers who have cooked endlessly for decades...they know. What do they know? They know when their son is waaayyy over his head. So, being the thoughtful Mother she was, she showed up at my place 4 days before The Dinner with a gargantuan turkey. Over 20 pounds, I think. I don't remember, but it was big.
But, even a Mother's wisdom falls short from time-to-time. Her only instruction was to defrost it for 72 hours. "Don't forget, now!"
What do I know? 3 days before The Dinner, I followed her instructions and took the doomed turkey out of the freezer and...and...(I have a hard time confessing this)...and PLACED IT ON THE COUNTER NEXT TO THE FRIDGE..
I walked pass it many times over the next 3 days; once in a while giving it a little poke. Yep...she was defrosting! I'm halfway there. Patience. Patience.
Well the Big Day had finally arrived and I was ready to do the deed. I was armed and dangerous with my aluminum pan and plastic baster. I immediately knew that something was wrong the moment I slit her open with a knife...WHEWWWWWWEEEEEE! Damn, girl! What CHOOO been eating? I took a peek then picked up the phone and called my Mom. "Mom?"
"How's everything going?"
"Well, I have a question about the turkey." (This is supposed to be a Mother's finest moment, right? Son calls to ask for advice. The very moment they all fantasize about.)
"Well, Mom. Does the "gray" go away when you cook it?" Silence.
"Where's the turkey?"
"Right here on the counter."
"And how long has it been sitting there?"
"Three days".
"Throw it out. Right now. I'll take care of it."
I didn't ask her HOW she was gonna 'take care of it', but I did take the bird outside and threw her in the garbage dumpster. We had lots of cats in that neighborhood and By the time I got back upstairs, I could hear the sounds:
whooooooooooOOOOOOOOOO! whooooooooooOOOOOOOOOO!
I looked over the balcony and saw half a dozen cats leaping out of the dumpster...running for their lives...Need I say more?
My Mom showed-up early with an entire prepared meal that she begged a local restaurant to put together for her on short notice. We threw out all of the packaging and plated it up for serving and no one had a clue except me and my Mom. (Well, actually, I had no clue, to tell you the truth.)
So, Randyman, this review is for you. It was not written to tell you how to make a Thanksgiving meal. It was written to tell you how NOT to make a Thankgiving meal. BTW...my Mom brought chicken that night. And I can't remember how it tasted.
And don't do drugs.
