My First Turkey

This unfortunate event took place a few years ago. I have since redeemed myself by successfully cooking a turkey so I am less embarrassed to share this tale.

About a year after I started learning how to cook, I became interested in traditional holiday meals. I had been sneaking behind my mom while she was cooking during every holiday to add ingredients to her simmering pots and by then she was pretty irritated with me. One day she comes at my door with a large bag.

"It's a turkey," she said.

I thought, what a sweet gesture! This will be a lovely memory...my mother buying me my first turkey to pass on her accumulated culinary wisdom!

"This was really nice of you! Passing the torch; teaching me how to make a turkey!" I gushed.

"No, I brought you a turkey so you would be too busy to experiment with mine," she replied.

Despite the inspiration for the purchase, I was still excited about the turkey. But shortly after I unwrapped the thing it dawned on me that I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Of course, lack-of-knowledge has hardly ever been a deterrent for me in pursuing a project before and it certainly wasn't going to be now. I rinsed the turkey in cold water and put together a marinade. I filled up my flavor injector and headed to the turkey like an inexperienced plastic surgeon administering Botox. After it was injected and rubbed down with herbs I stuck an onion in it and put it in the stove. Twenty minutes into the endeavor, I noticed a strange odor coming from my oven. I pulled the turkey out and after I was unable to determine why my turkey smelled like burning dishwashing liquid, I called my mom.

"Did you clean out the cavity?" she asked.

Clean out the cavity? I never watched my mother deal with a turkey straight-out-of-the-bag before. I assumed that since we lived in a civilized society a turkey seller would deal with unpleasant things like cavity cleaning before they would sell anyone a bird. I flinched at the idea, but after I hung up the phone, I got my nerve to stick my hand in that bird. I pulled out a bag of giblets, but my mom had informed me that I needed to check both ends, so I braced myself to deal with the other end of the turkey. I noticed that when I tried to put an onion into the cavity that it didn't go all the way inside. Removing the onion I took a deep breath and stuck my hand into the cavity.

I cannot put into words the immediate fear I experienced when I discovered that something was in that thing. I pulled out this long, skinned thing. I didn't know what it was, all I know is that it scared the ever-loving hell out of me. So I reacted like any strong, independent person would in such a situation:

I screamed like a little boy as I threw that thing on the ground, then I called my mother.

"There's something gross in my turkey; I'm calling the health department!" I shrieked. "What kind of sick company would put something disgusting like that in a turkey!"

"Sheri," my mother replied calmly, "that is a turkey neck."

My fear-based indignation quickly shifted from Butterball to my mother. I was her daughter...surely there was some sort of maternal loyalty that should have allowed her to warn me that there was grossness in that turkey!

"I thought you just stuck this thing in the stove! You never told me told me I'd have to do surgery!" I borderline shouted.

"I thought you knew you had to clean out the turkey," she replied again in that maddeningly calm tone.

After got off the phone with mom and her smug revenge for tampering with her past holiday meals, I have to confess that for a second that I turned into Dorothy from The Golden Girls and was daydreaming about Shady Pines. But I had to come back to reality. There was still an undercooked turkey sitting the stove and a severed neck on the floor. I picked up the turkey neck with a pair of tongs and threw it in the trashcan outside. The turkey went back into the stove where it stayed for a few hours. I don't remember how it turned out but I do remember that I didn't enjoy any part of cooking it. I gave most of it away but took with me a valuable lesson:

Screw cooking a turkey the traditional way: next time I'm getting one that is small enough to fit in my Showtime rotisserie oven.