^^ It's pretty funny if you've been here for a while though. #sadbuttrue

There's an eagle outside screaming. Is it yelling at me for totally bullying an as yet unacquired frozen bird?

Oof. I sure hope they never become allied with turkeys because if you really think about it, eagles are basically flying razor blades of doom. #PNWlife

Alfred says that eagles eat turkeys too, so that's one less thing for me to worry about.

At some point here I will share my brining process, which is the secret to a seriously delicious formerly happy giant dead bird.

Without brining, roasted turkey is just meh.

The hardest part of brining is finding a suitable container that can hold both the bird and enough liquid to keep it completely submerged and chilled for 48 hours.

I have a giant stock pot that just barely fits in the fridge. I've used a cooler in the past. Even a bucket with a foodsafe plastic liner can work. If the outside temp stays below 40°, you can even park it on a porch if it's securely closed.

It's 100% worth the effort.

^^ Turkeys become remarkably flexible when you remove their spine, which gives you more options when it comes to finding a container for the brine.

Sharing this now so you can gather the necessary supplies, you know, if cooking up a giant bird is also in your future.

Speaking of supplies, this thing is also a must-have. It'll go off when your bird is cooked to perfection.

We use ours year-round.

https://a.co/d/4m8oPk1

As for the bird, I'll likely pick mine up in the next few days. It'll start thawing on Monday to be ready for brine Thursday to be cooked Saturday.

If you're cooking yours for Thanksgiving, you want that thaw to start this coming Saturday, brine to start Tuesday for cooking Thursday. Thaw time might be less depending on bird size.

Brine time is 48 hours. It can be done in less, but this has worked out best in my experience.

Turkey prices right now are very low. 👀

It's probably a good thing that I don't have the means to store more than one. I'm positive that the turkey gods would absolutely put a stop to me if I started hoarding the things.

I bet turkeys go to therapy... 🤔

I asked #ChatGPT to draw me an image depicting a trio of turkey gods, and it's both terrifying and would potentially make for a righteous tattoo.

I can't decide if the turkey gods would love me or hate me.

On the one hand, I definitely play a part in their murder and consumption. On the other, I do make a big deal about it and do their demise a fair bit of justice. Their kind are not dying in vain with me.

However, I also make the murder and consumption of turkey much more popular in the process so I guess it's pretty complicated.

I'm not that worried about it, tbh.

I've seen what happens to some of the other birds, and it isn't pretty.

If you're dunking your turkey in gravy just to be able to enjoy it next week, you'll see what I mean.

There is no turkey erotica in this thread.

It would probably be obligatory if this was #RIPTwitter, but thankfully it's not.

I think that turkeys are probably extremely gullible.

I don't think it took much to load them up for their last field trip ever. The farmer probably just told them that they were going to the zoo or something.

I'm guessing they were even pretty excited about it. I mean, the zoo would be a pretty exciting place for a turkey.

They thought they were going to see flamingoes, which are legendary among turkey communities, but instead all they saw was death.

It's pretty horrific, if you really think about it. But they say that death is merely the beginning of a delicious journey, so it'll probably be alright.

Also, I totally had a dream that I was getting a tattoo of the turkey gods to appease the turkey gods.

I was pretty drunk in this dream, which is probably fair warning. You know, from the turkey gods.

I'll bet that in this dream, I was drinking...

...Wild Turkey.

I'm pretty sure the contents of my CounterSocial timeline are going to be an exhibit in a future proceeding to have me committed or something. 🤪

I believe tomorrow is the day that I finally meet this year's honoree.

It's Ten's turn to name it this year. She assures me that she has to meet it first. It's like that, you know. It really takes a meeting to understand the personality and give it a suitable name.

Also, I will not be specifying the grocer from which I will be acquiring this year's bird. You know, for security purposes.

You probably think it's unlikely, but I think that if I share the market from which I will be selecting this year's bird, there's a much greater chance that it will hatch up a zany escape plan and there won't be any turkeys left when I arrive.

So I'm declaring that detail to be classified in the interests of fictional security.

[REDACTED] has a good selection of turkeys that allegedly lived very joyous lives on an open pasture.

It's a sad story for them if you really think about it, but at least it's a mediocre story for us.

This year's turkey has been acquired.

I stood there staring at the selection for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. Which one of these birds deserved a good home? That one there looks like an asshole. This other one looks stubborn. Yet others I'm sure would have been passable, but I knew the moment I saw it which one was mine.

It was sitting in a corner of the freezer bay, untouched by the others and looking quite rejected.

I'm sure I saw it smile when I added it to the cart.

I drove home like I was leaving the hospital with a newborn, my typical quick turns and prompt acceleration reduced to the measured calm of a man transporting delicate cargo. I could tell the bird was nervous. It shifted almost imperceptibly with each pothole and variation in the imperfect road surface, riding into what it surely must consider the great unknown. I played chill indie to ease the transition, carried it gingerly inside, and gently placed it in a place of honor in the freezer.

I'm going to give it a few hours to unwind. It's pretty dark in there, so I'm guessing it'll fall asleep.

Ten will meet it soon, and then we will know what it's called. Probably. She might just call it Turkey McTurkeyFace though, so I guess we should all be ready for that.

It has been suggested that I erect a shrine to this year's bird, and I suppose I could.

I already have two very powerful talismans to add. They're stuck between the acoustic tiles on the wall in my office.

I don't remember the weight of Gary, but Fred was ~23lbs.

I'm pretty sure I heard a muted gobble coming from the freezer as I was making my second cup of coffee, but that's impossible.

The bird doesn't need to be watered or fed, on account of the fact that it's missing its head.

I guess it could be pretty lonely in there, but I don't see the problem. There's all kinds of frozen goods to keep it company.

I even made sure to keep the gyoza wrappers nearby so that it could get as much sage advice as it needs.

I mean seriously, how often does a frozen turkey get to hang out with gyoza wrappers?

I'm not going to tell the as yet unnamed formerly happy giant bird that there are dozens of people who are keenly interested in what's going to happen to it.

We don't want to make it unnecessarily nervous, but mostly I think it would have a dangerous motive to escape if it knew how popular it has become.

"You fool! It's frozen solid! It's wrapped in thick industrial plastic! It's an inanimate object! There's no possible way that it could escape!"

That's just what Big Turkey wants you to believe.

If you don't remain vigilant against the possibility of frozen turkey escape, you might wake up one morning to find your freezer door ajar, turkey gone, splotches of formerly frozen turkey frost lying in a trail of small puddles that lead directly to your back door. You'll stare into your yard, flummoxed at your bad luck, eyeing a turkey-sized hole in a nearby fence, wondering what mayhem and shenanigans it will wreak upon your community, all because you thought escape was impossible.

Let's talk logistics.

We're going to call Thanksgiving Day Zero. It's the day that you actually want to eat turkey.

Day -2 is when you want to start the brine, ideally 48 hours before you start to roast your turkey. More on that soon.

Day -5 is when you want to begin thawing your turkey. You can do this in the fridge, or you can use a cooler.

Between day -5 and day -2, you must buy your bird thawed. You're going to be sad if you get it frozen.

You can order turkeys at exorbitant prices, but it's much cheaper (and rewarding) to prepare your own. Your brine doesn't need to be particularly complicated either.

For mine, I'm dissolving ¾ cup of salt per 1 gallon of cold water. That alone will make your bird superb. I add fresh herbs, liquid smoke, and a smidge of maple syrup, but these are all optional.

Brining is one secret. Spatchcocking is the next. Use kitchen shears to remove the spine before the brine, and it'll cook much faster.

Spatchcocked turkey is both delicious and fun to say amidst a group of people who might not be familiar with the term.

Them: "What did you do to make this so tasty!?"

Me: "I spatchcocked it."

Them:

*We now return to your local sordid turkey saga already in progress.*

I saw someone asking about the sentiment meter and it kind of made me feel bad because if you really think about it this entire thread is about taking a happy giant bird and murdering it for tradition.

This makes me even more concerned about the premise of Jurassic Park, in which geneticists use dinosaur DNA to bring back the terrifying ancestors of modern turkeys which would definitely hunt me down and eat me out of retribution for mercilessly devouring their kin.