After surviving nearly an entire semester on Ramen noodles and Subway sandwiches, I could barely contain my excitement for Thanksgiving dinner. During the entire six hour drive home, I anticipated the homemade cranberry sauce, rolls, and, my personal favorite, Dad’s creme brulee.
Unfortunately, I did not inherit the culinary genius gene (I think it skips a generation… no offense Faye). Thursday morning, however, I decided to give my dad a hand in the kitchen (after all, cooking for 13 is quite a challenge). I began peeling potatoes, which is about the extent of my cooking expertise. Dad stood at the sink, elbow deep in the 14lb turkey.
“Dad,” I said from my growing pile of potatoes, “How many people do you think cook the giblets inside the turkey each year?”
“Psh,” he responded sarcastically, “Maybe those who have NEVER cooked a turkey before.” I nodded and continued with my potato peeling duties.
After searching for several minutes, Dad removed his hand from the turkey and peered inside. “I guess they forgot them!” he said, annoyed. I went over, looked inside the turkey, and saw nothing.
It would not be our first holiday feast without the turkey offal. I remember a Thanksgiving dinner several years ago. There was a cacophonous explosion from the kitchen, followed by shrill screams. “THE GIBLETS EXPLODED!” Grandma Faye and Aunt Sondra yelled. Needless to say that is the last time the Davis family has every attempted to microwave the giblets.
Dad put the turkey into the oven, and began working on another Thanksgiving dish. Several hours passed and before long, the familiar holiday aromas lingered through the house. Friendly chatter filled the room. Several hours later, mashed potatoes, green beans, dressing, and pies were lined up on the counter and waiting to be devoured. Giblet-less gravy was ladled into a bowl. And finally, the turkey! As everyone hovered around, and waited patiently to begin the meal, Dad started carving into the bird with his electric knife, but then he suddenly stopped. With a grin and a sheepish glance at me, he very discretely removed something from the turkey before setting it on the table.
While everyone was happily filling their plates, my dad and I started laughing so hard we had tears in our eyes. He had just secretly buried something deep into the trashcan… the small white plastic bag still filled with the “missing giblets” .
