I was up for it though. I'd had a nap and was feeling pretty spunky. I had potatoes cooking for potato salad, and sweet potatoes baking for the casserole I planned to make. I was in charge of those two sides, plus the dressing. And the buzzard.
|the buzzard, prelube|
I started rubbing it all over, and after a couple minutes I was really getting into it...about another ten minutes and I began to feel that maybe I had passed the boundaries of acceptable buzzard rubbing. I was beginning to break into a kinky kind of sweat too, so I forced myself to stop (buzzardus interruptus?). I picked it up to put it in the pan and realized my mistake...
I couldn't pick it up. It kept sliding out of my fingers. The kids were in the living room watching their third Christmas movie in a row, and I was thankful that they weren't witnessing the grotesque dance I was doing with the bird in the kitchen, trying to lift it up and get it in that roaster. I was a determined woman and after a few moves that would have made Fred Astaire proud, I finally body slammed the buzzard into some aluminum foil and then into the roaster.
|look ma no knobs!|
I sat for a while and then finally after finishing up the other things I was cooking, I sent Dunc off to bed with his Gramps and Maddie and I headed for bed.
About 3 or 4 AM I woke up in a cold sweat as I realized two things.
I had accidentally popped out the pop out button that tells you when the turkey is done. And I had forgotten to figure out how many hours the bird would need to cook at the temp I had set (I still wasn't even sure what temperature I had set anyway, since I did it backward and in the dark). I knew by then it was too late to do anything about it, so I drifted back to sleep, but had fitful dreams in my half waking state of food poisoning and a family trip to the ER the next day after dinner. (We could always eat grilled cheese sandwiches if the buzzard was a flop my sleepy mind reasoned.)
The next day, the pop out button was popped out (no surprise), but the turkey was done, and my buzzard was devoured with relish, with no signs of food poisoning. In fact, my karma must be turning, because this was probably the best holiday meal I have ever cooked, and that statement was made by the family without any bribery from me.
But I am still trying to get the butter off of me and out of my hair. Dang buzzard.