My father ended up washing the turkey while I mixed and melted the herbed butter of doom, smelling so strongly of sage that I learned the true meaning of ewww, and I like sage, so what does that tell you? Fifteen minutes later, Dad's making growly noises, and lo, the reason that fresh rosemary is preferred is, apparently, the dried stuff does *not come off*. It catches in weird flaps of skin and hides in body cavities, so I imitate an airport security guard and have to go prospecting. I wish I could say this has taught me the value of my food or that I'm learning some Important Life Lesson, but mostly, I'm learning I hate rosemary with a passion I can't even explain. Because I put half a cup in that brine and it seems as if *every bit* stuck to teh turkey. And even under extreme temperature duress, is not coming off.
Mixed up my apricot glaze (to be used in the last thirty minutes of roasting) and am currently basting my turkey like a California tanner. I'm paranoid about a dry turkey. I like turkey a lot, my preferred sandwich of choice, but lets' face it, this meat is dry under the best conditions, so I'm not encouraign the Sahara to camp out during dinner. Every time I walk into the kitchen, I baste frantically, staring at the skin pulling away from the breast with dread and whimpering the browner it turns.
I don't know at what point my sense of worth as a human being got caught up with whether or not the breast is cooking too fast and the meat too dry, but when it leads to me on my knees with a full stick of butter, panicked, frenetically rubbing it all over every visible signs of flesh hoping for a moisture miracle--well. It can only go downhill from there.
I think the worst moment was stuffing onion into the body cavity and not even once sniggering to myself. How depressing. Even my inappropriate and disgusting sexual innuendo is failing me. Woe.
Um, so. My thought. At the end of the day--or tomorrow, if you're willilng--everyone who went through the trauma of brining put up their recipes (and explain the process if it's more than toss, mix, toss, mix, drop turkey, put somewhere) here or in your LJ, or whatever you did to make a turkey that woulnd't instantly remind you of someone who spent serious time wandering the desert. I'm curious. Hell, if you made a dish, tell me aboaut it. I'm still blessing my friendslist for all those cookie recipes I solicited a year or two ago--and speaking of that, I should put that up in my memories, cause those cherry things kick *ass*.
Oh, and because I couldn't do a decent sexual turkey innuendo here--God help me--a rec.
Line of Fire by thepouncer - gen Rodney fic, early first season. It's been open since she posted, but I--er, got turkey-distracted, and so. Pouncer does some fantastic plotty things in here in going through Rodney developing into a member of the team. It's an excellent look into Rodney's head.
Wins for Best Motivational Speech Ever:
Sweat dripping down to blur his vision, lungs heaving, Rodney stopped. “Enough, I’m dying here.”
“McKay.” Sheppard sounded like he’d honed his vocal cords with a sharpening stone. “It’s been five minutes. Come on. Keep going.”
“I can’t go on.” Couldn’t Sheppard hear it in the wheeze of his voice? “Leave me.”
Sheppard sighed. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to do this.” He reached up to his radio headset and tapped the button to activate it. “Lt. Ford? Plan Delta.”
Rodney heard a regular pounding approaching from around the corner. He turned his head in time to see Ford appear, a long object in his hands. A long object he raised to chest level and oh my God that was a Wraith stunner. Rodney yelped and threw himself forward, just ahead of an energy bolt.
So John's speeches are kind of physical. *g* I love how *innovative* the SG boys are, don't you?
Yeah. Read that. Big fun.