His name is Fred.
Roommate Tom, and new-roommate-Emily, and I named him in the Stop-n-Shop where we found him. We had originally picked out a frozen turkey, named Bill, but after a call to Tom's mom we learned that it's pretty much impossible to defrost a turkey within a 12 hour period. So, Fred was an expensive thawed out bird with lots of watery blood in his packaging.
As the youngest of four children, I've seen a lot of Thanksgiving cooking being done, but I am usually on the sidelines. It was usually my job to do simple things: arrange platters, make appetizers, cut veggies, peel potatoes.
Now, I am cooking my own turkey. I watched a 15 minute video, Emily got some advice from her Aunt Susie, we've got the directions off the package, and I've got 25 years of observation logged. So, at 6 am this morning I started cooking Fred.
I dunno if it's because I've named it, or the fact that I had my hands up it's carcass, but I feel a strange connection to Fred. It's like we're in this together, and you better be freakin' delicious Fred.
I'm off to go peel sweet potatoes, but I'll keep you posted on how this all goes. Especially when I flip the bird. That's gonna be interesting.
Don't fail me now Fred!
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