Phone a friend

I decided to surprise my in-laws with a roasted turkey. My mother-in-law had given me a small turkey a few months earlier. But my own mother hated to cook and had not even taught me to boil a pot of water.

Still, I had a secret weapon: a fabulous cook, the wife of a co-worker, who would guide me gently into the world of cooking a turkey.

When the day arrived, I was armed with my friend’s phone number and ready to roast. After the turkey thawed and the packet of giblets removed, I called my friend.

No answer.

An hour ticked by and I had yet to hear from my only resource. The clock, the weight of my turkey and Betty Crocker all told me the bird was going in the oven, with or without advice from my friend.

Desperately, I called on what little background knowledge I had. My mother had never cooked a turkey. She had, however, cooked chickens and removed their skin before cooking. Naturally, I attempted the same, and it proved to be an exasperating challenge.

Fifteen minutes after the bird had begun to roast, my friend finally called. She dropped the phone when I came to the part about skinning the turkey. After some mumbling and hyperventilating, she cried, “Here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to baste that puppy every 15 minutes!”

I didn’t even know what “basting” meant.

In the end, the turkey was good, and that wasn’t just my conclusion. Though my in-laws were amused by my mishap, they genuinely enjoyed dinner. This goes to show there is hope for any situation – even if you skin your turkey.

Patti Sanders of Spokane

 

Turkey savior

It was a week before Thanksgiving and my husband had just plopped a turkey around the size of Mars on the counter.

“Our squadron has a Thanksgiving feast every year, and the commander cooks the turkey,” he said.

My husband was the commander. I have no idea why the task fell on me. Throughout our eight years of marriage, I had only roasted two turkeys. The first was a near-disaster after I removed the skin. My mother-in-law assisted me with my second one.

To ensure there would be no disasters this time, I created a schedule that began at 6 a.m. on the big day and talked to my boss about taking the day off. The wife of a man who was also in the Air Force, she was unsympathetic to my cooking needs, suggesting instead that I use the commercial kitchen at the office so I could work while the turkey roasted.

I reluctantly agreed.

Although I had followed all thawing directions, I noticed the inside of my Mars turkey was still icy. Then, I turned my attention to the monstrous oven and became aware of the fact that I had no idea how to use it. Immediately, I became overwhelmed. Just when I was on the verge of tears, a co-worker walked in.

This man was a phenomenal chef who was coming in that morning to prepare for a banquet. He asked what the turkey was for. I’m not sure if it was the panic in my voice or the words tumbling out of my mouth, but he graciously offered to help.

My turkey savior showed me how to properly thaw the bird and where to place the butter. All was well until he got to the stuffing. I produced my boxes of stuffing mix and, to my horror, he told me had never made stuffing out of a box. Forty disappointed faces, cruel whispers and the embarrassment of my love flashed through my mind’s eye.

Then he said it: “Would you like me to make the turkey? It’s no trouble at all, and you could get back to work.”

Several hours later, he was instructing me on safe food handling and helping me load the turkey into my car, along with boxes of commercial food-warming trays, lids, serving utensils and burners. The angel had even made a giant stock pot of delicious gravy.

The turkey was a brilliant success. Many claimed it was the best turkey and gravy they’d ever had. I may not take this secret to the grave, but at least everyone thought I was a fabulous cook!

Patti Sanders of Spokane

 

"Perfect" turkey

The comedy of errors began Thanksgiving morning. As I set the turkey in the roaster pan, a friend told me, “You need to add water because if you don’t it will burn.” I questioned that, but then again, what did I know? I had never used the roaster before and cooking is not exactly my gift. An hour later the turkey was steaming, not roasting. The legs looked like they were going to fall off. Help!

I tried to call my friend, who was also my neighbor, but she wasn’t home. Her husband said she was at another neighbor’s house. In a panic I called there, proclaiming, “I have a turkey emergency!”

Within minutes, I had three women in pajamas trying to fix my turkey. They discovered I didn’t get everything out of the inside of the turkey. I had apparently looked in the wrong end.

My friend, who is an amazing cook, said, “Let me take it to my place and cook it because I have a new electric thermometer.” Her family would be eating with us that night so out the door the turkey went.

I cried. I had wanted so badly to cook the “perfect” turkey.

A few hours later, my friend called to tell me the turkey was done. “Are you kidding me? It can’t be done yet,” I said. “We are not going to eat for a while.” Her response was, “My thermometer says it is.”

I will never forget the look on my husband’s face when he began carving the turkey and found it was not cooked all the way through. The turkey was then cut into pieces and placed on the barbecue.

The poor thing was steamed, baked and barbecued before it made it to the table.

My perfect turkey was not perfect. Then again, maybe it was. I had put so much emphasis on the “perfect” turkey that I forgot what Thanksgiving was all about. As we sat down for dinner, we gave thanks and spent an evening filled with laughter about the stupid turkey.

It wasn’t what I had originally envisioned but I am glad that it turned out the way it did. That day has become one of my favorite memories.

Kim Chaffin of Colbert

 

Shrimp cocktail fail

My first Thanksgiving after college I invited my parents to my apartment in Bend, Oregon, where I cooked them a seafood meal. The appetizer was shrimp cocktail, my first attempt at making it. I bought the shrimp already peeled, arranged them around the rim of a glass and poured in cocktail sauce.

They took a tentative a bite and asked, “Did you cook these?”

I had assumed they were already cooked. And, being colorblind, I couldn’t see they weren’t pink. So we washed them, cooked them and started over.

Scott Maben of Coeur d'Alene

 

Christmas Carl's

It happened on Christmas 2013. I rarely got the chance to cook an actual dinner because I had 8-month-old twins. I put everything in the Crock-Pot to be ready in time for my husband to come home around 6:30 p.m. Early in the evening, I checked the Crock-Pot's progress. I forgot to plug the damn thing in. But, to my credit, I had turned the knob to low. Christmas dinner ended up being Carl’s Jr.

Betsy Clevenger of Spokane

 

Don't cry over spilled pie

Since it would be quieter than usual, I decided to bake my pies on Christmas morning. I thought that would help me take my mind off the fact that we were not going to have children and grandchildren for the holiday.

Crusts were made, fillings prepared. In went the first one: pumpkin that took high heat for 15 minutes before it was to be turned down to the temperature at which the pecan pie was to be baked.

After the given time I turned down the heat, opened the oven door, carefully slid in the pecan pie in and ouch! My pinky finger touched the oven rack that had been heated to more than 400 degrees.

The pecan pie flipped over and landed on the oven door, spilling the sugary filling everywhere. I screamed, and my husband came running. By this time I was wailing, but we managed to get the burned-on mess cleaned up.

I even made another pecan pie after borrowing some more Karo syrup from a friend.

Phyllis "Chickie" Berry of Spirit Lake, Idaho

 

Pecan pile

Shortly after I was married I decided to bake my husband a delicious pecan pie. It smelled so good baking in the oven.

As I opened the oven door, I pulled out the rack a bit to better reach the pie. The pie started sliding. It hit the edge of the rack and flopped upside down on the kitchen floor.

I sat down on the floor and cried. Not only was my delicious pie gone, but cleaning up a warm pecan pie off the carpeted kitchen floor was a challenge.

Joanne Miller of Spokane Valley

---

---