Cooking the carcass

Thanksgiving falls so late this year, it’s like two dinner guests turning up at the same time who shouldn’t, making things awkward. Neighbors were out putting up lights before Thanksgiving even started, and I found myself doing the same.

The landscaping crew was here, strategizing how to tackle each area of the yard, speaking in stern tones as if a military campaign. Torch this, torch that…cover that with visqueen, burn it out.

I got out the manger scene and asked Charlotte if she knew who the baby was, and she did. I placed the wise men and the camel and the others at the right angle so their eyes all looked like they were focused on the center, on the baby. It always brings out the vandal in me, a dark need to corrupt the scene by swapping out the baby with something irreverent, like Yoda.

We sit on the couch in the morning with bed head and Lily picks the glitter out of my beard, like a family of baboons.

I hold the raw turkey heart out at Lily and say look, that’s the heart: then toss it with the vegetables in the bottom of the pan. The turkey has been air-drying in the fridge longer than it should because I jumped the gun with the whole brine setup.

It fills the house with the scent of roasted vegetables, pan drippings, butter. The setup is always better than the delivery. We stuff the carcass in a bag in the fridge and I’ll cook it down this afternoon.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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8 Responses to Cooking the carcass

  1. rossmurray1 says:

    Yoda.
    If you’re like me, you probably felt a bit of relief that Charlotte knew who the star attraction was, but not necessarily for reasons of faith and Christianity. I want my children to have a basic grounding in Biblical knowledge so they can properly parse the likes of T.S. Elliot and Ezra Pound. You can’t really watch “Platoon” properly either.
    I’m cooking a turkey this weekend. We scooped it down at Shaw’s in Vermont two weeks ago when they were on sale, with no intention of celebrating no galldurned Thanksgiving with it. Blasphemy.

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    • pinklightsabre says:

      That’s awesome! I like the James beard technique of going high heat, and because it lets me say “flip the bird.” Tu-huh, huh. Fallis!

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      • rossmurray1 says:

        One of the reasons I like grocery shopping in Vermont is because the portions of everything are always bigger, including cuts of meat. There’s nothing like standing in the meat aisle, holding up some poultry and calling out, “Look at these huge breasts!” Mature…

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      • pinklightsabre says:

        Never grow up. I love it. We used to crank call Kentucky fried chicken the same way, and ask “how big are your breasts?”

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      • rossmurray1 says:

        My crazy old friend, the late Malcolm Stone, used to tell of walking up to women in Montreal and muttering very quickly, “Tickle your ass with a feather?” “Pardon me!” they’d say. “Particularly nasty weather,” he’d reply.

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      • pinklightsabre says:

        That’s gold! Gord’s Gold!

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  2. ksbeth says:

    sounds good, like settling in for a long winter’s nap. all holidays collide into a perfect explosion of color and confetti.

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  3. Glynis Jolly says:

    Why in the world do you want to vandalize the nativity scene? Where you one of those awful kids in the neighborhood when you were growing up? I hope you restrain yourself these days.

    Like

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