Feeling
the Pain
“I
hate turkeys. If you stand in the meat section long enough, you start
to get mad at turkeys. There's turkey ham, turkey bologna, turkey
pastrami. Someone needs to tell the turkey, 'man, just be yourself!'”
Mitch
Hedberg
Here
we go. For the foreseeable future, we will be eating turkey
sandwiches, turkey pot pies, turkey salad. I usually use the leftover
turkey to make soup stock. Let's face it, even ten people have a hard
time consuming a sixteen pound bird. Someone said the thing we are
most thankful for at Thanksgiving is that it only comes once a year. So true. But it was good, wasn't it?
Today,
all across America harried women have raked the last of the pumpkin
pie crumbs into the trash and headed off to the mall. Or in the case
of this year, they may just be heading home from the mall as the sun
is rising. Consumerism at its ugliest. I know...I know...it's the
economy, stupid. I keep thinking some genius needs to suggest that
perhaps we might want to consider a new basis for our economy; one
not so dependent on consumer spending. That would cure a multitude of
woes. I'm not smart enough to say what that would be, but I have
Utopian dreams. Just about the time the holiday shopping season kicks
in, I go all Tolstoy—share the land, share the wealth, give my
turkey to the poor man in the street, and such. It's a sad thing.
Probably the product of too much turkey gravy.
I
spoke with a cashier at Wal Mart Tuesday and asked, “So, are YOU
working on Thanksgiving?” She gave me a look of pure disdain and
said, “NOT ME, honey!” I have a feeling even the mighty Wal Mart
would have a hard time making some of these bad-*#@ southern women
work ANYTIME they don't want to! That's like pushing a dam uphill.
My
friend, Martha Lee, makes a dynamite turkey pie after the dust
settles. Turkey, carrots, potato, celery, onion, green beans or peas
(whatever green thing is left over from yesterday) mixed into a
thickened turkey-stock (or left-over gravy), plopped into a big pie
tin, covered with a crumbly crust and baked until it's all golden and
bubbly. It's pretty good, y'all. Especially in January when
Thanksgiving is a distant memory.
Happy
day after! If you're feeling guilty and in need of some physical
exercise to sooth your gorged-again belly, you can come over and rake
leaves in my yard! It's covered! And that would be so Tolstoy, don't
you think? Share the yard—share the rakes—share the labor. Wow! I
can dig it!
In
the spirit,
Jane
No comments:
Post a Comment