Then, confess, I shall.
Thanksgiving Day was Thursday, and Thursday is well behind me now. All is well in the Bristolwood, and I am able to smile as I recount this most unfortunate event now.
I had written on my blog at about 1:30 in the afternoon on Thursday that I had become rather efficient in preparing a Thanksgiving Feast, as I have been doing so for many years. Ah, the irony….and oh, those famous last words!
At about 3 pm, we were to be seating ourselves to the moist, delicious culinary delight I had prepared, but alas, Michelle and I were cleaning the oven instead….
Mark would point out that in my world “behind the lens”, I tend to be a little absentminded, forgetful….You understand. However, on my own behalf, I tend to see myself as creative and inquisitive.
The brined turkey I prepared was baking so well, and the succulent aroma filled the house with such temptation, everyone kept asking “how much longer?” The one small factor that was miscalculated was that a brined bird tends to produce a great deal of liquid. I have never owned a “roasting” pan before, and I had never seen a bird produce so much juice. And, I had never seen the juice spill over into the bottom of the oven, causing flames in my propane oven to lap upward, towards the bird!
As I watched, totally mortified, through the oven window, I calmly announced to Mark that we had a “slight problem”. As I explained the situation, he became very furstrated and told me to turn off the gas immediately. I ran to the basement and turned it off, and watched as black clouds of smoke lashed out of the exit orifices of the oven. At this point, I donned my “Ove Gloves” and prayed, asking the Lord to allow my Guardian Angels to watch over and protect me. I quickly opened the oven door, grabbed the pan with the turkey, then slammed the door shut once again. Fortunately, I only singed a little of my bangs….
The fire lingered on for a few minutes, now starved of gas and the offending juice adding fuel to the fire.
The turkey sat on the counter for about 45 minutes, as Michelle and I cleaned up the horrendous mess of soot inside the oven and on the oven floor once the fire ended.
When I removed the foil “tent” (which was very well blackened, might I add) from the turkey, the turkey was blackened as well, as though burnt beyond recognition. My humiliated state of disbelief sent me into an instant state of feeling totally inadequate. It was only when Mark suggested that the turkey was only “sooted” that I took a damp paper towel and realized (to my utter amazement) he was correct. I “washed” our dinner, feeling quite raccoon-like in the process!
I turned the gas back on, fired the oven once again, and finished cooking the stuffing, sweet potato souffle, and heating the potatoes. I made gravy and was relieved when everything was finally complete and ready to set at the table.
I did however, burn one more element of the meal….that being the delicious cloverleaf rolls that I had so lovingly formed with my own hands. It was only when I had brought all of the dishes from the table and wanted to examine the stove interior that I spotted the quite well-browned, hard-as-rocks rolls.
As we went around the table, each person uttering their own words of Thanksgiving, I was once again feeling that defeated feeling as Mark was grateful that the house didn’t burn down, and Ben was thankful that I didn’t catch on fire.
I ate about a tablespoon of sweet potatoes, potatoes, and stuffing, then headed up the stairs to bed. I shall brine another turkey and I *shall* buy a roasting pan specifically for a large roast. And, I shall happily forget Thanksgiving Day, 2007.
And now, my soul doth feel greatly unburdened!