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November 23, 2001
by Eugene Narrett, Ph.D.
I know you're out there, all you guys and gals that spent the day before and the day after Turkey Day largely alone. And maybe spent a good part of T-Day by your lonesome, too. Some of us know the truth behind Mickey Mouse's smile, the gigantic airborne floats and be-spangled, high-kicking maids twirling their bejeweled batons. But let's keep all such facts at bay for now, let's sweep under the rug the bitterness within the enameled, mega-billion $$$ smile of the Land of Homeland Security, "quality time" and Presidential preaching on the beneficence of Islam. Wealthy British minstrels once claimed that nothing is real in Strawberry Fields, but the rest of us know that there are many snug and hidden backwaters in the currents of culture, and alternative realities galore, the simpler and homier the better. One needn't surf the net; it's far less costly, in every sense, to huddle in one's small canoe and toss a simple but serviceable rod into the spirit's cozy bayou, utterly below the radar of all but the most malevolent special ops of the Nanny State. Time for the poetry of real life. When the last leaves are rust brown and the tawny grass is brittle with frost, every American, no matter how bereft can beg, borrow or buy a bird for company during the rich, quiet hiatus of Thanksgiving, when time opens into eternity (for those who shun malls). So read and then store this mini-history of pathos in your 'wait-till-next-year' file, right next to the Red Sox battle plan for '02. It's not difficult to cheer your soul with prepping, making and cooking a gorgeous bird to a fine sizzle redolent of all the pleasures of board and bed. Don't listen to the mystifiers, complicators and 12-step hucksters. Just browse along with Doc Narrett for the simple secret to a certain kind of affordable bliss. It's sort of like old King David with the exceedingly beautiful Shunammite virgin (1 Kings 1:1-4). This bird was a real beauty, an Imperial. One doesn't just dive right into or onto such a bird. Like most first dates, for best results you pre-heat the oven, in this case to 325 F. Plus it warms up the house. While thus setting the mood, you bathe her in the sink, give her a good rub down and pat her dry. Put her in a well-buttered pan, butter her up and season her with thyme, minced garlic and paprika. If you're ambitious to be on Star Trek, try Coca-butter or Ben Gay, but you know, weirdness costs more and has a nasty backbite. After the rubdown, a cherished part of the preparations involves stuffing her with fruit and vegetables for succulence and tang. Try a large Empire Apple (note the timely Imperial motif) strategically slit a few times to facilitate the oozing of sweet juices in and from the central cavity. Also insert half a large Bermuda onion. It's not for external use, just rub it around in there real good and then nestle it adjacent to the apple. If she purrs, you've got the wrong animal. She should be quietly proud. Put her in the pan, put the pan in the oven then go for a walk, call your son or brother or a friend who lives far away; have a cup of coffee, watch the freaks at the parade or some football, if you must. You could even read a book. After an hour or more, flip her over so she's belly down in her juices. Baste her back with ladelings from the pan and season as before. If you're a perfectionist, open the damn oven every 15-20 minutes and spoon some more juices over her. Enjoy the fragrance the fills your home. Hey, if you can do this (& if you have a stove, you can), they can't destroy you utterly. Amazing, after three hours, you've got a gorgeous, juicy, golden brown bird and home feels like home. If you're smart, you put some sweet potatoes in the oven and now can mash them up with butter or pineapple or half-and-half and crushed pecans. To celebrate having banished the darkness for a spell, light a candle, say a prayer for those you love and feast away. The sad part tugs the sleeve as soon as you take her out for carving, and it only increases. There's way too much for one person. Tomorrow, next week, and for sure next year you'll get yourself invited somewhere for T-Day (as I did) or invite someone over. Then there's less leftovers to put away (much more physically and spiritually arduous than the actual prep and cooking), and less time to think. In any case, one can do worse than begin and end with "a psalm of Thanksgiving. Call out to the LORD, everyone on earth. Serve the LORD with gladness -- For the LORD is good. His kindness endures forever and from generation to generation is His faithfulness" (Psalm 100). Amen. Dr. Eugene Narrett is a writer and teacher in Massachusetts and is the author of Gathered Against Jerusalem: Essays on a False Peace (Dec. 2000). His new book, Israel Awakened: A Chronicle of the Oslo War, is currently available at www.1stbooks.com/bookview/7421.
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