Gobble gobble
Before:
After:
Actually, the after picture is from after browning the skin at 500, but before the hours in the oven becoming moist and delicious. I learned a lesson, though: make the roux first so you can refrigerate it until it is time to make the gravy. That’s right, I said roux. Really, this was a genius Thanksgiving dinner. Six people finished four bottles of wine, not counting me because I only had half a glass before someone bussed it while I was uploading my mom’s Mexico photos.
By the way, I had Stan take me to Grumpy’s Friday night, and then came home and drank some more while making an ill-advised phone call that lasted a couple of hours. It was a mess. The things that I had promised my friends that I would say before going out were said and then slowly and painfully retracted, point by point. Afterwards, I called Melody for advice and consolation, and was thankful that the two hour time difference made the phone call not be at the butt crack of dawn for her. She returned the favor by drunk dialing me from the Rasputina concert.
More people should drunk dial me. I still have a karmic debt from New York City, and my phone actually works now.
I’d never actually seen a live turkey before this last halloween, when I took my godson to a pumpkin patch. They are some scary, scary looking beasts.
Live turkeys look more delicious than their plucked and gutted cousins.