Yesterday, I fixed a turkey. I'd never done it before (as you might have divined from the flaming water entry), and I had no idea what to expect. I asked the mom for advice, and she came through with a turkey roasting pan, a turkey bag thingie containing instructions, and various tips designed to save me from my worst instincts. With all this going for me, I was certain the preparation would be a snap.

I can hear you laughing at my childlike idealism. "If it were a snap," you say, "you probably wouldn't be blogging about it." Well, right you are, faithful readers! Here is a chronicle of my struggle to best the mystical turkey. Even after death, you will see, turkeys do not give up their secrets easily.

February 5, 2:00 pm—Planning to dine on turkey this evening. Scan turkey instructions, only to realize that the turkey cannot be prepared straight out of the freezer. It must thaw in the main refrigerator, and it must be left there for a long time. Specifically, one day of thawing per 5 pounds of turkey. Ours is 14 pounds, so three full days are required. Withdraw turkey from freezer and place in refrigerator.

February 8, 1:00 pm—Pull turkey out of refrigerator and set on counter. Place turkey bag in roasting pan, and insert a tablespoon of flour into bag. Snip off fashionable yellow-mesh sleeve and peel off wrapper beneath.

1:15 pm—Phone call to Mom. Should I remove that metal clamp fastening the turkey's legs together like a chastity belt? Yes, she tells me, and be sure to remove the giblets and flush out the cavity. Sliced apples can be placed inside for flavor.

1:45 pm—Tearful phone call to Nick. The chastity belt is not budging, and I am no closer to extracting the evil giblets. Nick provides moral support, but is about to go to class and cannot rush to the rescue. Thanks for nothing. Will give it another try myself.

1:50 pm—Begin to get very rough with the turkey. There is no longer room for respectful treatment of a fellow creature. Grab the chastity belt and begin to swing turkey wildly beneath it, hoping to loosen its death grip. Emit primal shrieks that no doubt alarm neighbors.

2:00 pm—Chastity belt has been pried free. Begin removing organs. Have always known, intellectually, that turkeys have organs, but have never been forced to remove them. Begin to feel like some sort of avian Jeffrey Dahmer, and wonder briefly whether kidneys should be preserved as trophies (they should not).

2:15 pm—Replace turkey's innards with sliced apples. Wonder if anyone has ever used turkey cavities to smuggle illegal narcotics. Brush entire bird with vegetable oil, imagining how it would look like with a hat and beach umbrella.

2:30 pm—Place turkey in its lovely floured bag, and transfer to the oven. Breathe hefty sigh of relief.

5:00 pm—Moment of truth! Turkey removed from oven to the strains of "Hail to the Chief" on Nick's keyboard. (Joking, of course—Nick doesn't have a keyboard)

5:30 pm—Enjoy flavorful turkey with Nick. Worth the effort! (Nearly.)

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