Each year around Thanksgiving, I always get a chuckle about the first turkey I ever made on my own. It was an eye-opening experience at the crack of dawn – one I have never lived it down. Since then, I have made several turkeys and now it is old hat… sometimes, I even remember to take out the giblets.
The first time I cooked a turkey on my own, I got up at the crack of dawn and began the bird and all the sides. By myself. I followed the directions in my Betty Crocker Cookbook… washing the turkey, seasoning it.
No one told me about the neck and giblets.
At 4 am, because we had an 80 pound turkey and we were eating at noon (okay, maybe it was 15 pounds), I yank this neck out of the turkey… and had NO CLUE what it was.
I knew what it LOOKED like though.
Betty failed to describe the neck.
I called my dad– who was still in bed– and the conversation went something like this:
Me: Dad! What the hell is in my turkey?
Dad: Huh? What are you talking about?
Me: Dad, it looks like a you-know-what.
Dad: *Laughter* and *More Laughter*
Me: Dad, seriously? What is it? Should it be there?
Dad: Yes. I’m going back to bed.
I was literally standing in my kitchen holding this appendage. I actually didn’t find out what it was until my dad got there. I had saved it to show him.
He laughed so hard, he had to sit down. I continued to swing the appendage at him until he told me what it was.
That’s only half of it. I didn’t know the giblets were in the other end… so I cooked my turkey with the giblets inside.
Seriously, they can stick them in the same hole with the neck thingy?
The joke for every Thanksgiving after that was if I found the neck or not. And who was going to get the giblet bag. Kinda like a special prize for the lucky eater – you know, like the baby in the King cakes.
My family has a very sick sense of humor.