Fred has about 12 hours left to escape. He's going to be relieved of his spine and drowned in the morning.
Please don't tell him this.
My brother-in-law has laid claim to Fred's spine and neck. I assume he's making gravy with them but I don't really know for sure.
I have decided not to eat Fred. Instead, I am going to release him. He is a good bird who did nothing wrong and who should definitely not have his spine removed and turned into gravy.
^^ That's what I get for setting my phone down next to Fred for a few minutes while gathering spine removal supplies.
Β―\_(γ)_/Β―
Fred tried to do the potty dance to get out of his last bath ever, but it didn't work.
That cookie sheet was pristine when I put him on it. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Fred is currently drowning, but it's in a mixture of orange peels, rosemary, sage, and thyme, so it's generally regarded as socially acceptable.
I've stored his spine in a Ziplock bag along with the neck that came with him, which I presume was his, and placed them both in a drawer that cannot be opened while the fridge is closed.
He will need both of these to escape which is why they aren't in the bath with him.
Preparing Fred:
β
Thaw Fred
β
Spatchcock Fred
β
Brine Fred for ~48 hours <-- We Are Here
β¬ Make Fred Stock (Essence of Fred)
β¬ Lovingly massage Fred with fresh herb butter
β¬ Splay Fred in a roasting pan over carrots, onions, celery. Add Essence of Fred
β¬ Give Fred time to think about his life choices (slightly dry skin)
β¬ Roast Fred
β¬ Give Fred more time to think about his life choices (rest Fred)
β¬ Dismember, distribute, and devour Fred (π)
β¬ Fred sammiches
β¬ The End (of Fred)
Technically, you *could* pick up a frozen bird right now and it would be ready in time for Thanksgiving. Just make it a small one and throw it straight into a cold-water brine the moment you get home.
Just don't name it Fred. Turkey entanglement is probably a thing.
Eight walked into the kitchen just as I was detaching the last of Fred's spine.
"Fred's really going to hate you now," she said, before slowly turning around and walking away.
She's not wrong.
Fred is a whopping 27 pounds. When we bought him the cashier said, "that's a big bird." Then he added after a brief pause, "well, it's probably not *the* Big Bird."
"You never know," I replied. "Those vultures at HBO totally seem like the sort of people who would butcher him for profit."
It was funny in my head, but it honestly made us all a little sad.
Handling turkey will make your hands smell like turkey. You can use gloves, or you can mix one part kosher salt with one part dishwashing liquid and use the mixture to vigorously scrub your hands.
This life hack also does wonders for automotive grime.
Later today, the pumpkins will get prepped for turning into pies tomorrow. Here's the recipe for "Daddy's Pumpkin Pie." #CoSoCooks
I opted for store-bought crusts. You could also use canned pumpkin if you aren't into steaming your own.
They're happy pumpkins for the time being, but that's only because I haven't carved them up to remove their guts yet.
One of the oldest pictures I have is of 12-year-old me, gleefully stabbing a pumpkin.
We never really grow up. We just grow old.
One pumpkin has been gutted and dismembered and is now screaming in pain at having been subjected to boiling hot steam.
Don't worry. It'll stop screaming soon.
Most people aren't attuned to pumpkin screams.
It's definitely less of a blessing and more of a curse.
"What does a pumpkin scream sound like?"
When I first saw this video, it reminded me of that.
^^ It's no wonder people don't make their own pumpkin pies.
Pumpkin #1 has stopped screaming.
Pumpkin #2 has begun sobbing.
It's a good thing I already know what a "food court" is, or I might be really worried about it.
They won't be able to testify against me later, which is why most of the #Thanksgiving ingredients are watching this saga play out live.
The onions have assured me that they're going to make me cry.
It has been ~7 hours since I drowned Fred, so I'm now 95% convinced that he's actually dead.
Also, that 5% is about 65% amusing, on average.
(That's just an estimate because turkeys are terrible at math.)
On my list of things to prepare for this year's #Thanksgiving:
Fred.
Pumpkin pie.
Mashed potatoes.
This recipe is pretty close to how I make them, which is why I only make them about once a year. π§π§ #CoSoCooks
There Is Only One Difference Between OK Mashed Potatoes and Shockingly Good Ones
https://slate.com/human-interest/2023/11/mashed-potatoes-recipe-best-butter-butter-butter.html
It's been ~10 hours since I drowned Fred in an orange/rosemary/sage/thyme brine, which means he's getting even saltier than he was when I removed his spine.
Fred has absolutely zero influence over me, which should be obvious because he was the bestest most magnificent bird who ever lived.
(Fred is going to be delicious.)
Fred can't hypnotize me because he doesn't have any eyes.
At least, not until we eat him and potentially overdose on tryptophan.
Β―\_(γ)_/Β―
Fred was placed in his last bath ever about 12 hours ago.
He hasn't moved at all, but that's probably because I had to twist him like a pretzel to get him into the stock pot.
Once upon a time, there was a happy turkey who lived an allegedly peaceful life on an open pasture.
At least, that's what the label said. Now he's crammed inside of a stock pot in my refrigerator, slowly becoming a different sort of happy.
Fred did not murder me in my sleep, which I am very thankful for.
At 27 pounds, I like to think that Fred had a turkey harem that followed him around and told him how mighty he was.
@smittycanada1 It's a little hard to tell with him contorted into a pretzel in my stock pot, but I can tell just by looking at him that the lady turkeys probably found him to be irresistible.
For turkeys, size probably *is* everything. π€