Member-only story
No Thanks
I get it people, you all love turkey.
In the long ago year of your lord, 1984, I became a vegetarian. It has been quite easy for me because I would happily eat salad, pasta, bread and pizza each day of my life. But every year, this Thanksgiving thing rolls around and everyone wants to talk about eating excessive amounts of turkey. I feel left out, so much so, that one year I made a tofu turkey. I cannot discourage this enough. Don’t do it.
I was trying to belong. The turkey gets so much attention. There are hands traced into turkeys, there are turkey trays, turkey pans, turkey pardons. I have cooked one for the last two decades and it disgusts me. I cry while removing the gizzards from its innards. I gag as I butter up that bird and slap it into a pan. The excitement that builds around that carcass on a national level is a lot of pressure on the very mediocre home cook, because it is the centerpiece of this whole show. I don’t know if I can even trust that pop up thermometer. I may undercook it, poison people and be the only one spared, because I didn’t eat it.
And then there are all the sides that are almost equally required. None have much appeal or dazzle. Mashed potatoes? Blah. Corn? Ugh. Brussel sprouts? Unenjoyable. Stuffing? That’s ok. Rolls? Thumbs up. Green beans? Why? Cranberry sauce? Gelatinous. Squash? Fine, just fine.
