The Passing of the Turkey

I wonder if Mama turkeys tell their baby turkeys the facts of life. If they do, it probably goes something like this:

"Now, young Tom, I've got some information you need to know. Let's sit down here in the roost and talk about your future. When your gobbling days are done, you're headed for a chopping block, an oven and a big, fancy platter. So, get used to it. Then, a bunch of two-legged someone's are gonna plop around a table, accented with lit candles and fine wine, say their grace and gobble you up.

"Afterward, while you're moiling around inside that dark chamber, vying with those potatoes, yams, stuffing, beans, turnips, pickles, olives, celery sticks, rolls and jelly, shrimp, fruit salad, cranberries, squash and pumpkin pie with whipped cream for your personal space, you can count on hearing a few groans and belches at either chamber door. I'm not gonna tell you what happens after that cuz I wouldn't want to depress you. Just enjoy life while you can."

So, without letting the turkeys in on it, I've got to talk about the next few days as we humans in our family celebrate the great "passing of the turkey." Today, there's a 17-pounder sitting and thawing in a Seattle apartment overlooking Lake Union. It's called Butterball. Butterball was carefully selected by my daughter Annie and her friend Rachel last week as they shopped for the big turkey day ahead.

Since Butterball's demise on the farm and eventual move to the Seattle apartment, much information has passed back and forth through cyberspace. Mama Love, like Mama Turkey, has been sharing the facts of cooking the Thanksgiving Feast with Annie, Debbie and anyone else who's gonna be stirring the pots in that apartment kitchen on Thursday.

A gentle reminder sped instantly from my computer to hers yesterday morning with hopes that the timing was right to inform her to start thawing the turkey today. Most pressing, however, was the essential reminder to reach inside the cavity and pull out that sack of yucky lookin' stuff called giblets.

Though this Mama Love has never cooked the giblets and that paper sack with the turkey, her Mother Tibbs did long ago. And, I know also from a recent conversation that my friend, Mama Puckett, did too. Methinks they were not alone in the great"first-time-ya-cook-a-turkey" snafu, and me also thinks that maybe their daughters benefitted from this knowledge. Therefore, me thought it wise to share the knowledge of "getting those giblets out BEFORE the roast" to yet another generation.

In this great passing of the turkey, Mama Love has received telephone calls of great culinary curiosity. These calls have come from owners of hungry internal chambers, most concerned with how it's all gonna taste come Thursday and if there's gonna be enough food at the 8th Avenue Love Inn.

That would be young William, who wants his turkey cooked properly and his ample stuffing to taste just like Grandma's. He received reassurance that Grandma's recipe would be sent over Snoqulamie Pass and that he could do his couch potato responsibilities of watching those football games with no concerns about stuffing quality.

An additional query came in this telephone call.

"Now, what are you going to be Thursday during the day?" he asked. To which, I read between the lines, and assured him that I'd be on hand, should any new cooks need advice or guidance in that apartment kitchen. This passing of tradition from one generation to another comes with a sense of apprehension for just how the entire culinary operation will turn out on this maiden voyage for the young cooks.

I do not worry, though, because I do know that for generations, all turkey cooks have done their best not to spoil the broth and then when it's all over, those stomach chambers enjoying the fruits of their labors have continued the age-old tradition of expanding beyond the norm and causing discomfort enough for their overstuffed owners to groan and then ask, "Why did I eat so much?"

I'm looking forward to the passing of the turkey this Thanksgiving, 2005. I'll be pleased when the day comes a few years down the line as Mama turkeys continue to pass on facts of life to their gobbling babies and when Annie and Debbie are reminding yet another generation, "Make sure you remove the giblets."