The Tale of the Turkey

How was your Thanksgiving? Robert was home, so ours was perfect—except for the fire and all.

We had a little trouble with our ancient turkey fryer equipment. The first signs of a problem were the hissing sound and smell of gas in the air on the porch. There was a broken O-ring on the hose that connected the propane tank to the burner. Jim quickly replaced the O-ring, fired up the burner, and came inside to give the oil in the fryer a little time to heat up while he watched some football.

After a few minutes he went outside to check the temperature of the oil and discovered the propane hose had now separated from the burner and was on fire. As anyone who ever prepared a Thanksgiving dinner knows, an hour and a half before dinner is not a great time to discover that you can’t cook the turkey. Never mind the fact that the flaming hose was still attached to a full can of propane gas.

I had timed everything to perfection. While Jim and Robert worked on the outdoor Christmas lights, I pulled the turkey out of the fridge at 1400 and set it in the kitchen sink. After rinsing and drying, I injected that baby with a mixture of Shiner Holiday Cheer beer and a little Tabasco sauce. It sounded dangerous to me, but Jim’s hairdresser swore by it. Jim was to start heating the oil at 1430; it would reach 350 degrees sometime between 1515 and 1530, at which time the 13.8 pound turkey would go into the oil. Forty-eight minutes and twenty seconds later, the turkey would be done. After resting for 30 minutes, Jim could carve the beast and we would sit down to eat at 1700 (5:00 pm for non-airline/military types). Unfortunately, faulty outdoor Christmas lights and football on TV was too great a diversion for Chef Jim.

After taking care of the potential propane bomb, we fired up the BBQ grill, set the huge pot of peanut oil on the grate, and prayed that the grill would not collapse under the weight of three gallons of oil and a 13.8 pound turkey—and that the oil would heat up. It did. A half-hour later the turkey went sizzling into the hot oil and forty-eight minutes and twenty seconds later Jim brought a beautifully done turkey into the kitchen to rest.

Eventually, everything was under control and dinner was served—only an hour and a half late. That really wasn’t too bad considering the “little snags.” Also, it seems my son had told his friends “Don’t be late because my mom goes a little crazy over Thanksgiving dinner.” What crazy?! I had announced that dinner would be served at 5:00 pm. I had everything under control. Both of my son’s friends had arrived by 4:00 pm to ensure that I did not go crazy. And I did my very best to appear totally calm and in control, (the wine helped). Does anybody know if Golden Corral is open on Christmas?

Happy Holidays!
Donna