A Turkey of a Recipe

*Originally run in 2001; updated 2009 and again in '2011; probably on file with the Department of Homeland Security's WMD Search section since '03*

As the calendar turns, around again comes the holiday season. At months' end, Halloween; less than a month later, Thanksgiving, and the focus of this tortured expose.

Of course, it's not only the season of Thanksgiving that'll be coming soon to homes near you; it's football, hockey and basketball season. It's the beginning of the Christmas decorating and shopping season. Among certain animations, it's wabbit or duck season. And we have the benefit of a sucky economy and a couple of smoldering shooting wars, though the latter is good live-fire practice for anyone planning to engage in the combat of pre-post Christmas shopping, coming soon to a mall (maul) near many of us.

For my purposes, I'll stick with the Thanksgiving theme, and something near and kind of dear to my heart and gastrointestinals: bachelor recipes.

Being a bachelor, it's good that this year, I'll be able to partake in the family fare of the season, prepared by those with exceptional cooking skills, as opposed to my inept legerdemain (and no, I can't pull a spatula out of my mitt). But in past years, I have been left to my own devices, and from previous references to my acumen in the kitchen, you know that mine tends to resemble a terrorist not-so-stronghold in the wake of a US air attack.

But I am nothing if not self-deprecating and culinarily inept for this blog, so a few years back, I came up with a recipe for to get me into the festive spirit of Thanksgiving. It's my very own invention and unique 'turkey' recipe, created in my guise as bachelor chef and culinary barbarian implosionaire. It even wound up in a family tree cook book (as a warning to any future procreation with me and my particular genes, but I digress). And for your reading and culinary astonishment, I will share it with y'all here:

Culinary Barbarian Turkey Surprise

First, collect the following ingredients:

- 2 cans of Turkey Spam

- 2 chicken drumsticks

- 2 chicken wings

- 1 ample portion of stuffing

- 1 can of turkey broth

- 1 cup of diced onions

- 1 cup of diced turnip greens

- 1 cup of diced celery

- 1 egg

- 1 cup flour

- 1/2 cup milk

- one lemon wedge

- 1 tablespoon of Crisco oil or bacon grease

- assorted seasonings for specific taste

- one set thermal-imaging goggles

- one fire extinguisher

- one asbestos cooking apron

Next comes the preparation:

- scrape off the gelatin-like residue from the Spam and set it aside for gravy

- mix Spam, stuffing, diced items, egg, Crisco/bacon grease, can of broth and seasonings in mixing bowl, shaping eventually into the equivalent shape of a turkey (think cornish game hen on limited steroids)

- add drumsticks and wings (secure to turkey with toothpicks, staples, rivets, duct tape, whatever's handy)

- pre-heat oven to 352 degrees; because I said so, that's why

- cross yourself for luck; if atheist/agnostic, just run widdit*

- put into oven in teflon-coated roasting pan for 95 minutes

- suck on the lemon wedge to wipe that look off your face

For the gravy:

- disconnect smoke detectors

- mix gelatin, flour, milk in expendable sauce pan on low heat

- stir occasionally

- if it starts to smoke, stir more frequently

- if it really starts to smoke, don the thermal imaging goggles, so you can keep track of what you're stirring with increasing enthusiasm/urgency

- if on fire, beat it resoundingly; use the extinguisher as a last resort, as it will tend to degrade the gravy consistency a tad

- set it aside; keep the thermal imaging goggles on, so you can see where you put it, along with your way around the rest of your place

After removing turkey from the oven:

- pour gravy residue (that still in liquid form) over finished turkey

- place roasting pan, with gravy-ladled turkey, in hermetically-sealed bag

- toss the whole kit and kaboodle into a HAZMAT-approved biohazard container

- call the nearest Chinese delivery place, and thank Gawd they don't celebrate Thanksgiving

Disclaimer: the aforementioned recipe is not approved or recommended by Betty Crocker, Martha Stewart, Cheffie Mom Debbie Davis, the USDA, EPA, US Military's WMD Disposal Branch, or any recognized chef, living or petrified, after having read the above. If you do try this at home, you'll keep that to yourself if you have more than 3 working brain cells; then again, if you DID try this at home, you've already debunked the pre-semi-coloned part of this sentence, so never mind. Feeding residue to any living thing has potential creatures-from-The-Outer-Limits-morphability risks associated widdit, and this blog is not responsible for what might morph, and any unspeakable things it might do to your washing machine, sleeper sofa, blue flashlights, daschunds, Ford Pintos or toaster ovens.

* you can always undergo a pre-Apocalyptic conversion, if what morphs is about to attack you

The Price of Culinary Barbarism?

FaceBook is a funny place.

In a surprisingly spirited thread, one person posted a politically-oriented comment about how some states had "food disparagement" laws, and one such state -- Colorado -- had criminal penalties attached to their law.

More than a few commenters responded with incredulous "WT-fried Twinkies-F?".

Perhaps I should take careful note of this alleged fact. After all, I do live in Colorado. And am a self-professed "culinary barbarian".

So I looked up the law. And yes, there is one: Colorado Revised Statutes, Section 35-31-101, Destruction Of Food Prohibited.

Therein, it says in fully syntaxed legalese: It is unlawful for any person, firm, partnership, association, or corporation or any servant, agent, employee, or officer thereof to destroy or cause to be destroyed, or to permit to decay or to become unfit for use or consumption, or to take, send or cause to be transported out of this state so to be destroyed or permitted to decay, or knowingly to make any materially false statement, for the purpose of maintaining prices or establishing higher prices for the same, or for the purpose of limiting or diminishing the quantity thereof available for market, or for the purpose of procuring, or aiding in procuring, or establishing, or maintaining a monopoly in such articles or products, or for the purpose of in any manner restraining trade, any fruits, vegetables, grain, meats, or other articles or products ordinarily grown, raised, produced, or used in any manner or to any extent as food for human beings or for domestic animals.

In my first read of the statute, I found this to be one of the longest run-on sentences I've not written myself. In my second read, it was hard for me to fathom that they'd ever get to what was the subject of note that has all the prohibitions for/agin it.

But eventually the multiplicity of re-readings persevered, and I was able to get the gist of the law.

Next came the effort to narrow down any and all parts of the law that might just apply to me, and the regular bouts of "food disparagement" that takes place in my kitchen. Granted, one would have to work hard to parse down the verbiage, to get to what might just make me liable for criminal charges specifically. But I think I was finally able to do so:

It is unlawful for any person (and legally, I is 'any person') to destroy or cause to be destroyed, or to permit to decay or to become unfit for use or consumption (between what I ignite and what is allowed to further decay as my leftovers), any fruits, vegetables, grain, meats or other articles or products ordinarily grown, raised, produced, or used in any manner or to any extent as food for human beings or for domestic animals.

Now, I knowwwww what you're thinking, punk: I omitted the part about "knowingly to make any materially false statement". Not at all; all the fun I've made of fruitcakes is borne out by history, and by how many of you keep regifting the things, year after year. So neener neener phfffft on that part. Y'wanna try and make an issue of that? Go ahead...make my day...

And I am indemnified and held harmless on the part referring to "domestic animals"; my pet rock, Seymour, doesn't qualify. And even he runs from whatever my few leftovers morph into.

Now, do I expect the State of Colorado to show up on my doorstep and try to apply criminal penalties to me, based on what I've written in my blog about my culinary barbarity?

Nawp. The state will be dealing with the tons upon tons of toxic coleslaw a former employer's restaurant used to throw out, for years. Even now, the toxic slaw is ravaging through state landfills, attacking scavengers, small pets and tofu zombies that frequent the landfills as meal time buffets.

Compared to that and carnivorous fruitcakes, I am a less-than-bit-player in CRS Section 35-31-101.

You see, as a culinary barbarian, I am a man who knows his limitations. And Clint Eastwood character quotes.

Kitchen Con Carnage

Don' know about you, but I get some of the funniest things in email. They're even funnier when a 'worst case' scenario is avoided.

As you've read herein, I am a culinary clusterf*** in the kitchen, bar none. I am the one and only Chef Boy-R-Deestructive: I've killed my share of curds, and in more wheys than most could believe possible.

*ducking boos and throwd kitchen implements*

Personally, I don't see it as a curse; I see it as a gift. One I give sparingly, and only to those who really cross me, but I digress.

At any rate, one might imagine my high level of amusement, when I received the following email from the Scottsdale Culinary Institute:

A career in a growing industry can be your best move in times of economic uncertainty. Our Le Cordon Bleu program at Scottsdale Culinary Institute can help you start a whole new career as an Executive Chef. Earn an Associate Degree in as little as 15 months. Whether it's classical French or modern techniques, the professional chefs at SCI can help you learn with expert, hands-on training in supportive classes.

We offer job placement assistance services and financial aid is available for those who qualify. You'll enjoy SCI's sunny, outdoor lifestyle in the popular resort destination of Scottsdale, Arizona. For the right training and the right experience in the right career, you need the Scottsdale Culinary Institute. Contact us for more information.

*bwhahahaha...yer killin' me h'yar...stop it, stop it...*

It would have been so simple to just hit *delete*. But before I could, that "get me in trouble" *TOING* echoed in the vast void between my ears. So I clicked on the link and filled out their application, with tongue buried firmly in cheek. And just in case they didn't catch that's where my tongue was firmly rooted, in the final Comments section, I let them off the hook by writing thus:

Ladies, gentlemen, Wolfgang and Pucks all: I am most gratified that you would choose me for this opportunity. However, I suspect that your spam email program -- see what I just did there? -- has thrown you a faux cordon kaBleu-ee, by contacting yours truly. I am the WMD of the Western Campfire. I am the antipasto of the kitchenary Holy Grail. Smoke alarms burn out in my presence. But it's not too late...you can put down this application, slowly back away, genuflecting with a spatula and crossed bacon tongs. Do NOT allow the culinary equivalent of Pearl Harbor to launch a surprise attack on your pristine destination resort facilities. This has been my official, "Last Chance For Humanity before the Artichoke Apocalypse" disclaimer.

I reckoned that'd take care of things. *Buzzer*

Over the next five days, I received two follow-up emails and two voice messages on my phone (the only implement in my kitchen that I can't use to create a dietary E.L.E.*), urging me to expedite my application process.

Not only did they apparently not read my comments; it was terrwubwy obvious that they don' know me vewy well, either. Maybe I should have sent them my boboli punkin pie con carnage column, instead?

So before they could dispatch a squad of Swedish chefs from The Muppet Show to collect me, I responded to their last, insistent-I-reply email:

Chefs and Chefettes,

First, kudos to your persistence. Second, two thumbs down to your application screeners, who may actually work for a competing culinary school. You might want to look into that after we finish here.

As I said in the original application, I am, quite probably, the anti-chef of cookbook prophecy. I am a culinary tsunami. An F-5 spagetti tornado. The EPA considers me a potential source of domestic WMD. A starving dog won't eat my scraps. Ground beef will reconstitute into a cow, stampeding at my approach. Frozen poultry will fly to get away. I burn water. To a crisp. But not before the Iron Chef rusts at the sweat he breaks out into, at the mere rumor of my approach.

I replied to your application because I initially considered it a prank from my professional chef nephew, who knows well my contraproclivities in the kitchenary environment. I am many things -- including deadly with a salad shooter and unspeakable with a juicer -- but one thing I'm not is a serious applicant for your establishment.

I don't want to be the last class you'll ever be able to have.

My esteemed and sauteed sirs/ma'ams, I am not a serious applicant. Your facility is not me-rated for disaster recovery. It is a crime for me to hold so much as a spatula.

Besides...if I went on to somehow beat odds even Vegas won't take, my local Chinese delivery folks would be forced onto egg foo yung stamps, if I went south to wreak con carnage on your facility.

Again, it's not too late: you can forget you ever saw my application, back away slowly, and leave the disposal of this toxic application to the folks at HAZAPP. Save your kitchens for future culinarians. Heck, Rachel Ray and/or the French might even name a tart for you.

Ciao (no pun intended...well okay, so it was).

And it appears to have worked: the emails and phone messages from SCI have stopped. The world has been made safe from cordon kableu-ee.

* Extinction Level Event