Tag Archives: turkey

2010. Happy Thanksgiving!

Every year, apart from whose turn it was to cook the turkey, the Haslett family drew lots as to who would bring what on Thanksgiving. Over the years it had crumbled a little into abeyance because Olga always did the pumpkin pie. In fact she usually did two pumpkin pies. Even those who detested pumpkin pie thought that Olga’s pumpkin pie was to die for.

With her husband off work now with various shut-downs, money was a little tighter than usual so Olga was pleased that in an earlier time she had made some pumpkin purée and stored it in the freezer. Everyone else was a little hard-pressed for cash too, so they all jointly decided that they would make do with ingredients they could find without too much extra expense. Decima’s husband had an excellent vegetable garden so the responsibility for side dishes fell to Decima – although Stacey said she’d do a salad. It was Connie’s turn to do the turkey, and Arnie was an expert at concocting homemade apple cider.

All went hummingly. It was pumpkin pie time! It didn’t look quite right, but Olga said she had varied the ingredients a little according to budget demands. Oh dear! It turned out not to have been pumpkin purée at all, but carrot soup. Both are orange. Everyone screamed with laughter, but coupled with an extra glass or two of Arnie’s homemade apple cider, all agreed it tasted none-too-bad.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends!

1936. A lovely award, and a story “Chop! Chop the head off!”

Herb of Prudentia Sit has given me the loveliest of awards! It is the Herb Thinks I’m Special Award. The award simply means that Herb “would like to have a cup of coffee with this blogger sometime”.

It does not require any questions to be answered or anything special to be done. It is simply an honor bestowed! Thank you, Herb. It is greatly greatly appreciated. Make sure you visit Herb’s blog. As a blogger he’s long in the tooth! I don’t mean he’s old – I simply mean he’s practised his blogging skills for many a year!

By way of thanks, I dedicate today’s story to Herb. Thanks Herb!

Battleaxe handed her stepson, Douglas, a machete and said “It’s all yours”.

“I’ve put up for long enough with your three pet turkeys,” said Battleaxe. “They make a terrible gobbling noise all the time, they poo everywhere, they eat too much, and worst of all you spend too much time with them when you should be doing extra school work – especially studying the History of Systemic Racism which you’re bad at. Chop off the turkeys’ heads.”

Douglas loved his turkeys. He had found the baby turkeys wandering around in the long grass on their own after their mother had been killed by a farmer’s dog. He took them home and cared for them. He called each one Gobble, Gobble, and Gobble because he couldn’t tell the difference one from the other.

How does a wicked stepmother expect an eight year old boy to chop off the heads of his three pet turkeys when they were his only friends? His father had died suddenly not long after he had rescued the baby turkeys and now he was looked after by his stepmother who was nasty and cruel and had featured in many a story by the Brothers Grimm.

“When you’ve chopped off their heads,” said spitefully foul stepmother Battleaxe, “you can cut up the firewood and sweep the yard. Then come back for more things to do on my list.”

Douglas went out and called the three turkeys. They recognized his voice. They came running. His stepmother appeared on the scene to make sure he did the job properly and didn’t cave in with scruples. Douglas raised the machete.

“One! Two! Three! Chop! Chop the head off!” screamed the wicked stepmother.

So he did.

1699. Let’s talk turkey

(Today’s story is the final in a trilogy of absurd yarns.)

A peasant woman was in need of a turkey for Christmas, so she went to the queen and said if you give me your Christmas turkey I’ll teach it to talk, and that way it will entertain the court before it gets its head cut off and put in the oven.

The queen thought it an excellent idea. It would make a delightful change from the annual humdrum things they do every Christmas. But please, the queen added, don’t teach it to speak in that horrid peasant’s accent. Try and give it some class.

A while later the peasant woman informed the queen that the turkey could speak, and with the most delightful middle to upper class accent. The trouble is however, said the peasant woman, the only sentence the turkey knows is “The queen is having a torrid extramarital affair.”

“Off with its head!” screamed the queen. “Off with its head! I don’t want that horrid creature dead or alive anywhere near the palace.”

Enjoy!

1183. A day to celebrate!

What an incredible day! Amazing! A day indeed of Thanksgiving!

God was so pleased with the way the people of the United States of America had behaved over the past year that he made a decree that nothing (not even a gnat) would die on Thanksgiving Day. How He got this message across remains a mystery, but He did.

The Clancy Family were especially delighted; Leighton Clancy in particular. He’d been feeling ill for some time and knew his days were numbered. The family had not been in celebration mode, so to get a reprieve for Thanksgiving! What a relief! What a joy! Nothing would die on Thanksgiving Day! Not even a firefly! Not even a flea! This was indeed a cause to celebrate! A feast!

Leighton Clancy went out and chopped the head off the turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends!

P.S. Mrs Clancy had the devil of a time stuffing the turkey. The damn thing wouldn’t keep still.

Poem 52: Gobbler’s lament

(The form chosen for this week is the rondel).

‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.
There’s no fun in losing one’s head,
Then roasted and carved on a tray;

Sage stuffed up your bum all the way
With mushrooms and spice mixed with bread.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.

So how would you like, come what may,
To be basted when you are dead?
Thank God for this turkey well-fed,
Big drumsticks, plump breast, they all pray.
‘Twas the eve of Thanksgiving Day.
I’m not at all grateful, he said.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

1023. A goose for Christmas

1023goose

Annabelle was a bit of a snob when it came to cooking for a festal day. There was always the turkey at Thanksgiving and Christmas and hers was always bigger and better than anyone else’s.

“Oh, your turkey sounds awful. Ours was delightful! And the stuffing!”

But on a particular Christmas, Annabelle had the chance to replace the traditional turkey with a traditional goose.

“Oh, are you having humdrum turkey? That’s very run-of-the-mill. We’re having goose. Hubert’s getting one from the farmer down the road.”

Annabelle had never done a goose before. Being a domestic goose and not a wild one, it had plenty of wonderful goose fat. But who cared? Christmas came but once a year.

The goose fat overflowed in the roasting pan. The oven caught on fire. The house caught on fire. The whole shebang burnt down.

“She certainly cooked her own goose,” observed a witty neighbour.

Annabelle didn’t think that funny at all. Some people have no sense of humour.

777. Euphrasie’s Thanksgiving

777usa

To be honest, Euphrasie wasn’t that old; just in her mid-sixties one would imagine. People thought of her as old because she’d lived in the corner house for as far back as anyone could remember. She used to live with her husband, but he’d died a few years back. Her only child, Ralph, was killed in an industrial accident. No one could remember much about the husband or the son.

Euphrasie used to love Thanksgiving. It was her favorite day of the year; the ritual of food and family. Now there was only her. She tried to make some effort to celebrate. A little wine; a little fresh fruit and ice cream. But a slice of cold turkey from the supermarket was not quite the same as a large roasted bird. Euphrasie thought “Blow it! I’m going to cook a turkey!”

She was about to place the turkey in the oven and… there was a knock on the door. It was the young newly-weds from over the road. The in-laws were coming and the turkey hadn’t defrosted. Did Euphrasie know of a quick way to thaw?

“I’ve just the thing for you,” said Euphrasie.

And if they truth be known, she rather enjoyed her tin of tuna on a slice of ever-so-slightly burnt toast; with a little wine or two, while watching an old black and white repeat on tele of I Love Lucy.

Listen to the story being read HERE!

Music 60: American Thanksgiving

60thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, tomorrow, to my American friends!

Here, in New Zealand, we don’t have Thanksgiving. It is Springtime! But my family still celebrate it with Turkey and Pumpkin Pie! It’s a vestige of having lived in Massachusetts and North Carolina!

Of course, we don’t kill the turkeys at this time of year, even though there are lots of wild ones about; they’ve all got babies!

Listen to the music HERE.

210. The original version

210original

Mother Hen sat on some eggs. She hatched out seven babies. “Aren’t they beautiful?” exclaimed Mother Hen. “Well, six of them are beautiful, and the seventh is downright ugly. It’s big and it can’t even talk properly.”

The ugly chick was extremely sad. The other chicks (they went to the best schools) teased it something terrible:

Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!
Thou crusty botch of nature!
Thou unmuzzled full-gorged miscreant!
Thou elvish-mark’d, abortive, rooting hog!

The ugly chick ran away in tears and grew up lonely and unloved.

When Christmas came, the farmer chopped the turkey’s head off, and they stuffed the ugly thing with cranberry stuffing and gobbled it up for dinner.