Gobbling up the good times!

Sometimes the best family stories aren’t about grand adventures, but those small gestures that capture who we are. I was just remembering a classic moment involving my mother and my husband from way back when BBB and I were first dating.

Bob was serving in the Army and happened to be attending a class in Texas. When he finally made it home a couple of days later, my mom asked if he’d had a Thanksgiving meal. Bob admitted that he and a few buddies had opted out of a turkey dinner in favor of exploring the Lone Star State instead.

“We’ve still got tons of leftovers,” she blurted. Bob, aware of her culinary expertise, piped up “Oh, how about just an open-face turkey sandwich.”
My sister and I had a lifetime of building up to her cooking skills-not so much him.

Her secret ingredient for everything was… Wesson oil. You wanted a slice of birthday cake? “Bring me the Wesson oil!” she’d command. I literally slid through my adolescence.

cup of her liquid gold into the pan and while it was heating up, she carved a few slices of turkey breast and plopped them into the already sizzling oil. Bob stood there, absolutely mesmerized, his eyes wide open. “Are you frying the turkey breast?” he asked. My mom, spun around, spatula still in hand and answered, “Well, Soldier Boy, how else do you expect me to get your turkey hot?!”

The sight was just too much for him. He collapsed into a kitchen chair, shifting around until he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a little black book, clipped with a pen, and began to write. First, the date, then the time, and then these words: “First time ever having a fried open-face turkey sandwich.”
From that moment on, we knew he was the perfect fit for our family.

We’ve had our share of quirky turkey mishaps since then. Even Bob had his own personal disasters like the year he made the turkey gravy. I have to admit- it was the most gorgeous caramel color I’d ever seen. Pure perfection…until I tasted it. He accidentally used confectionery sugar instead of flour for the turkey drippings. That was “The Year of No Turkey Gravy.”

I was responsible for “The Year of the Drowned Turkey.” There was so much chicken broth floating in that pan that the turkey could’ve swam the English Channel. I swear I thought was going to evaporate and make it a wicked tender bird but instead, it turned into turkey stew with wings and legs sort of floating around. Maybe that’s why they call it the breast stroke.

Which brings me to my latest turkey recipe. I did not invent this, but I’ve been doing it for many, many years. Just take an orange and cut it in half and massage it under the turkey breast skin and so it looks like it has two domes. Then tinfoil tent the turkey and cook it as usual, basting it religiously til it looks like a golden suntanned bird at the beach. You’ll never forget “The Year of the Topless Bathing Bird.”

You’re welcome, merry turkey day and happy everything else!