Full Disclosure: While I have a master’s degree from the Food Network and an honorary Martha Stewart internship, there is one Mount Everest of the kitchen and entertaining I have yet to summit: the Thanksgiving turkey (or any turkey for that matter). I’ve never had the slightest desire to attempt this feat, although I have been slightly curious. I’ve been content to make all of the side dishes and clean down to the baseboards, with all the gracious hostess zeal I could muster, and happy to have my dear mother-in-law deliver the centerpiece of our meal. This year, though, a hip surgery thrust the turkey duties onto my virgin turkey lap.
Another honest admission: I can not stand when people crowd source on the internet for information they can easily Google. When does Walmart open? Does Target carry kids’ pajamas? When is the Browns’ next game? Dude…no need to ask on Massillon Community Board and get a bunch of wrong answers. Just Google it-you’re already on the internet.
And so…when faced with the daunting task of turkey roasting, I did my due diligence. I listened to podcasts, searched recipes, and heeded the advice of many culinary experts. I figured out when to move the bird from the freezer to the fridge and schooled myself in the importance of seasoning and fat. I even came to terms with the fact that I will need to remove the gross giblets. Seriously, is there a more disgusting word than that?
Still, the responsibility of cooking the most important bird on the day literally nicknamed Turkey Day had me shook. Fears I would suffer the same fate as National Lampoon’s Catherine frayed my kitchen confidence. I needed some assurance; I needed something more than the sound, but cold data my research had uncovered. I took a chance and crafted a quick and (I thought) witty Facebook post:
Friends: I need help. I’m making my very first Turkey Thursday and am a little nervous it will turn out like National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. I’d love any advice, tips, recipes, thoughts, prayers, and incantations you have for me.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the resulting thread was more than I could have possibly anticipated. Reading the comments over the next 24 hours was pure joy. One by one, Facebook friends popped in. Some offered general advice, others full step-by-step recipes. Some expressed empathy and others optimistic encouragement. Some shared their past missteps and others their tried and true successes. Each comment added light, camaraderie, and passion, all nestled in the comfort of an otherwise ordinary, and what many chefs call underwhelming, poultry.
Last confession, I promise: As much as I love the holidays and indulge in entertaining, I often find myself feeling a little empty and lonely. I’m guilty of wallowing in nostalgia and overhyping each holiday experience. I have Martha Stewart ambitions, Clark Griswold expectations, George Bailey regrets, and Cindy Lou Who skepticism. It’s when I’m overstimulated with people and activities that I often feel the most isolated and disconnected.
And…this brings me back to the turkey and the stuffing and the sweet potatoes, pies, vegetables, rolls, and cranberries. I’ve always dreamed of having a home, resources, ability, and time to cook and host a full Thanksgiving dinner. That feat was my holy grail, a confirmation that I had finally made it; I had achieved that Norman Rockwell life I coveted growing up.
While Pete and I have been hosting Thanksgiving for several years now, I’ve never been brave enough to take on the turkey. I started by perfecting my cranberries and then found the most luscious sweet potato souffle recipe. I’ve tackled the mashed potatoes and found green bean and brussels sprouts treatments that will win over any vegetable skeptic. Still, I asked my mother-in-law to handle the elusive star of the table each year.
And so, here I am, a half-thawed turkey taunting me from my refrigerator. A challenge I never wanted to accept. Despite my confidence in my research, I still felt a little alone: solitary as I faced the oddly ordinary, yet terrifying task ahead.
Facebook has been a distraction, a place to vent my frustration, and a venue for showcasing my kids’ accomplishments. This turkey thread, though, surprisingly filled the holiday void that often overcomes me. One by one, the thread unraveled an eclectic and lovely web of family, coworkers, former classmates, and acquaintances who I’m grateful to call my friends.
The advice and support offered mirrored each personality and the varied approaches to the turkey bewitched and amused me.My more patient friends took the time to smoke their birds to perfection, the adventurous ones swore by their fryers, pragmatists used roasters, and traditionalists popped their turkeys in the oven.
I chuckled as I pictured individuals tucking their turkeys in with cheesecloth or bacon blankets, stabbing lemons, injecting brine, massaging carcasses, and gingerly plucking giblets (yes, still flipping gross). We were all united in this turkey tradition, yet the particulars of the task was a diverse tapestry of culinary love.
I was overwhelmed by generous offers of turkey day phone support and personal tried and true methods. I basked in the warm sincerity of kind souls, empathizing with my plight. I often think of my Facebook “friends” as a random network of disconnected people. For whatever reason my sincere, yet silly plea for help revealed something much more wonderful.
And so, as I gather my meat thermometer, brine injector, turkey bag, herbs, and fat, I will approach the foot of Mount Turkey with apprehensive confidence, armed with research, advice, and the loving support manifested by my goofy Facebook. I feel a little less alone and a little more joyful approaching the bird, the day, and the season thanks to a little help from my friends to whom I will be forever grateful.
And…should my inaugural turkey end up less than my vision of perfection, we’ll have plenty of sides and I’ll have plenty of advice for my friends next year.
From my Family to Yours: Happy Thanksgiving and Much Turkey Love