Oh, sometimes you have a delightful idea, that turns into an unimaginable disaster, or almost.
I had decided, sometime earlier in the year that this Thanksgiving, I would try my hand at grilled turkey. I did so enjoy the flavor at other people's houses. I wanted some for Thanksgiving.
Sometime about April or May, I started sowing the seed to my husband that the decorative propane grills that don't work were "early ghetto" and needed to be replaced with the new futuristic(LOL) charcoal ones.
He suspected that I had something up my sleeve. So, I had to keep the entire process secret until the very day. Each time that I even hinted that we might think about grilling something or other, I met with fierce opposition and directives to think twice about such a thing. Had I thought twice, I never would have done it.
Thanksgiving was delightful, in spite of my episodes, we were invited to Elyse's friend's parents' house in the mountains. So, I didn't have to cook.
The Turkey was burning a hole in my mental freezer for the weeks following.
Yesterday, was the day that it occurred to me to grill that turkey. I want my husband to come home to a surprise Thanksgiving feast, I thought.
Out of the freezer came turkeypoo. I tossed him in the microwave and defrosted for about an hour or so, turning and tossing as directed by the microwave. Finally, it was soft enough to handle. I tossed it from the microwave, into the sink for the last part of the thaw. While working on the thaw in the sink, I took out the charcoal(pre fluided, of course). Please note that I have been spoiled these many years and nearly never have to start the grill myself. I have a doting husband who usually takes this task on for me.
Well, it was certainly shocking the amount of flames that comes out of one of those little bags of charcoal. My one, precious and very loved castiron pot was my dream to put on the open flames. A rinse or two and shaking the last of the ice out of the bird and into my precious pot.
No Grandma Rosie, I will not be massaging this bird with you, as usual. Every year she and I have wonderful conversations over the massage. I renigged on the yearly enjoyment. I'm flying this bird solo, I told her. She closed her eyes and said, C'est la vie.
For some reason, I had forgotten that turkey was that heavy when you put it in the pot. It was over ten pounds, very large and very heavy. That's okay the flames should cook it very well, I thought. A little oil and salt and pepper, on the skin was all that I thought to put. The flavor will come from the grilling process.
My grill was having technical difficulties at this point. I took the shelf off the grill and then it didn't fit back on properly. Maybe, it needs the weight of the turkey to hold it down. So, I brought my wonderful castiron bottomed turkey outside to meet Mr. Grillipoo. I did have on my Berkies to protect my feet and potholders to protect my hands. When I placed the turkey on the shelf it started to lean back and the weight of the turkey flew back into the grill and the flames engulfed the entire thing. I tried to close it to lower the flames, but it was too hot. By this time, Grandma Rosie(visiting from heaven) and Emily and Ethan who was home from school, because of a fall were laughing at me. It took about 40 minutes or so for the flames to die down enough to close the grill.
What do we do? Emily kept asking. We kept looking at it, thinking that it was sure to explode on us. The flames were sweeping out of the 6 inch space that was created by the shelf that wouldn't sit right. Kind of like a seesaw thing was happening because of the weight of the turkey. Elyse said later, that if I had added one of the bags of clothes to the soup, I could have blown up the house. (LOL) So much for the confidence of my children in cooking the turkey without incident.
I went upstairs to take a nap and asked Emily to keep watch, in case it exploded and we needed to call 911. The adventure was a little too much for this woman, nearing 50. As I sunk off to sleep, I heard, what sounded like an explosion to me. I ran down the stairs. Nothing looked different, but Em said she had heard it too. Em said that bird is in the coals, I just know it. When I put on my fire retardent berkies and went outside to check on the process. I saw a beautifully browned bird roasting and leaning in the coals and looking greatly cooked. It would be hours before it was ready, of course, but it turned out all beautifully browned and luscious to the taste. I am grateful for the lessons learned, but I am not sure I'll be grilling a turkey ever again.
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