Dear 20 lb. turkey thawing in my refrigerator,
Please be kind.
Have mercy on me, a culinary amateur. Seventeen people will gather in my kitchen in two days expecting an edible Thanksgiving dinner. They’re expecting you to taste – well, good. Like a Thanksgiving turkey should taste. I’ve never hosted Thanksgiving in my home. I’ve never prepared a turkey. I’m a wee bit nervous.
I found you at Sprouts. Your label tells me you were fed natural grains and roamed free through a farmyard instead of being fattened up in a pen and fed ground-up carcasses. After watching the first half of Food Inc., I feel a little better knowing you had a happy life – at least happier and slightly longer than the average turkey. I hope your long-ish, happy life means I can’t screw you up too badly. I hope it means you’ve already done most of the work for me.
You arrived fresh – not frozen – at my home last week because I planned and shopped early – but because you were raw ten days before your final destination to my oven, I put you in the freezer until Saturday morning.
Please, please, please, please thaw out before Thursday.
You’ll be rubbed with olive oil and sage and basil, a recipe that received rave online reviews. Embrace the herbs. Keep your juices inside. Tantalize our taste buds.
For this is your purpose, dear turkey. You were hatched and raised and fattened to delight and satisfy my family. Rise up, turkey. Finish the race. Run to get the crown. You can do it.
I’ll be on the sidelines, coaching and prodding you along, giving you what I think you need. But it’s up to you to fulfill your destiny. I can only do so much.
You gotta help me. I have no idea what I’m doing. The power lies within you.
Don’t let me down.