I actually have a story about turkey wings. Surprise, Surprise its about one of my kitchen mistakes.
Thanksgiving is what I train for all year. It is my Iron Man competition. In my house there is a whole collection of yellowed food stained composition books. Each one containing tried and true recipes along with experiments that failed. Along side a list of 10-12 dishes I will be making there is a detailed timeline. This timeline starts three days before the big day. As the day gets closer the timing becomes more accurate. I have it timed down to the minute. Every once in awhile I go off the rails and decide on a last minute addition. I blame it on exhaustion and erratic emotions. This brings us to my story. Last year I had a brilliant idea, well it seemed brilliant.
Being thrifty is a dominant trait of mine. Every year I make a turkey roulade, and the idea of paying extra for boneless skinless turkey breasts is against all my beliefs. So breaking down a whole turkey, it is. Usually, I use the spare parts to make stock. Last year, though, a light bulb went off. Turkey wings! We love a rice and gravy made with stuffed turkey wings. I can do this, no problem! I have only been cooking for 14 hours. What could possibly go wrong? A lot, a lot could go wrong.
Wings stuffed and stock made, now it was just the assembly left. In a crock pot the rich stock is added and then layered with beautifully browned wings and veggies. I did it! I am a hero! Dish number 13 done (I should have known 13 is not my lucky number). My bed was calling my name and I answered. I placed my head on the pillow knowing that my dreams will not be as good as the smells of Thanksgiving morning. Thanksgiving morning in my house we wake up to all these amazing smells letting your tummy know that it will have a good day.
What I woke up to was an olfactory nightmare. The smell, oh god the smell. My whole house smelled liked the bottom of a shoe that had found a hot, fresh, pile of dog poo. What the hell is going on? Leaping out of bed I immediately started the search. What is it? Trash can? No. Pantry? No. The dog? No. I searched everywhere and could not find the stench. As I run in and out of the kitchen the realization hits. This spot. It gets stronger right here. Slowly I turn and see the crock pot. No, it can’t be my beautiful turkey wings. As I slowly lift the lid it becomes very apparent that something has gone terribly wrong. The smell of putrid rotting meat surrounds me. Slamming the lid back down, I go into disbelief. This can’t be right. I just made these. Instead of accepting fate I wait for a second opinion. Apparently retching and gagging just wasn’t enough for me.
As the smell becomes stronger and stronger it becomes overwhelming. My solution? I will just move the whole pot to the front porch. My first guest shows up to me, a woman crazed and lacking the skill to make any good decisions and I forcibly dragged her to the porch and make her smell it. Unfortunately, she is a person with a calm and people pleasing kind of demeanor. “It isn’t that bad”. Are you crazy woman? It is terrible, I just need you to say it. As the second guest arrives they make the mistake of coming to the porch next to the crock pot. Their immediate proclamation of “Did someone step in poo?” makes it very clear. Now what do you do. We all just stood there looking at this giant pot of Shit Turkey.
Lucius arrives back home and breaks the spell. “Oh God, what is that smell?'“ I point to the culprit. “That, I made shit turkey, I don’t even know how I did it,” I say. “Okay then, I will just throw it,” in his all too matter of fact way that can drive me crazy.
“We can’t do that, we will stink up the whole block” He thinks for a moment- “Okay then down the drain it goes.” I watch this poor man pick up this large ceramic pot of simmering poop and head for the storm drain. Being the supportive partner I am I stood a safe distance on the porch as he headed to dispose of my travesty. As guests show up there is Lucius bent down in the street gagging as he tried to get this turkey down the storm drain. Nothing says it is going to be a good Thanksgiving like a short round man shoving shit turkey down a storm drain.
I head inside to finish my marathon. As i go to unplug the not to be trusted crock pot I notice the settings. I had set the damn thing to warm. So instead of cooking it I had put it on a bacteria forming, meat rotting setting. I was responsible for the Shit Turkey.
In short stick to your plan. If you don’t, Shit Turkey will be in your future. Don’t join my club of people that cooked so bad that it had to be sent out to sea.