Just as those who fish for a hobby always have some "fishy" story to relate, it suddenly occurred to me that with Christmas right around the corner, many are the "turkey" stories that abound in my own immediate family.
Years and years ago, I proudly accepted the task of baking the turkey for Rockets Hockey Club's Christmas dinner. After all, a Home Economics teacher who was a member of the club had once praised the presentation of my baked Christmas Ham, which she said looked like something out of the Home and Family Magazine complete with its perfect glaze, diagonal cuts and clove inserts. Knowing that the turkey was on par with the ham, always looked good and was moist because an American aunt had instructed that the turkey must be covered with strips of bacon which drip slowly into the bird as it bakes taking away the dryness of the turkey, I happily offered to bake same.
The turkey was baked and taken out of the oven, waiting to be sliced by my spouse (No 1) who always did things in his own time, when a chopping noise sent me flying into the kitchen, only to find my helper with Chinese chopper in hand dissecting the large bird along the lines of a jointed chinese chicken. Thank God, she had only dejointed the legs, thighs and wings, and had not started in on the breasts or there would have been no thin slices of white meat.
Then about eight years ago, it was time for my younger sister-in-law to have a go at the turkey, instead of the macaroni pie or salad with which she had so far been entrusted. Sounds like the "Joy Luck Club", a movie where the Chinese mothers who had emigrated to the United States from the motherland, tried to carry on all the old-country traditions with their American-born daughters. "Fine" said junior sister-in-law "no problem at all." Meeting her on Christmas Eve night, the elders, like myself, enquired if the turkey had been properly seasoned and ready for the oven.
"Oh Yes" she gushed "I have stabbed it all over and stuffed in pieces of ginger. "Ginger" was the incredible cry from those of us who had been seasoning turkeys with a mixture of thymes and chive over the years. "Ginger is not for turkey, it is not Chinese chicken and you do not stab a turkey all over that is for roast beef" we harangued. "Well it seasoned already and I aint removing all those pieces of ginger" was the younger lady's very cool reply.
To this day she recalls that by the time she arrived on Christmas night (a little later than the appointed time) there was hardly a piece of turkey left for my brother and herself. And she has never seasoned her turkey without ginger.
Two years ago, a new son-in-law joined the family and the job of the turkey was given to that couple. Arriving for dinner, it was immediately noticeable that we had a one-legged turkey. Hustling into the kitchen I asked incredulously "is that turkey diabetic and an amputee. Why does it only have one leg."
The son-in-law in question, nor his wife (my third daugher) never answered but second daughter who is very fussy about food presentation, very quickly informed me with disbelief in her voice, as well, that our new relative liked legs and for fear that too many other people were of the same persuasion had eaten his before bringing it to the dinner. This year, the couple has offered to supply the turkey. But my boy has been warned that by now he will have noticed that none of us in this family like turkey legs and so we would very much appreciate a two-legged bird be presented, with fullest assurance that he can definitely have both legs.
Then there was the time that my youngest brother who worked in the Point Lisas estate, and would start his Christmas visiting right after leaving work at mid-day on Christmas Eve by journeying into deep south, moving into the east/west corridor before coming into town and finally Diamond Vale where he lived, was given a ham, this time, on the Friday as Christmas would fall in the middle of the coming week.
At the end of an overly satisfying Friday evening lime, he who is absent-minded at the best of times, locked his car at the end of his meandered way home, in the wee hours of the next day, "full of liquors" as he would say; then proceeded to travel back and forth between north and south on both Saturday and Sunday, when late Sunday night his wife went to put something into the trunk of the car and realised that the ham had been driving back and forth locked in the hot trunk. Needless to say, not even the pet dog could be fed the ham.
I also seem to vaguely remember before the days of the refrigerator, the turkey was baked very late at night and left standing on the kitchen counter to cool, ready to be sliced early Christmas morning. On this "turkey" occasion, by the time the stuffing was removed, a pre- requisite to prepare for slicing, an insect of sorts had meandered its way into the stuffing and either stifled or cooked to death. The entire bowl of delicious stuffing found its way into the dog's bowl and we enjoyed a stuffing-less Christmas lunch as my mother was certainly not whomping up a new set of stuffing.
Hope readers will try wrapping their turkeys in bacon. I promise you the most moist meat, and as well this removes the necessity to wrap the bird in foil. If you still place the foil lightly over the turkey, you will have to remove it about half an hour before completion for the sake of browning.