I know Thanksgiving is a long ways off, but I was reminded yesterday of the worst Thanksgiving holiday I ever experienced and I had to share.
This was several years ago. I was perhaps 10 or 11. My aunt had agreed to cook the holiday turkey dinner. She purchased a rather large bird and we set off on the long drive to her house. Now my older sister was more than skeptical of my aunt’s cooking. So much so that she downed an entire box of Keebler Townhouse crackers on the way there in case the food was inedible. My mother chastised her. My other sister and I laughed and said there would be more for us.
If only we had heeded her warning.
My aunt had neglected to put the bird in the oven. How one can forget that the 20 lb. bird on their counter is beyond me, but she did. She realized her faux pas when we were perhaps 40 minutes from her house. Just as nine women cannot give birth to a baby in a month, a turkey cannot be cooked faster by cranking the oven to 500Â°F for an hour, but my aunt gave it a go anyway.
An interesting thing happens to turkey when cooked at clay-firing temperatures. It becomes a regulation NFL football. Sure, the insignia and stitching are missing, but crack off the drumsticks and you can throw a perfect spiral.