Happy Thanksgiving?
Well, I'm slightly nervous when it comes to holidays that involve turkeys! Let me just say I have a history of mishaps that well... are family lore.
It used to be that we could tell the turkey was done by the sound of the explosion. A few years ago, we were all in the living room when I said, "what was that noise?" Everyone heard it, no one could identify it. Why not? How many of you have heard the sound of a turkey blowing up in the oven? Keeping in mind the oven muffles the sound? I opened the oven door and there it was, everywhere. The bulk of the bird was still in the pan and well... no need for carving that year! I now do not attempt to stuff every last scrap of bread into the bird.
One year the turkey escaped my jinx, the ham however, was less fortunate. I had about 7 things in an oven meant for 5 tops. They were covered in foil, on top of each other and to me, perfectly fine. The last thing in was the sweet potatoes covered in butter and brown sugar. Now comes the part my family insists is germane to the story while I strongly refute the claim. There may have been 1 or 2 or 6 glasses of wine involved, (damn those, oh too convenient, boxes 'o wine.) All of us could smell a sweet burning scent. I kept telling them, "don't worry about it, it's the yams they're dripping a bit in the crowded oven; lets have some more wine." Come time to eat we unpacked the oven. Sweet potatoes ... fine, turkey... fine ... coming to the last item, ham... OMG! it was a giant lump of charcoal! Apparently the sweet smell was the honey ham burning to a crisp. Now I was able to cut away on all sides leaving about a 6 inch edible square so not all was lost! A new family tradition was born. Every holiday Michelle says... (in the same tone as, 'and God bless us everyone,') "remember the year Madre, (she thinks she's Spanish,) got drunk and burnt the ham?" Everyone laughs and we drink more wine.
On to this year, skipping a few as this posting is already too long. It's 9am. I'm getting the stupid turkey ready for the oven. On the stove I'm sauteing onion, butter and seasonings. I'm using my favourite pot. The last piece of a set I bought in 1979 when I moved to Windsor. It's orange, cast iron with an enamel coating. I love that pot, though at my age, lifting it has become a chore. I had just walked away from the stove when... a huge popping sound, (similar to an airbomb for you fireworks types,) resounds through the kitchen! I turn around and there, all over the walls, stove and side of the fridge are jagged chunks of the interior enamel coating! I could have lost an eye! NOTE* it was 9am there was NO WINE involved... yet!
