My favourite Christmas story is not ‘A Christmas Carol’ by Charles Dickens, but a story based on a true-life event, which made me look a little closer at myself.
I was in my thirties. A time when the internet wasn’t even a dream. A time when we talked to each other, had parties and Christmas dinner together without burying our faces in a mobile device. For those of you who are old enough, you may remember we communicated with each other, not texting some alien in outer Mongolia. It was a wonderful time.
But I was pretentious, and believed, roasting the biggest turkey I could get, at Christmas, would improve my standing in the community. Thank the Lord those days didn’t last long.
I talked to my cousin, and family butcher, Norman who said, ‘I can get you a big freelance turkey (he always called free range, freelance). But you must order it in June so we can fatten the bugger up for Christmas.’ And so I did; checking with Norman to make sure he got the farmer to weigh it every day. I didn’t want it as much as an ounce underweight.
When it was time for the turkey to meet its maker, be plucked, which took for ever, and delivered, it weighed in at around thirty pounds. It looked like a small ostrich, not a turkey.
What Norman forgot to tell me was, that if I wanted to roast it whole, which I did, I would need to buy a new oven and hire the services of a taxidermist. We had to make a plan quick, so on Christmas morning Norman drove to my house with a chainsaw and a few other tools he borrowed from the local abattoir. It didn’t take long before we transformed the enormous bird into a pile of meat and bones. Norman had a great idea. He said, ‘Why don’t you let me take it back to the shop where I can debone it, mince the meat and make about a thousand rissoles?’ I thought about it for a second or two, because I liked Norman’s rissoles. But the thought of eating a thousand of them didn’t appeal, so I turned him down.
It took about two days to cook the turkey, which meant we ate our Christmas lunch the day after Boxing Day. And between Christmas and Easter we had roast turkey, cold turkey, turkey soup, turkey casserole, turkey curry, turkey pie, turkey sandwiches, turkey schnitzel, turkey burgers, turkey rissoles (not a thousand), and turkey sausages. The turkey had well and truly stuffed me, in more ways than one.
The following year I came back to planet earth and casseroled a brace of sparrows. I have not eaten turkey since and have done my best to be a humble person without pretence, ever since. Whether I have succeeded, is not for me to judge.