October's Challenge

 HOW NOT TO COOK A TURKEY

Tom

We had been invited to Thanksgiving dinner at the house of my partner, Susan’s, family and as much as I was dreading having to dine with those deadbeats, I was determined to at least make it interesting for myself in some other way. So, I volunteered to make the turkey. (Is that the right word; make the turkey?)

Now I fancy myself a pretty good cook and I have made some pretty wild dinners for Susan and friends. I learned most of my skills online during the covid years, so it was kind of a forced education. At any rate, one thing I had never done was roast (yes, that’s probably the right word) a turkey. How hard could it be, I thought. Cover it with some goo or another, shove some stuffing into it and stick it in the oven for like ever.

So, I made the call and the commitment some month before the event and then promptly forgot all about it. About a week before Thanksgiving, I was fast asleep on a Sunday morning when Susan greeted me with a cup of coffee and a question.

“So, you’re doing the turkey. Have you bought it yet?”

A shiver went down my spine like a cold worm. Good god, I had forgotten all about it.

“Yes, of course,” I responded. “How could I forget?”

“Well, good, because I didn’t see it in the fridge or freezer.”

“Oh, that’s because I wanted a fresh one, so I ordered it at Taylor’s Meats.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I’m picking it tomorrow.”

“Great. Well, I’ll go make us some breakfast.”

The next day I headed down to Taylor’s. The busy woman behind the counter frowned and said that they didn’t have any turkeys because there had been an outbreak of avian flu and all the turkeys in the area had to be put down.

“What!” I screamed at her, way too loudly. “You’re telling me I can’t get a turkey? I have to have a turkey!”

“Well, I’m sorry,” she replied, “but it can’t be done. You might try one of the grocery stores somewhere, but from what I understand, they’re mostly gone.”

I ran from the shop in tears, knowing that my lie to Susan and the forthcoming wrath of my in-laws was going to be like hell on earth. Why had I lied to Susan? I drove home, despondent and lonely and with my head hung down to my knees walked in the front door. Susan was in a great mood. She was really looking forward to the dinner party. She had had a rough time lately with some bad news from work and it was great to see a smile on her face for a change.

“So, where’s the turkey?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s in the car,” I replied, furthering my predicament. “I’ll bring it in after I get back… from… the farmer’s market!” Yes, the farmer’s market. Maybe they’d have something. Even if it was some scrawny turkey runt. “I’ll be back in a bit!”

I drove like a maniac to the farmer’s market down the highway a bit and screeched to a halt by the front door, almost hitting an elderly couple as they came out. I waved hello. This market was a popular one and I hoped I wasn't too late. I had bought poultry there before and it had turned out pretty well. I started to feel a bit better.

I walked up to the counter and stared at the glass case.  It was empty. Not just of turkey but every other non-flying bird. Ken, the guy at the meat counter called over to me.

“There’s no birds this week,” he said.

“What? Why?” I felt the panic starting to whisper to me from somewhere under my sweater.

“Chuck died.”

“Oh,” I said. “So, no turkeys then?”

Ken scowled at me and turned back to his hog butchering and started to smack down with his cleaver on some meat. I guess my lack of sympathy had hit him the wrong way. In hindsight, I suppose it was a bit crass of me.

Then a voice popped up from an old fella who was shopping at the bakery counter.

“You know, in my day, we’d just go out into the field and shoot one,” he said, with a wink. There’s plenty of them at this time of year.”

“Is that legal?” I asked.

 “Sure, all you need is a gun.”

“Where are these wild turkeys?” I asked.

“All over the place. Just drive around the countryside for a bit. You’re sure to see some. The toms are the best ones for eatin’.”

“What’s a tom?” I asked.

“It’s the male turkey. You can’t miss him. Especially if he’s doing his mating dance. The tail feathers are something to behold.”

I left the market in a daze. A wild turkey. Was it possible? When I was a kid, I had some rifle training as an air cadet. Why they chose to teach long gun skills to someone who wanted to be a pilot, I never quite understood.  But there you go. 

I didn’t own a gun, but I knew where I could get one. My buddy Stan, who I sometimes bowled with, had a full complement of them as he was an avid hunter.  He’d probably have something I could borrow.

When I got to Stan’s house, he was there, practicing his bowling in the back yard.  He had actually constructed a bowling alley back there. He was a bit strange, was old Stan.

“Well, hi ya, Greg! What’s happening man?” he called out, cheerily, as I entered through the back gate.

“Hi Stan. Listen, I was wondering if I could borrow one of your guns.”

“Who ya gonna shoot?” he said with a laugh.

“Well, I’m not going to shoot anybody. I want to go turkey hunting. You got anything like that?”

“Sure do. A few of them in fact. Got a Remington 870, pump action that would do the job. Used it myself on turkeys down by the river.”

“That would be great. Can I borrow it?”

“I guess so.” He paused. “You have your firearms certificate, right?”

I hesitated. “Yes,” I lied.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.”

He was gone a few minutes and returned with the shotgun in a leather case and a box of shells. I thanked him, put the weapon in the back seat of the wagon and drove off to find a turkey.

As luck would have it, I had only been driving around for about a half hour when I spotted some big black blobs moving around in what had been a corn field. And there in the middle of them, with his tail feathers splayed out in an amazing fan of orange and black feather s was a tom. He was huge. If I was standing beside him, his head probably would have reached my chest.

I parked the car and retrieved the gun and stuck a couple of shells in the chamber. There was a wind break to the north of the field, closer to where the birds were and I made for that. After a few minutes, I managed to get close enough to the tom. Stan had said I could probably get a good shot from around fifty feet, and I was much closer than that. I trained the sites on him and gripped the trigger.

Just then the antics of the dancing tom attracted a pretty bird from the flock, and they started to, well you know, mate. It was quite the sight. I lowered the barrel of the gun and watched it play out. Then I looked down at the gun. What the hell was I doing? This wouldn’t just be murder. It was like murder is probably like in France. Full of sexual intrigue and the like. I returned to the car.

Anyway, if there’s one thing I know how to cook, it’s ham.  I think everyone liked it. Of course, Susan didn’t talk to me for about a month. I sometimes drive out to the field and watch that flock. Of course, thanks to me, it’s bit larger now.