The First Turkey

My table should look so good

My favorite Alka Seltzer commercial of all time takes place at Thanksgiving.  A big family gathers around a dining room table with every known side dish in the universe.  Guests sit there, anticipating the feast, and a voice announces, "Bring out the first turkey." A man turns to camera, his stomach aching in advance of the marathon binge, and says, "The FIRST turkey?"  It's not Thanksgiving if my brother John doesn't say, "Bring out the first turkey." We do this routine every year.  It's mandatory.  On Thursday, it's my turn to host Thanksgiving, and of course, I'll be making two turkeys.  Twenty people, all champion fressers, expect to eat, and I better deliver, or trust me, they'll talk about me all year. "Interesting Thanksgiving.  No turkey.  Remind me never to go back there again."  I wouldn't dare disappoint these people.  I'd like to be included in their wills.  So I'll make the turkeys, the yams, the cranberry sauce, and they'll bring the supporting players:  gravy and stuffing, creamed spinach and mashed potatoes, pies made of pumpkin and pecan, cakes made of cheese, rum balls, cookies, and who knows what else.  God willing, this year, no one will trip on a chair (kina hora).  God willing, this year, no one will run naked through the house.  (They made me sign an affidavit, a few years back.)  God willing, my turkeys will behave in the oven, turn brown, be tender, moist and delish.  But no matter what goes down in the kitchen, the SJG is grateful.  For what?  So much.  List available upon request.