Sunny Side Up � 2001 by Kathleen Gibson Dec.19, 2001 How Not to Stuff the Bird I detest stuffing the turkey. More than once I�ve chased that bird clear out into the hall after it shot out from under my gourmet caress. But years ago I heard a guest on a radio food show explaining how to do it neatly and easily. A cinch, she said. I decided to try it. Our company dinner was scheduled for Boxing Day that year, around two. I crept early into the kitchen�excited for once about stuffing my turkey, wondering why I�d never thought of her method before. All those years; never knowing that I had the secret tool close at hand. Or rather�at foot. I slipped it out of my housecoat pocket. Brand-new pantyhose�spice brown. �Cut one leg off at the crotch,� she�d said. �Spoon in your dressing, tie a knot, and pop it in the turkey.� But when I was done spooning, the thing was longer than my own leg. So I amputated at the knee, crammed the foot half into the cavity, and put the thigh alongside�half on top of�the turkey. Done. Humming to carols on the stereo and savoring the warm brown smell wafting from the kitchen, I scrambled to make our day-after-Christmas-house company ready. Half an hour before our guests arrived, I opened the oven and pulled out the roaster, my saliva glands tap dancing in anticipation. �Simply slide out the bag, slit it open, and there you have it!� the lady had said. I was blessing her right till I lifted the foil. The escaping steam made a sound exactly like an old woman�s sigh�like it was relieved to get out of there. I gaped. My turkey was an island in a miniature algae covered slough. The same putrid green shone through the colorless?? stocking. Lordy, my dressing!!! Six-year-old Amanda was at my elbow. She paled, fled�and squealed. �Daddy, there�s something very wrong in the kitchen!� The Preacher bounded in just in time to see a hint of green as the two lumps plopped into the garbage. �What the�.?� He started. It was then he spied the unused leg of pantyhose draped over the towel bar. He opened and shut his mouth like a fish, took one look at my face, then backed out of the room, steering Amanda with him. What�s a good hostess to do with no stuffing and a green turkey for Christmas dinner? I couldn�t serve it�imagine the next day�s headlines: One Size Fits all Kills All. Unless�. �Dear God,� I pled as I hacked away the greenest parts� �please, please�.don�t let it hurt them!� I swore my family to secrecy and didn�t stop praying what whole meal. Everyone survived, and I haven�t stuffed a turkey since. I�d like to try again with white pantyhose, except the Preacher has made it abundantly clear that my underwear is strictly �verboten� from ever entering our kitchen again. Unless, of course, it�s stuffed with me, the biggest turkey of all. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |