Unexpected Thanksgiving
Or
Yes, Turkey is Microwaveable
By Deon (Dex)
Knock, knock. You hear this at your door as you have just sat down to watch the news/sport/soap opera/current affairs/lifestyle/moose herding trials (cross out non applicable). Who ever could it be? You wonder, considering the only time people ever come over is when it's the guy from FedEx delivering your Fruit of the Month which was given to you by your good intentioned, but sadly lacking in gift giving ability, Peruvian Aunt who decides a 76 month subscription is the perfect 30 th birthday present (wow, your life is sad. I now understand why you are reading this book).
And then you remember. Its thanksgiving and the entire 50 members of your extended family thought that your studio apartment with washer drier combo next to your bed would be the perfect place to have thanksgiving dinner, with the onus of course resting squarely on your shoulders to prepare dinner. Now you understand why there is a 60 pound turkey sitting in your deep freeze (which is precariously balanced on your thirty centimetre wide balcony thus meaning that you can never close the door out to the balcony meaning that it is often possible to construct snow men in your lounge room).
The first step of course is how to delay your family (especially the gregarious Swedes) whilst preparing dinner. This can be achieved in many fashions. Firstly there is the “I'm in the shower” method, made famous by Genghis Khan, whose reason for not crossing into Western Europe was that he had a large patch of blood on his neck that just wouldn't come off. To achieve this simply call out repeatedly that you are in the shower (I mean, really how simple). However they may become a little suspicious when instead of hearing the trickle of water in the shower (sorry, but your building had those low flow shower heads installed) they hear the muffled sounds of you trying to stuff an unwieldy oversized edible bird into an undersized overpowered microwave. To muffle this simply turn off some of the taps in your sink and pray that the super has come and fixed the fault water supply to your apartment that you first complained about back in 1998 only to have the super quickly and conveniently remember that one of his relatives has died whenever you come within ten metres of him. I mean, how many grandmothers can a man have?
The taps are turned and as usual after a few seconds of muddy water splashing into the sink a hammering in the pipes swiftly puts an end to this. Your relatives are no doubt banging on your door now demanding turkey and under pain of death some quality family time.
The paper thin walls of your apartment have no doubt betrayed your express culinary adventure and by now your alcoholic Czech third cousin is attempting to fashion a battery ram out of a piece of balustrade that had broken off the stair railing before you even moved in, and causes the super to remember that not only does he have a funeral to attend, but yet another of his children has contracted leukaemia.
The only option left to you now is to brace the door with some piece of furniture. Remember that the triangle is the strongest geometric shape so grab one of the Ikea dining chairs that are folded under your single bed and place it under the door handle.
A good pair of earmuffs is possibly a good purchase for this occasion to block out the abuse hurled at you by your sister who sadly has Terret's syndrome and the patience of an Irish souvlaki merchant. With earmuffs attached and door braced you are now ready to do some cooking. For a turkey large enough to feed your mainly obese family, who all have a particular penchant for game, the microwave sitting on your bench will obviously not do.
Here is the conundrum as your Great Uncle is a champion Turkey Carver from the Pennsylvanian High Country and insists that he will only eat and carve an intact bird. Thus, at the chance of alienating your Great Uncle (or actually his miserly wife who is heir to a fortune in timber from Wisconsin and is at this moment sitting outside your door threatening to rewrite the will) the only option is Aluminium Foil.
How? I hear you plead over the now manically drunken poundings and screeching rants about how the President of Bulgaria is clearly in league with a warthog, how can Aluminium foil help in this predicament? Simple. The only way to cook this turkey is to microwave, and as we have ascertained your paltry income cannot afford more than this 40 centimetre tin can that leaks more microwaves into the room than the food, and whose instructions are in a peculiar form of English translated from its original Vietnamese by someone who took a short course in “Learn English in 10 Super Fun Happy Lessons” that believes all nouns should be replaced by adverbs, and that “fish” is a type of existential state.
So to augment its meagre dimensions simply rap alfoil over the sides of the microwave, thus spreading its cooking glory over the turkey that is stuffed half out the door, and also making it possible to earn extra cash by converting your apartment into a mobile phone booster station, and I tell you, you need the cash.
Five minutes on “Mega High Power Fun Level” (as indicated on the dial that for some reason has power settings on some sort of logarithmic spacing) should make for a nicely cooked turkey. So it now time to fold away the Ikea chair, step out of the way as the balustrade punches a hole through the door, and enjoy another quality family moment, one to tell the grandchildren about (except the fact that your chances of marriage are about as good as Elvis crashing a UFO into the Loch Ness Monster).