It was December and our cottage glowed with colorful twinkling lights. My husband and I had been married for only a month, and I was eager to entertain, cooking my first big turkey dinner. How hard could it be? I just had to put a turkey in the oven, boil a few vegetables and potatoes, and I would have a great meal. It’s not rocket science. That’s what I thought, but that’s not what happened.
First. I bought the fattest turkey in the market.
Second. I put him, I guess it’s a him, in the sink and sprayed water all over, because heavens only knows, where had he been?
Third. I impulsively shoved him in the oven, not bothering to read the directions, feeling quite sure of myself.
In about an hour, my husband asked,
“ Honey, do you smell something funny?”
I sniffed and replied,
“Yes, it’s like something burning, but it couldn’t be.”
He rushed to our tiny kitchen, opened the oven door, and exclaimed,
“What the heck did you do? The turkey is smoking like a house on fire!”
“Oh my gosh” I shouted, “take him out, take him out, quick!”
Out he came, looking like a smoldering hunk of coal. Upon inspection, we saw smoke coming from an opening. I reached in with tongs and took out a bag with weird body parts in it. I raced to the phone to call my mother who informed me they were giblets, which are the neck, heart, gizzards and liver. Yuk, I didn’t even want to touch these disgusting parts. In the meantime, my husband rushed out to buy a new turkey. There must be more to this than I thought.
Thankfully, I remembered that I had received a few cookbooks as wedding presents. I found them in the closet and looked up recipes for gravy, which were absolutely daunting. So many versions with unfamiliar words such as roux. After a lot of searching, I finally settled on the easiest recipe for gravy. As I stirred, the flour made little lumps, grease floated to the top, it was too thin, then too thick, too bland, too spicy, and too salty. It was a disaster! My company would be arriving in an hour. What could I do? I called to my husband,
“Quick, please go fast and buy five jars of turkey gravy, now, I’m desperate!”
Off he went, but he got confused in the supermarket, so he bought one of each; a gravy mix, organic gravy, gravy with spices, home style gravy, gourmet gravy, and turkey broth. I threw up my hands when he got home, but the only thing I could do to make enough gravy, was to mix them all together! I refrained from getting mad at him. He did try, and it was too late for an argument.
The company arrived, drinks and hors d’oeuvres were served. The room was buzzing with conversation and laughter as we proceeded to my beautifully set table. My husband carried in the big perfectly browned bird. Everyone exclaimed how wonderful it looked. He hacked away at it trying to carve the meat properly. He was as inexperienced at carving as I was at cooking. The vegetables, potatoes, and gravy were passed around. A guest pinged his glass to toast us for our hospitality and delicious meal. Then every fork dug in. After a few minutes, there were sounds of coughing, spitting, choking, and hasty exits toward the two bathrooms. The gravy was making everyone sick! I raced around with extra napkins and cries of apology. A half hour later, stomachs and throats seemed to have quieted down. Our guests hastily headed to the door with sympathetic comments about how they had all made cooking mistakes. Once outside, I overheard them exchanging insulting remarks,
‘’Gravy really isn’t that hard, what was she thinking?”
“That was the worse meal I’ve ever had.”
“Maybe she should take cooking lessons.”
“ I think I’m going to throw up again.”
I thought maybe gravy was as difficult as rocket science. I exclaimed to my husband,
“So much for GRAVY ! Do you want to go out and try that new restaurant downtown?”
“Great idea.” he replied with relief. “Let’s get out of here!”
INSTANT NOODLES 