I was working yesterday–and the big hoopala is planned for Christmas, since I’m joining Wendy and Jeremy in Santa Monica then–so I figured I’d just fix the turkey–whenever. Use that nifty deep fryer I bought specially from QVC–I cannot resist a gadget–and let everybody drop by when and if they pleased to fill a plate and nuke it. Not exactly Norman Rockwell, I admit, but, hey, I was happy.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the handy-dandy turkey fryer fell into the Some Assembly Required category. In other words, you had to snap on the little plastic feet and then screw them into place. I couldn’t find the screws OR the screwdriver, and there was No Way I was lighting a fire under a gallon and a half of cooking oil unless the thing was darn secure.
So I gave the bird the minimal required prep–I washed it–and put it in the oven to do its thing. It’s been in for about an hour when along comes Larry, the Canadian Wrangler, and Mary Ann’s husband. He says, no problem. Finds the screws. Attaches the fryer’s feet. Ready to roll.
Except that it takes an hour just to heat up the oil. Interestingly, only about 45 minutes to cook the actual turkey, but go figure.
The hell with it, we said, after some consultation. (We say that a lot around the Triple L.)
So we never plugged in the turkey fryer, and I took the pasty-poultry out of the oven and fridged it. We all went to the casino, where we played slot machines and ate at the buffet.
We’re having turkey TODAY.
Even as I write these words, the oven is heating up.
There you go. You’ve got to be adaptable in this world.
Have a wonderful weekend.
