i did what to that turkey?
let it be known that while i might not be a kitchen genius, i can follow a recipe like it’s nobody’s business.
that being said… handling raw turkeys is really, really gross. just thinking back to it… ugh. the extremities move when you flip it around. it’s like handling some kind of odd, not cute baby that’s missing its head. (aside: the package said, “may be missing pieces” and i was like… DUH)
we had some friends over last night and i decided, for some reason, i would be brave and roast a turkey. why? who knows? (why is grass green? why does my cats breath smell like death?) i made someone else handle the last one. i’m surprised i was able to suppress my gag reflex for so long…
“lather the cavity with lemon juice, then rub with a generous amount of salt.” first of all, how the hell do you lather with lemon juice? secondly, where the hell am i supposed to stick my hand? how have people been doing this for so long and maintaining their dignity? i guess as long as no one is watching in your most shameful moments…
this guy came sans one wing (yes, the package was accurate in its assumption), so i decided to nickname him tiny tim. can’t you imagine him, hobbling around the turkey corral on his little crutch. that really brought out the christmas spirit in everyone.
after violating this poor thing, seductively smearing it with as much butter as i could possibly manage, exfoliating it with salt and drenching it in olive oil, i popped it in my tiny (tim-sized!) oven, and bob’s your uncle – several hours later we were blessed with a delicious feast fit for a very small municipality.
what i’m saying is… the turkey was edible. isn’t that enough?