~A Thanksgiving Story~

   

    As a devoted wife and mother, I have always been quite busy around Thanksgiving. I would bake those pecan and pumpkin pies and lay them out on the dessert table. Prying eyes of festive feeders always peeped into the kitchen to attempt a glimpse of a recipe’s secret ingredient.

    This particular Thanksgiving nightmare took place when I realized one of my turkeys had been stolen off my back porch, aka autumn auxiliary refrigeration system. I also noticed bear footprints leading away from the porch, however, that’s another strange story. It was the day before the big feast, when scores of people were expected for dinner. I threw on my clothes and headed to the local store hoping to find the stray turkey or two left in the cooler.

    I was not shocked to find out that only slim pickings in the plucked feathered friend department remained for my purchase. Thus, I resolved to try other stores for just the right sized, plump, and perfect turkey to add next to its comrade on the dinner table. Twenty minutes later, at store number four, I found the one. It was a pleasing, portly poultry, holiday treat, just waiting for me to take it home. The turkey was way at the bottom and looked like it was over twenty pounds, The label seemed faded from lying under all the first turkeys to go over the past several days. So, that’s it? My story ends? No, of course not! My lovely turkey, re-weighed and priced at the meat counter, all luscious twenty-four pounds of it, was still frozen solid. There was no way this birdzilla was going to thaw out overnight.

~~Mama’s got a plan!~~

    After hours of giving that creature a cold-water bath to coax it to thaw, I had a flash of genius. I cautiously approached the great hot pot, about to be slow cooker, quick thaw device,-- the hot tub! I thought carefully about my next step. Could I actually pull this devious plan off without poisoning my guests? Oh, what’s a little stomach ache among friends, right?

    It’s three a.m., and under the cover of darkness, I crept over to the hot tub and turned on those jets. I hoped I would not wake up the house while I attempted to try the unusual turkey recipe that was made up as I went along. I placed “Tom” into a fishnet I had used as a pool house decoration and then tossed it into the warm rushing waters. Hey, I figured the plastic covering around the turkey would act as one of those oven bake bags that were all the rage at the time. Meanwhile, not to let all those inviting warm jets go to waste, I joined the turkey in the hot tub. It was lovely! I held a rum spiked eggnog in my hand and just relaxed and let the pool of warmth do its thing.

    In approximately one hour, the turkey looked a little sweated and ready for step number two. I dried off and walked over to the other side of the hot tub and pulled that poultry filled fishnet straight out of the warm bath. It seemed surprisingly lighter than when it went into the water.

    I quietly returned to the kitchen, the place where every good hostess would find herself in the wee hours of the morning of Thanksgiving. I carefully unwrapped the turkey in the sink and gave it a good wash. I removed the formerly frozen objects from its cavity, and gave the great warm bird a thorough rinsing. The dinner-to-be looked pretty comfortable and ready for stuffing. I made a delicious chestnut, cranberry stuffing, with chopped onions, croutons, and a nice hunk of Irish Butter. It was sautéed with love and shoved into that roomy cavity. It was getting close to five o’clock in the morning by now, and just a perfect time to get both turkeys into the extra large oven. I could differentiate between the two birds because one had  meat stuffing and my “quick thaw” recipe had chestnut stuffing.

    I set the oven to 300 degrees, and headed off to bed for a few hours. Wow, that eggnog was certainly doing its job. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow from all that hot tubbing and rum.

    Morning came softly and smelled so divinely wonderful. Is there anything better than the smell of roasting turkey on Thanksgiving morning? I checked the oven to see how all my labor from the earlier hours fared. The “special roast” looked marvelous. I was satisfied that I pulled off the magic defrost recipe without a hitch.

    Later that day, surrounded by all those fabulous accompaniments, the guests sat down for the holiday feast. The blessing said at the table by some unsuspecting guest, had a bizarrely special meaning to me. The carver carved, and the guests pleaded for more.


    I started noticing that more people were favoring the hot tub turkey over the original roast. My curiosity took over; I decided to try some for myself. After all, we were all in this together, right? Surprisingly, this turkey was the moistest, sweetest, bird I have ever tasted.


    Friends and relatives asked me what I did differently to that particular turkey to make it so yummy. I told them that it was my very special recipe that could never, ever be divulged.


    That stays between us, okay?


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