Swamped


It’s Thanksgiving long weekend here in Canada, and I am buried in stuff to do. Last night, we enjoyed the annual deep-fried turkey potluck with some of our friends on my husband’s side. I maintain deep-frying should be a criminal offense when it comes to turkeys, but The Electrician is getting better at it with each passing year. Most of the appeal comes from cooking an entire bird in 45 minutes on the driveway, he says. He still smells like hot grease, sadly, even two showers after the fact. It must be a guy thing, with the propane and the fire and all that jazz.

Tonight we are on our way to Miss Sassy’s 30th birthday party. I offered weeks ago to make the birthday cake, not realizing this would be the center event of a trio of meals for which I need to cook something. The week at school was so bananas that I didn’t get a jump on my Thanksgiving weekend, so I’ve been under serious pressure it get it all done. As soon as the dishwasher is finished, I’m going to cool the bowl for my stand mixer off and whoop up some cream cheese icing for the carrot cupcakes I built this morning. What was originally a full two dozen cupcakes is down to 23. Sherman the cake thief struck again. He is officially not getting any turkey tomorrow.

Finally, the biggest event of our Thanksgiving weekend is the full-on turkey dinner I’m cooking tomorrow, assisted by The Electrician for the heavy lifting. The list of things I need to accomplish between now and zero hour Sunday is rather frightening. In an effort to lighten my load a little bit, I asked The Electrician if we could simplify the meal.

“Sweetie, I’ve been thinking about this big holiday meal thing.”

“Turkey!” he exclaimed, eager for his favourite meal. The boy loves big bird.

“Well, that’s the thing,” I continued, “I can save a huge amount of time if we just order in Swiss Chalet. It comes with cranberry sauce and everything!”

He said nothing for a long time, but the look he gave me was something for the record books. Finally, he said, “Um, love, people will know it’s not turkey. We can’t serve Thanksgiving chicken.”

“I’ve got it all planned out. No problem at all. We’ll just hide the packages and tell people it’s gourmet stuff.”

“Gourmet chicken?”

“Nah. We’ll tell folks it’s something fancy. Exotic pygmy turkey. From Chile.”

The Electrician did not approve. There are times he’s a strict traditionalist. Luckily I have him to help me accomplish my list because I could not hope to finish it alone.

I bought a full-size, standard turkey at Safeway. The thing is not at all exotic, but it’ll probably be tasty as all heck. It’s thawing in the downstairs fridge so I can bone it, stuff it, and roast it tomorrow morning. We’ll have to make fancy miniature Chilean poultry another year.

Come on back tomorrow for my easy tutorial on making a boneless turkey for Thanksgiving. I’m going to be getting all surgical with my poultry shears.

copyright 2012:  http://bluespeckledpup.com

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