If the Pilgrims ate Duck, Geese and Swans for Thanksgiving and filled them with herbs, onions and nuts, why do we eat Turkey stuffed with bread?
They didn’t have ovens yet, so why do we use ovens if we’re celebrating the first Thanksgiving?
Where is the deer roasting on a spit?
If the Pilgrims in 1621 ate spinach, lettuce and carrot salad covered with mussels and curd, and ate corn mash seasoned with molasses for dessert, why aren’t we doing it?
If I had to work without an oven, I’d probably be a vegetarian opting for the lettuce and carrot salad, possibly with a little bit of onion or leeks, and a few artichoke hearts.
Maybe a plum or some grapes for dessert, but smushed cranberries without sugar? That’s much too sour.
I’ll forgo the squash, cabbage, and parsnips.
But meat? Unless someone else killed it and prepared it for cooking first, I’ll eat fish.
And I think I’ll have to pass on the beans, too.
After all that bean dip and corn chips, you think I’m going into a Teepee with you?
First off, I have never, in my entire life, killed a chicken, duck, deer or turkey. Yes, I’ve cut off fish heads with an ax and some very thick gloves, but not until the damned things were hardly moving. I’m sure that “mostly dead” isn’t quite the same thing as taking chase.
You’d use so many calories chasing down dinner, plucking and gutting and skinning, it’s hard to imagine a better exercise and weight lifting program than the survival diet.
No meal is better than one that I didn’t have to cook, so this year I give thanks for
all the restaurants that gladly serve Thanksgiving dinner and
all the stores that sell the ready-to-cook turkey carcasses, and
for the fact that I wasn’t one of the Pilgrims elbow deep in deer guts, and
for canned cranberry sauce, instant potatoes and a house with heat.
But most of all, I’m thankful for a husband who knows how to use a pressure cooker. With a man that gifted, no turkey has a chance.
Crabby person who likes to rant. Reading it is free so remember-- you get what you pay for.
Well endowed with the multi-layered weirdness that lurks inside a not-quite-right-mind. That's how I write SciFi.
Crabby, weird, and to make matters worse, I write poetry. Some of it is even...shudder...nice.
I feel like a sandwich that went on a journey of self-discovery just to find I was pastrami with Maraschino Cherries, hot peppers, the contents of an MRE and broccoli on gluten free cheese bread. After that kind of trauma no 'wich is the same again.
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