The One with the Thanksgiving Chicken

Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks- for the family sitting at the table with us, for the family recipes passed down from generation to generation, for the many blessings bestowed upon us from year to year. Inevitably, while sharing the many things we are thankful for (even in the year of a pandemic and murder hornets) the tales of 'remember that one year...' begin and laugher ensues.

 

One of my favorite Thanksgiving memories was our first Thanksgiving as a couple- Little Miss was away at her father's and I was excited to really cook my first Thanksgiving dinner on my own. Particularly since I hadn't exactly impressed my sweet hunting, cowboy during our inaugural hunting excursion- I was pretty sure I could redeem myself in the kitchen. I felt like I was a decent cook and I mean, how difficult is turkey, right?!

I made my detailed grocery list- turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, apple crisp, gravy fixings, etc. It was shaping up to be quite a meal and since it was just us, I didn't purchase a large turkey...just a small roaster.

"Roasters? I wonder why it doesn't say turkey...oh well," I didn't give it another thought, placing two birds into my cart. (Together with our list, I was also shopping for my aunt's Thanksgiving gathering.)

I properly seasoned the bird the night before and woke up early on Thanksgiving morning to go hunting. (Ironically, we didn't see anything this go-round either. I was starting to think I was bad luck- or perhaps, it had to do with my inability to whisper.)

We arrived home sans-deer and I got the bird in the oven and prepared our sides. It didn't take long before the whole house smelled ah-ma-zing. The roaster didn't take nearly as long as I anticipated- I noted that I didn't really understand what all the fuss was about with cooking turkey. It certainly didn't take any longer than cooking chicken.

My sweet man didn't say much- I figured he was still thinking about the lack of deer population in eastern North Carolina. 

We sat down to eat and I cut into my roaster.

"This is really...juicy. It's like chicken," I said.

"That's because it is chicken," my sweet, patient man replied.

"No...it's a roaster! It said it on the....body of the bird!!" I jumped up and began digging through the garbage. I had to prove it was a roaster.

"It says...roaster! It doesn't say...chicken...anywhere on here," I said, while desperately scanning the packaging for the world turkey.

"It's delicious. It's chicken. Thanksgiving chicken," he chuckled.

"So...this is chicken," I said, feeling much like Jessica Simpson in her chicken/tuna moment.

I was baffled.

"Well shit..." I said.

Talk about a party-fowl...#seewhatIdidthere 

Happy Thanksgiving!