I have not always been a good cook. I flinch writing that just now, but it is unfortunately true. I've always liked to cook, I just wasn't as skilled as I should have been starting out.
.There were many kitchen mishaps in the beginning. Strawberry jam that somehow missed the jell stage and went straight for a crystallized mass melded with the bottom of the pan. Endless meals involving hot dogs (cringe) and packaged macaroni and cheese (blech). But I would have to say that Thanksgiving 1996 was my not so finest moment.
.My ambition has never overshot my ability as much as it did that day.
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It was my first turkey. The instructions seemed easy enough. Never mind the fact that I had never even cooked a whole chicken let alone it's much larger counterpart - details were unimportant. I followed all of the instructions, save those that admonished that the turkey should be well thawed. The bird had been in the refrigerator for 2 whole days, and being a Thanksgiving novice, I though that would be enough.
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At the appointed time, I pulled the pasty poultry from the oven, a bit perplexed that it did not have the same healthy glow as the turkeys did in the advertisements. All the same, I shrugged and put the platter on the table. To this day, I'm surprised the bird didn't hop right off the table and make a run for it when my husband valiantly tried to carve it.
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There have been many other Thanksgiving turkeys since that fateful day in November. But that is the one that everyone remembers.





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