It's Christmas morning here in Florida and the breakfast dishes are washed and put away, the turkey is in the oven, the dough for the yeast rolls is rising, and the Watergate salad is made. We have a little reprieve before the mad rush to get everything cooked and ready for Christmas dinner.
Spending time with my family brings back memories of Christmases as a kid. I remember the year when my sister and I got new bikes. We were so excited because the bikes had baskets and banana seats! As a teenager, my best Christmas was the year my parents surprised me with my very own stereo. I played my records over and over on it. But, I think some of my most memorable holidays are the ones as an adult, like the first time I cooked a turkey.
It was 1997 and my parents had moved to Florida. This was the first year that Christmas dinner would be at my house. In the past, we had always gone to my parents' house for the holiday meal, but this year, my parents were flying back to California and the mantle had been passed on to me to prepare the turkey dinner.
Since it was my first time, I was determined that I was going to do everything perfectly. So I started researching and asking friends how to cook the delicious and juicy turkey. My mom said, "Cooking a turkey is easy. Just put it in an oven bag and you don't have to do anything else." I was adamant that I wasn't going to cook the turkey like my mom and dad. I felt confident that I could make a juicy turkey and it wasn't going to happen using a bag!
I bought a fresh (not frozen) 24 pound turkey, lots of butter for basting, and a foil pan to roast it in. In addition, I planned to make homemade gravy, and stuffing from day old bread, and Aunt Sidney's yeast rolls, an old family recipe from my mother-in-law. It was going to be the best turkey dinner...ever!
I was ready. I created a schedule and everything was planned out. We would eat at 4:00. My parents, uncle, cousin and her family would show up and be in awe of the fabulous meal I had created. My mom kept telling me, "I don't know why you are going to so much trouble. Just stick it in a bag." I remained undaunted and moved forward with my schedule which started the night before.
I cut several loaves of bread into cubes. My largest bowl was overflowing with pieces of bread, celery, onions, and more. Then I added the chicken broth, and my abundant stash of stuffing shrunk into a miniscule mound of mush. Still determined, I proceeded to stuff the turkey.
Then it was time to put the turkey in the pan. I had read that it needed to be put in the pan breast side up, but this turkey was so fat, I couldn't tell which side was the breast and which side was the back! I asked my husband, Matt, but he didn't know either. Eventually, Matt held the turkey up and we imagined it walking, which helped us to identify the breast. Mission accomplished.
The foil pan seemed a bit flimsy for the gargantuan stuffed turkey, so we came up with the brilliant idea of putting an airbake cookie sheet underneath the foil pan. The turkey made it into the oven on schedule, and I proceeded to baste it with a stick of butter...every 30 minutes.
In between the bastings, I continued on schedule with the other preparations until it was close to the time for the turkey to be done. I kept checking the thermometer, but the temperature of the turkey was not even close to 185 degrees. That's when I began to think the my perfect dinner may not be as perfect as I had hoped.
My parents had arrived and I asked my dad his opinion on my turkey. He checked it with his standard "twist the leg and see if the bone pulls away from the meat." No luck. That turkey was not even close to done, so back in the oven it went and I started cooking hors d'oeuvres in our toaster oven. When my very prompt uncle arrived, Matt offered him a pig in the blanket stating, "Hors d'oeuvres is french for dinner's not ready yet."
Time passed and that turkey didn't seem to be getting any more done, and we started questioning my oven My dad fired up our barbecue and announced he would finish cooking the turkey on the barbecue. I quickly scooped out the stuffing which was more like soup it was so soggy. My mom reassured me that we could put it in the oven and the stuffing would dry up some.
With the turkey outside on the grill, my oven was empty and it was definitely time to put the rolls in the oven. They had risen and were hanging over the pan. So in the oven they went with the soggy stuffing. Suddenly my dad rushed in to get water, declaring that he needed some liquid because the juices were boiling away in the foil pan. With a sigh, I said goodbye to my homemade gravy.
Meanwhile, I realized that I hadn't paid attention to the time when the rolls went into the oven. I checked them, and they were getting brown, so took them out of the oven and turned the pan over. Normally, the rolls fall out of the pan and I separate them into their individual rolls. This time, the top half fell out, the bottom half stayed in the pan, and the middle was sticky dough. It was the final straw. I quickly picked up the top half off the counter, returned it to pan, patted it down a bit and shoved it back in the oven.
We finally sat down to dinner two hours late. The misshapen rolls, flame broiled turkey, and wet stuffing were added to the table along with the rest of the Christmas meal. It all ended up tasting pretty good, or perhaps we were just very hungry.
I had humble pie for dessert while my mom repeated, "I told you; just stick it in a bag!"
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