It has nothing to do with the last fateful Thanksgiving we spent together, however…
Yeah, choke on your fucking dried up stuffing you lubed up butt-holes. See if I ever make stuffing for you again.
The last time I was there, they begged me to make the stuffing I’ve made for 32 years. It’s a sausage stuffing and it’s perfection in a bowl. I’ve been watching cooking shows since Julia Child was on alongside the Galloping Gourmet. All of the sudden, all the new stupid foodies on television are telling people ya can’t stuff a frickin’ turkey any longer.
So, I said, I’ll make it, but the secret is that I stuff the old bird with half of the dressing, and roast the other half of dressing on the side and then combine the two for a perfect dish. I add egg, cornbread, sautéed celery, onion, herbs and sausage with homemade stock and a shit-load of butter.
So, my mother, sister and her husband all had a fit and make an ENORMOUS stink, because they tell me nobody stuffs a turkey anymore, everybody who does, gets sick & dies from it. It’s all over the Food Network.
I roll my eyes.
I know how to prepare fresh foods without cross contamination.
They finally agreed to let me do it my way because I told them I wouldn‘t prepare it otherwise. I said it won‘t be that good, so just make it your way, really. Reluctantly, her husband and I agreed upon it in the garage and we shake on it. My sister’s husband was going to brine the turkey for twenty-four hours, even though he has no idea what he’s doing and has never cooked a turkey in his life.
I said: Glenn, since you’ve never even made a turkey before, and I’ve been making turkey for 32 years, trust me, just get a fresh turkey and roast it according to the directions, there‘s no reason to brine.
Of course, it was like talking to a brick wall, because he thinks he knows better.
So, he brines the thing all day and all night long and I shut up about it, but when it came time to stuff the turkey, my sister’s husband couldn’t stand it and he screams at me after he puts two tiny scoops of dressing inside the bird: God dammit Steven! Will you fucking shut the fuck up! The fucking turkey is fucking stuffed all fucking-ready!
And then he throws the spoon across the kitchen where stuffing and turkey bits splatter all over the kitchen counter, floors and wall, as he storms off to his bedroom.
He’s never screamed at me before, although I knew he had it in him. I think he’s been wanting to scream at me for like, twenty four years now, and he finally couldn’t stand it any longer.
I've been eating stuffed turkey for 52 fucking years and I'm still not dead! My mother stuffed her turkey, my grandmother stuffed her turkey and my great grandmother stuffed her god damned turkey and nobody ever died or got sick from it!
My mother is sitting there shaking her head in disgust, because she sides with my sister over everything, and therefore, Glenn won that round. How dare I try to stuff their fucking turkey! My mother says: Steven, nobody stuffs turkeys now. They say it’s dangerous.
I reply: Mom, you stuffed your turkey for 50 years, why don’t you be quiet now?
How was his turkey?
Dried up and foul tasting. Over-salting meat causes the meat to seize up. Never comes out as well as proper roasting and seasoning. Oh, and he tried to cover the enormous thing in tin-foil, which only steams meat, but I shut up. At this point, what choice did I have?
He has a brand new state of the art oven and it dried it out. I think he had it on convection or something, and didn’t know how to adjust the timing. It’s one of those ovens that has a super computer in it. The big show off.
They took the rest of my stuffing and stuck it in the oven and burned it.
Maybe this year, he’ll stuff the god damned thing, and let it sit out all day and all night long, and they really will get a bacterial infection in their lower intestines & colon, causing them to have explosive diarrhea and projectile vomiting for a week.
*Crosses fingers. At least I won’t be there. Assholes.