I’m embarrassed to admit this. Like really embarrassed.
I’m actually afraid the Coalition of Southern Women is going to come take my card. It’s only a matter of time before they find out this appalling truth. It’s shameful. It’s anti-southern. It’s just plain disgraceful to the generations of strong southern women before me. I, April Thomas, sweet tea raised and bless your heart bred, have not ever, not ever, like not once… cooked…a…turkey.
<INSERT GASPS OF SHOCK, HORROR and MORTIFICATION>
<ADD A FEW BLESS YOUR HEARTS FOR GOOD MEASURE>
Yes, it’s true. I’m not proud of this. It haunts me in the night. I’ve hidden in the shadows of hams and other people’s kitchens for years. That said, I do have a couple justifications, that if required, I could present in my defense to the southern court of appropriate womanhood. First, as a teenager my mama scarred me for life when she reached her bare hands into the carcass of the Thanksgiving turkey and pulled out Satan’s bloody lunch. OMG. WHAT THE HECK DID I JUST SEE? I ran. I emptied the contents of my stomach quickly and thoroughly and stayed far away from the kitchen until whatever I just saw was GONE. Disposed of in the dump on the other side of town GONE. I made a vow to myself that I would never do that. EVER. EVEEEERRRRRR.
On top of that traumatic event, there were the years I managed shopping centers. There’s no such thing as a Thanksgiving dinner when you work in mall management. It’s called lasagna or leftovers or someone else’s house.
So here I am this year. I feel that it’s time that I take on this task. That I stop avoiding the bird. That I step up to the challenge. That I make sure Southern Living doesn’t blacklist me. It’s time to cook the turkey.
There is one caveat.
I WILL find a turkey that does not have that horrific collection of miscellaneous pieces and parts stuffed in the cavity. Oh I know they say it’s impossible. But if I have to cry on the floor of the Publix meat department, someone will get me a turkey that has been prepped according to my specifications. I’ll pay extra. As God is my witness, I will not stick my hand inside that bird to pull anything out of cavity 1 or cavity 2. And no, I don’t want to hear about tongs, or that it’s all in a bag anyway or that giblets make good gravy or what the heck you do with the (gag) neck. That’s all just naaaasssstttyyyyy. (gag gag gag)
So now that I have confessed my violation of southern woman code and you are aware of my mission, I will also alert you that I am currently doing research on all things turkey cookin’. Oh, it’s on. Pray for my husband during this research phase. I’m learning everything I can. From pans to basters to thermometers to cooking temps. I’ve got this. I’m doing online research and may even visit a library. I’m conducting interviews with fellow turkey cookers. Although during one such interview today, a woman told me today that she cooks her turkey in a bag. 😲 Ok, is that a joke? She mentioned something about putting flour in the bottom of the bag to prevent an explosion. 😲😲 See. Now y’all are just messing with me.
Stay tuned for more updates from Turkey Central as Operation Gobble is just beginning. This is definitely gonna require the cape. Game on.