Herb’s 2014 Thanksgiving

Dear Friend Fred,

I realize that I’ve owed you a letter ever since we got down here this fall. However, I’ve got some good excuses this year and I hope after you read this letter you’ll be understanding of me.

How did fall fishing go? Were there many bugs left?? Hard to believe this summer. I couldn’t have imagined 10 yrs. ago we’d ever have haulin’ like that. Makes Florida a little easier to take this year. Kind of get rid of a few strained muscles.

Anyhow, on the way down, Mother gets this phone call from Mary Louisa, George’s wife, one I told you about that’s in the golf group. She allowed as how this might be Mother and I’s year to host Thanksgiving at our house. Now, as I’ve told you several times, our place is quite small compared to some in the golf group. Number of them live in these gated communities where everything looks the same, even the mailboxes, and you have to remember codes just to get the gate open. I tried to memorize the gatekeeper’s name but they’re never the same twice. Mother and I have taken to drawing maps, which we keep in a folder of how to get in and get out without having to spend an hour driving lost.

Well as our story goes, Mother decides then and there we’d better agree to it if we was to remain in the group and hold our heads up. Well, Fred, since we got down here, I’ve been replanting the flower beds, added several new shrubs, painted the pool deck twice cause Mother didn’t like the first color blue, said it reminded her of a Nor’west sky in August. Painted out the bathroom and installed new toilet seats, them new ones that close all by themselves. I’ve bought a new stove ‘cause the burners on the old one looked worn. And then, after some guy came around and offered Mother a wicked low price to power wash the driveway, I had to roll out the paint on that. Must say though the house does look good. And it’s a good thing bug fishing was good cause it “weren’t cheap.” Thankfully I didn’t have to replace the shingles.

Well, as the story continues, some of the ladies in this golf group fancy themselves to be gourmet cooks. Come up with some of these dishes I couldn’t pronounce the names, nor even begin to figure out who’s buried in them. So, Mother allows being from Maine we’re not taking any back seat. Turkey bird’s not only going to look like it fell out of Better Homes and Garden, but it’s going to be unique. Deep in the pit of my stomach I could feel trouble brewing. ‘Cause at our house as you well remember some of those occasions, I was always elected “chef de turkey”....or barbecue, or steaks. And, as I’m sure you recall, the grill and I have never really seen eye to eye, never really gotten on well. So Mother finds this recipe, picture looked tantalizing. Bird looked like she’d spent the whole season tanning on the beach. Allowed we ought to grill ours the same, then move her to the oven and finish her off there. I could tell after 43 years experience together that when Mother gets her mind made up like that I’d might as well just say, “Yes, my Darling.” And so, I made one of the grander mistakes in my life.

Come Thanksgiving morning I’d planned to be out there on the patio by fishing time, charcoal lit, and have bird safely covered and roasting in its dripping juices. Well, well, I hadn’t reckoned on the fact we’d been invited over to the neighbors for a small holiday party night before where the lady of the house had prepared this Margarita Punch which was damned tasty. ‘Course, you know, my drink of choice is brown water and ice so I can just sip along and still find the course for home. Well, well, we made it home. I’ve got no recollection when or how, but I’ve been told since I was the life of the party and some of the jokes I related have since been written down and never to be repeated till next year under the same circumstances.

By eight, Mother and I were about. Didn’t take much to realize we’d have to make a few changes to the schedule. She had some casseroles to finish off so my sly idea of just doing the bird in the oven wouldn’t fly. Her plan B for me was get the grill lit, start the bird and we’d finish her off in the safety of the oven after casserole completion. ‘Course, this was after she’d made a few choice remarks in relation to my family lineage. So, after tryin’ to get that “Natural” charcoal goin’ with some sticks and damp paper, I found my blowtorch and got those briquets just a singein’. Spread the coals around the outside, stuck the old girl in the middle and closed the lid. Idea was, I’d get that skin cracklin’ tan like the picture, then take it off, drive pieces of butter under the skin and as Mother suggested do the oven trick.

Well, well, I got to doing a few other chores for a bit till I got to thinking perhaps I should check on the progress, perhaps take a few pictures to send the paper, case they wanted a story of Thanksgiving next year. Now Fred, I’m here to tell you, I’ve never lifted a grill cover with as much anticipation as that. Fred, that bird couldn’t have looked any more like a nuclear disaster survivor if it tried. The bottom side to the grill was burned Halloween black. And the sides. Well, well, sides were this ghastly gray. Skin had started to sag. Gizzards and liver and all that stuff fallen out on the grill and that was burning. I let out a “Judas,” grabbed the plastic platter, managed to roll the old girl on without melting the platter too wicked, seared my hand grabbing the parts with a fork, got some tin foil over it. Mother’d gone off to pretty up. Somehow, at the price of smearing burnt bird all over the stove and sink, I rolled her into the bird pan, stuffed the body parts back in along with an onion, lemon and an old apple, trussed her up with some carpenter’s twine, drove as much butter as possible through some slits, hid her in tin foil “quite well!!” and set her in the oven at 325 deg. Hoping I could clean the kitchen back into normal before Mother returned. Luckily she’d layed down for a rest-up.

Well, well, come time to have dinner, Thankfully we’d been able to delay the festivities and I’d been able to clandestinely baste the old girl a few times. Then came time to carve. Ghastly had evened out a bit to a brownish gray, so I quickly carved that skin and to the warped platter and covered it with a few slices of lettuce for garnish. Our guests must have partied as hearty as we had, ‘cause about the only comments we got were to the good and “My, isn’t this a unique gravy” and “Is there no stuffing?” Well, well, Fred, next year, I’m making reservations out.

Your Friend, Herb

• R E C I P E •

I had planned to use Herb’s but he wouldn’t part with it, so I’ll have to find something unique for next year. Stay tuned and hope you had a wonderful Christmas.

Fair Winds and Good Roads
– Lee Wilbur