“Since you’re cooking that turkey anyway, why don’t we invite somebody over?” my hospitable hubby asked as he saw me wrestling the giant bird into the roaster. It was Saturday of Canadian Thanksgiving weekend.
“Sure,” I said. “Call around and see who can come on short notice.”
He did, and soon we were expecting our friends Pat and Claudette for a turkey dinner with all the trimmings. As the afternoon wore on, it dawned on me that I could smell only the faintest hint of turkey. Shouldn’t there be a wonderful aroma wafting out the windows by now? I opened the oven. It was almost cold, the turkey barely half cooked.
Hubby checked it out. “Looks like the element is shot.”
Now what? Can’t get a repair guy on Saturday. Borrow a neighbor’s oven? Haul it over to my sister’s? Move the party to Pat and Claudette’s?
“Why don’t you cook it on the barbecue?” our son suggested as he headed out the door in search of a more interesting environment.
Hey, that’s not a bad idea. I lit the barbecue and loaded the turkey, roasting pan and all, inside. It just fit. I went back inside to peel potatoes.
When Pat and Claudette arrived, Hubby went out to check on the turkey. It should be done by now. It would have been too, had the wind not blown the barbecue out.
The guys moved the barbecue around to the sheltered side of the house and re-lit it. We’d just have to wait.
Next time we checked on the turkey, our propane tank had run dry. The turkey was far from cooked and we were all starving. Besides, the potatoes, vegetables, and stove-top stuffing were ready.
Claudette got an idea. “We’ve got all the trimmings. Why don’t you boys go pick up one of those rotisserie chickens from the Co-op?”
While they were gone, Claudette made a salad and I made gravy from the little juice the turkey had produced. Just when we were expecting the guys to walk in the door, they called.
“Co-op was out of chickens, so we tried Sobeys. They’re out, too. What do you want us to do?”
Fifteen minutes later, the boys came back with a bucket of KFC and we sat down to chicken with all the trimmings. Meanwhile, our original bird continued cooking outside with the propane the boys had brought back. By the time Pat and Claudette said good-bye that evening, the turkey was mouthwatering. That is, our mouths would have been watering had our tummies not already been stuffed.
We ate turkey leftovers, with thankful hearts, for a very long time.
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