Burnt Turkey
My happy place is at my Grandma’s house. Grandma’s house is for laughter, fun, family, love, stories, and eating. Except on Thanksgiving. The month of November is the most stressful for my Grandma. She buys the biggest, most expensive bird on the internet and has it special-delivered to her house. She buys a new turkey thermometer each year, thinking it will change the entire dynamic of Thanksgiving. She sets up her dining table at least two weeks in advance to ensure that everything will be ready. And she makes sure to remind the family of what they are bringing with email chains that could compose a cookbook of their own. She's crazy. But she embodies the kind of love I strive to have when I am 75.
There is an unspoken rule in our family of 21; that you tell Grandma that it’s the best turkey yet, even though it progressively gets worse each year. I smile and nod, and tell Grandma that the new $200 turkey thermometer from Williams-Sonoma really does work! And even though the house smells like burnt bird, I tell her the candles smell fantastic and they remind me of cookies in the oven. I shelter Grandma’s feelings by moving the candles away from the flowers -reminding everyone of the incident that happened back in ‘09 - when she isn’t looking. And I substitute Grandma’s cranberry sauce with store bought cranberry sauce when she is putting on her makeup just before the rest of my family gets there. When dinner finally rolls around, we pray as a family, and wait while my father and my uncle carve the turkey, exposing its charcoaled, dry insides. Gross. Did you know mint jelly reduces the foul taste of