I have a fear of turkeys. Frozen turkeys.
It started when I was 26 years old. It was my maiden voyage in the fine American culinary tradition of roasting the Thanksgiving turkey. I come from a long line of extraordinary cooks and married into a family of equal expertise. Big shoes to fill – and I only wore a size 5½ myself. The pressure to roast a good turkey was on.
On a crisp November day, on my way home from a day of teaching first graders, I stopped at the grocery store, which was a newly opened Jewel Grand Bazaar. A precursor to the big box stores of today. At four in the afternoon, it was already crowded, and parking my 1972 green Ford Pinto hatchback took a few passes down the rows to find a parking spot.
Once inside, I grabbed a cart and selected produce, then dairy, bakery, then canned goods, saving a space in the cart for Turkey Lurkey. What a pair we were that afternoon. Henny Penny and Turkey Lurkey. My mom and Tom’s, as well as his sister, Maura, were all bringing accompaniments, but, this bird and his stuffing were my responsibility. All mine.
I’d never bought a turkey before. This was long before Mr. Google could answer any question asked. With my 1972 red and white checked Better Homes and Gardens spiral bound cookbook as my guide, I picked out a frozen turkey, the biggest one I could find, loaded it onto the cart, and headed to the checkout, confident that the twenty-two pound gobbler would feed our guests and yield plenty of leftovers.
Bill paid, groceries bagged, I loaded up the hatchback of my Pinto and headed home as dusk settled in. Rush hour traffic was in full throttle, but, I only had a few miles to go and was thinking about all I still had to do to prepare for our first Thanksgiving hosting.
I’ve always loved Thanksgiving, from when I was a child, but, never more so than when I was young. Do you remember a time when we only had turkey for Thanksgiving and maybe Christmas dinner? We had our Thanksgiving meal, maybe turkey sandwiches later, leftovers a day or so more, and that was it. The scents and tastes were put in abeyance until the next year.
I was thinking about these things, I am certain, as I drove home. Anticipation and great expectations as I listened to the news on the tinny car radio (I was a news junkie even then).
Suddenly, the car in front of me stopped. I slammed on my brakes, just in time, and checked my rearview mirror to see if I was about to be hit. In an instant, I saw it, hurling at me at 35 miles per hour with me at a dead stop. My life actually flashed before my eyes, as did all my Thanksgivings and a few misgivings as well. It was two or three seconds of pure terror as 22 pounds of frozen turkey hurled, straight from the hatchback, over the back seat, and straight toward my Farah Fawcett coiffed hairdo!
Turkey Lurkey catapulting like a shot out of a cannon toward Henny Penny. I truly thought the sky was falling!
The back of my car seat stopped that frozen fowl. Stopped him mid-flight. There I was, saved, in a backhanded sort of way by foul play in the last second of the ’72 turkey tourney. The car in front stalled, the driver behind me staring, mouth agape. I can only imagine his view from his steering wheel as he witnessed a turkey on the loose in, of all cars, a Ford Pinto.
I managed to get this year’s turkey, all twenty pounds of frozen poultry promise, into the cart, into the car, out of the car, and into the freezer. It is now in a slow swoon in the refrigerator.
I thought about the turkey of yore each and every step of the way.
I still have the 1972 red and white checked Better Homes and Gardens cookbook.
The 1972 Ford Pinto hatchback , dubbed “the horsey car” by Jennifer in her toddling days, eventually went on to greener pastures.
I’m just as glad you weren’t hit from behind as I am you weren’t hit by the flying frozen turkey. I too had a little green Pinto (although not a hatchback) in the ’70s, so I know all about the exploding gas tanks those things had!
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Me too. At this point in time of the turkey, the gas tank wasn’t yet a public issue, Susan, however, a few years later, while listening to the Pinto trial on the radio, I was stopped for a school bus, and I was hit, right where the gas tank was. Thank goodness, it did not explode, but, it was very scary and the bus driver saw it happen and cleared that bus so quickly, as I did the car, and he must have radioed the police because they were there almost as quickly.
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Sounds like a dangerous business, tackling a turkey. The turkey’s revenge, perhaps! I’ve only ever been brave enough to stuff a chicken, and that’s just as well, given that my ovens have been getting smaller over the years. No doubt you are an adept now, after so many years of practice, and I guess you have a little car seat specially to strap the turkey in!
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So true, for the turkey. They are really rather easy to cook, Juliet, but sometimes a big slippery to tackle with stuffing and seasonings. Ha! A car seat for the turkey – now, why didn’t I think of that? I love the picture that evokes.
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A frozen turkey is indeed a lethal weapon. Glad it didn’t hit you. My first turkey was carted home in the back of my VW bug. I also still have the BC red & white cookbook, It’s a little yellowish these days. Sits on the bookshelf with my Joy of Cooking, they are pulled out every once in a while for a reference. It’s where I learned that there were TWO compartments in the turkey after it had been cooking for a while. Not easy pulling that neck out of a hot bird! :o)
Have a wonderful thanksgiving this year.
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It would have been quite a story to explain in the ER, Sandy. Isn’t it the best cookbook? I still use mine, which is stained and many of the pages are falling out, for reference. The inside front and back covers have all sorts of measurements and conversions that I still refer to. Not so much the recipes, but, I do use the homemade ice cream recipe. Jennifer gave me a new edition, which I love, but, the red and white check is my go-to book.
Oh, Sandy, how funny, and I think most of us, if we are honest, will confess to the same trial and error.
You too, Sandy. Thanks.
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This was a great read, Penny, You took me back in time! I was married in 1972 and received that same cookbook as a wedding present. I haven’t pulled it out for a while, but I’m sure I still have it! When we were first married I still had a wonderful grandma who cooked the big meals! Later the torch was passed to me, because my own mother could not touch a turkey–she literally couldn’t stand to touch it! I still don’t like the responsibility. So much expectation is put on how that turkey comes out! You’ve given me a great smile with this read. Farrah Fawcett hair–we were so cool, weren’t we? We had a 1972 Gremlin…green, no less. 🙂 Debra
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Thank you, Debra. It was a wedding present here, as well. I even remember who gave it to me. Marlene. A friend. I don’t mind touching the turkey, but, I don’t like touching raw chicken. Don’t know why, love to cook it, but, can’t wait to wash my hands. There is that expectation, isn’t there, but, ah, the first bite…
Ha! We were quite cool. That hairdo was a lot of work, but, a little toss of the head and we were “angels”. I know that green Gremlin. Green seemed to be the color in ’72, didn’t it?
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I am so glad that you, your car, and your turkey survived the quick stop. I would probably have been hit with the turkey. Things tend to land on my head and I was driving a VW. I don’t think it had headrests. This was a fun post!
You had a Farrah Fawcett hair-do!! I never could achieve that. I still looked like a 60’s hippie with long stringy hair.
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You would have been the bullseye, Janet. I was sure I was going to be knocked out cold. My pinto didn’t have a head rest, either, but the back of the seat was wide enough, and the path of flight low enough, to save me. Thanks. It was fun writing it. Yep! I did. All those silly layers. I spent many an hour in curlers under the hair dryer. I’m sure that in reality I looked like a hippie, too.
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As frightening as it must have been for you at the time Penny, reading your story now brought a big smile to my face. Beware of flying turkeys! I have very seldom eaten turkey, it is not something that features very much here, certainly not on my menu. I am in awe that you can cook a bird that size so it is still moist and tender. I love old cookbooks.
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I’m so pleased it brought a smile to your face, Marilyn. I was pretty scared, but, being me, it soon became a story to tell. Turkeys are native to North America and good ol’ Ben Franklin lobbied for it to be our national bird. The bald eagle won out. It is really quite tasty and stays pretty moist as well.
I love old cookbooks as well, Marilyn. Especially the ones I know have been used and the ones I call the church lady cookbooks, where the books are sold as fundraisers. They always have the best. Oh, dear, now I’m hungry.
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Dear Henny Penny,
I laughed out loud and still have a broad grin on my face as I type this. Oh, what a story. It must have been told again and again around the Thanksgiving dinner table. I bet it’s become a family favorite. Turkey-lurkey hurtled himself at you! Or maybe herself. Which was it? Thank you for beginning my Sunday with laughter. The day is overcast but you’ve cast a ray of sunlight.
And thank you too, Penny, for commenting on my posting yesterday about that transcendent moment. I think we all have them–when sudden beauty of leaf or fox or day or wind or music or art or tree fills us with possibility and all thought stops. Then we simply feel unadorned gratitude.
Peace.
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I am so pleased to see that this brought you a ray of sunlight and a laugh, Dee. Thank you. It has been told a few times, and now, I’m sure, will be a few times more. I think it was a he – so big, it must have been a tom.
You are quite welcome, Dee. You are such a pleasure to read. I agree that we all these transcendent moments and love your description of “unadorned gratitude”. Beautifully put.
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Ahh, so many memories in this post (and reader comments), Penny . . .
The first thing I recall ever jolting to the floor in my Ford (a Mustang – the pony that’s still being produced) was my two-year old! Thank heaven it was a sudden stop from a very slow speed (in the days before one’s child had to be nearly bolted to the auto’s frame), and he only slid from the front passenger seat to the floor in one quick plop, none the worse for wear. That was the LAST time he traveled in the front seat, however!
Then there’s the checkered cookbook–mine was even older than yours; a loose-leaf binder type, with the most-utilized pages bearing witness to my frequent referrals via the random blot or stain, and a first edition (which fact I discovered only after I’d agreed to sell it to the antiques dealer, when paring down for a cross-country move). I’ve since pared down even further, but one cookbook I’ve kept belonged to my grandmother; “A Calendar of Dinners with 615 Recipes” by Marion Harris Neil. The primary reason for keeping it, of course, is its provenance and a couple of my grandmother’s handwritten marginal comments (“We can eat it but we don’t care for more.”) The other is its age and its reason for being – an eighteenth edition of a book with its first copyright in 1913, the first 44 pages of which are given over to such topics as Hints To Young Cooks, The Art of Carving, and, first and foremost (@ pgs. 9-21), The Story of Crisco, signed “Yours Respectfully, The Proctor & Gamble Co.”
Lastly, I too recall the era of my “big hair,” ownership of a VW bug, and a subsequent yellow (w/orange striping) Gremlin — the greens in my life were avocado appliances and carpet in my first new house! 🙂
By the way, my sister gets to cook the turkey this week – I’m not fond of touching them either! 🙂 Thanks for a great read!
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I’m just loving all these comments, Karen.
What a fright that must have been for you, and easy to happen, especially in the days before so many safety restraints.
Ah, the Ford Mustang. Still a winner. We rented one once in Texas and enjoyed it so on a trip.
My cookbook is also a binder, though many of the pages are definitely unbound! For the fun of it, I checked and it sure can demand a price much more than it it was originally. What a treasure “A Calendar of Dinners with 615 Recipes” is and how special that it was your grandmother’s, especially with your grandmother’s comments. You must have a delightful time looking through it, Karen. Thank you for sharing this with us.
Ah, all those avocado appliances. Weren’t they something, and who can forget that color Gremlin? What fun.
You are so welcome – enjoy not having to stuff the bird.
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Penny, What a memory and what a vision you created with your wonderful descriptions and humor! I actually lived the moment with you. You are without a doubt STORY TELLER EXTRAORDINAIRE!
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Oh, Mary Anne, you are to kind and I appreciate it immensely. I sometimes wonder how many projectiles, besides my Turkey Lurkey, flew around in those hatchbacks.
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Cor, Penny, that was a close one! All those health and safety tales of strapping your dog or cat into the car in case of accident, and never once have I ever heard someone caution us to strap in our turkey! This is a very useful (but laugh-out-loud amusing) tale. So glad your head stayed attached to the rest of you to blog another day. Hope this busy week goes well!
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I could start a new November trend. Strap you turkey in week. I’m glad it gave you a laugh. I laughed remembering it. Can you imagine the tale of woe had it hit me and they scene at the emergency room? Sigh.
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I’m surprised you didn’t become a vegetarian. :<)
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Funny, Nan.
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You really were lucky to have survived that Penny, I’ve heard of much smaller items becoming deadly missiles in car crashes. But you lived to tell the story and what a great story it was! “… saved, in a backhanded sort of way by foul play in the last second of the ’72 turkey tourney.” – nice!
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I know. It would have knocked me out or worse had it hit my head, which likely would have been rolling down Grand Ave. It is the great turkey caper, now. Thanks, Janet. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
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You tell the greatest stories! i can just see that turkey flying.
Our youngest son always tells us he was traumatized for life because he had to learn to drive in our used Pinto. Poor baby (it doesn’t really seem to have had any lasting effects>)
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Thank you, Sallie. It was quite the experience.
Aw. Poor thing. A Mustang or Thunderbird would have been more to a young lad’s liking I suppose. I drove that Pinto for 10 years. In spite of all the gas tank rap, it always ran. Eventually, I could see the pavement as I drove from it rusting out. I gave it to my cousin, who drove it several more years, and he gave it to a friend.
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[…] Turkey Lurkey and Henny Penny, first posted here. […]
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[…] chuckle at the recollection of the frozen turkey that almost killed me, propelling toward my head at 35 mph and of the turkey whose giblets I left in the bird, only to […]
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[…] my Greek grandmother’s chestnut and meat stuffing, and of the memorable car ride in which a frozen twenty pound turkey hurled toward me at 35 miles per hour and my split second interception at a local turkey […]
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I just loved reading this story, I have the same cookbook hidden somewhere in my shelves. I had the Farah Fawcet hairdo and I love children’s book you are quoting from. Wasn’t the title, the Sky is Falling? You are making me smile on a smoky morning.
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I am so happy to hear that, Gerlinde. Thank you.
My book is splattered with sauces and many of the pages are a bit tattered, but, I still refer to it now and then. I think that title is correct and now you are making me smile. 🙂 I hope the smoke is starting to dissipate and pray for those close to the fires.
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