Turducken.
A mythical three-headed fowl perhaps? Succulent certainly. Or perhaps the detritus of a psychopathic serial bird murderer–a birderer–who lures fat little turkeys, ducks and chickens into his death coop with promises of primo genetically altered feed wherein they are viciously decapitated, stripped of their feathers, gutted and stuffed one inside the other. Turducken. Yum!
This past Thanksgiving Reeves H. and myself were determined to find some turducken for our own damn selves, having never sampled it before. But, as circumstance dictated, we ended up at Bill H.’s crib eating a vegetarian feast of quiche, biscuits, various vegetables and some damn fine stuffing. Bill is a devout vegetarian, and we did not want to appear ungrateful for his kind, if meatless, hospitality. So no turducken. Yet. But we did polish a fifth of Wild Turkey and a case of beer, which makes me think that had we eaten a turducken we might just have puked it back up straightaway anyhow, and that would just be wasteful.
For a far more informative and entertaining account of the ins and outs of turducken, visit The Road to Turducken, Part 1. Can’t wait for Part 2…
Oh, and don’t forget The Week in Craig, a surefire way to make you feel much, much better about yourself, if not the world in general.
Nick M.