Wednesday, November 26, 2014

What to do if your turkey is jacked up on Thanksgiving

I give you this advice under duress. I, like so many patriots, want to perfect the one thing that will make me, without contest, the Greatest American. I want to make a juicy and flavorful Thanksgiving turkey that also has a uniformly crispy skin. It's how the pilgrims would have wanted us to celebrate their bounty and survival in a new world (and their future genocide of a native people). They'd want us to make a turkey that would show everyone at the table that we win Thanksgiving. God bless 'Murica. 

So, I'm loathe to help you survive a Turkey Day disaster lest you usurp my reign as bad-ass turkey cooker and most excellent citizen. I'm still living with the pain of Thanksgiving 2002, when I served a turkey that was still raw in the mid—you know what? I'm not ready to talk about it. 

But help I will. Because the Spirit of Thanksgiving, who visits all good Americans (and a smattering of Canadians), demands it. I must help you to avoid the worst. 

Here's a surefire list of turkey remedies.

  • Buy a new turkey. Once you have the turkey, get it in the oven real quick, because it's 2 pm and you need 23 hours to cook the salmonella out of this thing. Distract hungry adults with booze. Distract hunger children with candy. When the turkey comes out, they will be too drunk or too high on sugar to care that you bought it at the convenience store attached to the gas station. 
  • Fashion a "turkey" from chicken nuggets. Better yet, shred the nuggets and sprinkle them around the carcass of your original, failed turkey. Then turn on the electric carving knife and yell things like "The electric carving knife it out of control! Call a priest, we need an exorcism! I think the tip of my pink fell into the gravy!" Tell everyone that the chunks of nuggets are turkey meat that was the unfortunate recipient of a carving knife smackdown. Go ahead and let Grandma and Cousin Joan judge you. They don't' know your life. 
  • Tell everyone that you forgot to mention you're vegan now. Enjoy the leafy greens, ingrates! And blame Joan for not bringing vegan cheeses to go with the crackers. She was in charge of cheeses.
  • Order Chinese takeout and serve it without a word. When someone asks about the turkey, tell them, "I guess you didn't read my email, did you Joan? I was wondering why you hadn't brought the lo mein." Be an active participant in the feast, Joan. Would it kill you to contribute?
  • Feign piety. You didn't ruin the turkey, it never existed because, surprize!, you donated it to charity. There are people—wait, you don't have to explain yourself to Joan.  Everyone can eat the deviled eggs and be happy with that. 
  • Throw out all of the food and serve dessert. Try to convince everyone that they already ate the meal and it's dessert time. This goes off better if you surreptitiously set all of your clocks ahead two hours and load  the sink and dishwasher with dirty plates. Faking a crime scene is all about the trail of evidence, and not letting that nosy parker Joan see what you're up to. 
Better yet, don't volunteer to host Thanksgiving in the first place. Teaching you to avoid Thanksgiving responsibility is my next installment of ruining the holidays for everyone because you're a selfish sonofagun. 

In the meantime, here's hoping your turkey isn't dried out, and if it is, here's hoping you made lots of gravy. 



Mom Jeans and the women who will ruin them for you for all eternity. I collaborated with the greatest living internet writer, Bethany of Bad Parenting Moments, to bring you the best of mom jeans, just in time for your Thanksgiving feast. Don't thank me until you've put your jeggings on.

More fashion atrocity here!