December 25th, 2008
For xmas day dinner, I was in charge of the turkey! Me! Let me tell you… I don’t know who signed me up for this, but I’m not ready for this holiday hostessing job. Since I live with my 94 year old grandmother and in the same town as 6 uncles or aunts, who come with 6 accompanying spouses, and 23 cousins more or less, you can imagine what chaos it was to have them all over our place for a meal…
For the 25th of December my aunt Esthela planned a get-together at grandma’s house, of course. It's a good venue. She also planned that I would cook the turkey, which was nice of her, and dropped it off for me to season a week or so before Christmas. Aunt Esthela said to marinate it with oranges and spice and… “whatever you think.” The problem is that I don’t often think about turkey cooking. And the problem worsened when I continued to not think about turkey cooking until Christmas Eve. I don’t know why I left it until the last minute, but it might have something to do with the fact that I hadn’t really, truly, fully accepted the fact tha I had to cook the majority of the christmas dinner myself. Eventually I did accept this fact conveniently when all the grocery stores were completely closed. At least the turkey was defrosted.
Christmas morning!! Yay? No. Christmas morning found me in tears. I couldn’t find a pot big enough for the gigantic turkey and still small enough to fit in the oven, we had no tin foil, we had no bread, no milk, no celery, no wine…The oven (Worked!! at least) but had no thermostat. The dial was so old that any indication that once might have existed, like words, numbers, temperatures…gone. They had long since dissapeared deep down below dirt, burnt crispies, and scratch marks. To the right or to the left were my options, so I turned it all the way to the right. It was 10 o clock already and the guests were coming at 1. What is it for a turkey? 350 in the oven until the little pop up thermometer in the bird tells you it’s done? Or without a popper, so many hours per so many pounds. Or cook it until the meat reaches 143 degrees on your meat thermometer? I wouldn’t know. Perhaps I never will.
Don’t know how it happened. (I hardly know what happened…repressing the memories) but it did. The turkey was golden and brown. It was moist and stuffed with breadcrumbs that I had hastily made with flour and milk, plus some random plátanos from the fridge, herbs from the garden and raisins. But it ended up smelling so good! I ended up getting the prized seat at the head of the table and getting an “ola” or wave. Like Red Sox game style wave. …My family basically fills a stadium anyways, so it was appropriate.
I think it was the moral support of my granny that helped me make it through. She was there, she really was. When I couldn’t find the pan I needed to cook Tom in, she handed me the biggest soup pot she had. Barely one leg might have fit in there, but it ended up being useful for the broccoli. And when I couldn’t find a lid for the turkey she suggested that I sew together our used tin-foil. I didn’t sew anthing, but I did find our save-for-recycling-pile useful for many things that day.
One more thing: Before we ate, Uncle Roy asked that we bow our heads in Grace. The phone rang. I tore my eyes from the stuffing and myself from the table. It was Eli! Chritmas greetings were in order and I told him about the meal that I had just barely pulled off (minus the rice, salad, and fig dessert which others had brought) I reveled in my success while, of course, the Carrión army dove into the bowls and platters and everyone poked each others eyes out with their elbows. I sent Eli the wish that his dinner was just as lovely as mine was going to be. Once I got back to the table--get this--the stuffing was gone. They ate my stuffing on me! All my stuffing was gone! Oh the sacrifice!
For xmas day dinner, I was in charge of the turkey! Me! Let me tell you… I don’t know who signed me up for this, but I’m not ready for this holiday hostessing job. Since I live with my 94 year old grandmother and in the same town as 6 uncles or aunts, who come with 6 accompanying spouses, and 23 cousins more or less, you can imagine what chaos it was to have them all over our place for a meal…
For the 25th of December my aunt Esthela planned a get-together at grandma’s house, of course. It's a good venue. She also planned that I would cook the turkey, which was nice of her, and dropped it off for me to season a week or so before Christmas. Aunt Esthela said to marinate it with oranges and spice and… “whatever you think.” The problem is that I don’t often think about turkey cooking. And the problem worsened when I continued to not think about turkey cooking until Christmas Eve. I don’t know why I left it until the last minute, but it might have something to do with the fact that I hadn’t really, truly, fully accepted the fact tha I had to cook the majority of the christmas dinner myself. Eventually I did accept this fact conveniently when all the grocery stores were completely closed. At least the turkey was defrosted.
Christmas morning!! Yay? No. Christmas morning found me in tears. I couldn’t find a pot big enough for the gigantic turkey and still small enough to fit in the oven, we had no tin foil, we had no bread, no milk, no celery, no wine…The oven (Worked!! at least) but had no thermostat. The dial was so old that any indication that once might have existed, like words, numbers, temperatures…gone. They had long since dissapeared deep down below dirt, burnt crispies, and scratch marks. To the right or to the left were my options, so I turned it all the way to the right. It was 10 o clock already and the guests were coming at 1. What is it for a turkey? 350 in the oven until the little pop up thermometer in the bird tells you it’s done? Or without a popper, so many hours per so many pounds. Or cook it until the meat reaches 143 degrees on your meat thermometer? I wouldn’t know. Perhaps I never will.
Don’t know how it happened. (I hardly know what happened…repressing the memories) but it did. The turkey was golden and brown. It was moist and stuffed with breadcrumbs that I had hastily made with flour and milk, plus some random plátanos from the fridge, herbs from the garden and raisins. But it ended up smelling so good! I ended up getting the prized seat at the head of the table and getting an “ola” or wave. Like Red Sox game style wave. …My family basically fills a stadium anyways, so it was appropriate.
I think it was the moral support of my granny that helped me make it through. She was there, she really was. When I couldn’t find the pan I needed to cook Tom in, she handed me the biggest soup pot she had. Barely one leg might have fit in there, but it ended up being useful for the broccoli. And when I couldn’t find a lid for the turkey she suggested that I sew together our used tin-foil. I didn’t sew anthing, but I did find our save-for-recycling-pile useful for many things that day.
One more thing: Before we ate, Uncle Roy asked that we bow our heads in Grace. The phone rang. I tore my eyes from the stuffing and myself from the table. It was Eli! Chritmas greetings were in order and I told him about the meal that I had just barely pulled off (minus the rice, salad, and fig dessert which others had brought) I reveled in my success while, of course, the Carrión army dove into the bowls and platters and everyone poked each others eyes out with their elbows. I sent Eli the wish that his dinner was just as lovely as mine was going to be. Once I got back to the table--get this--the stuffing was gone. They ate my stuffing on me! All my stuffing was gone! Oh the sacrifice!
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