Hello
Everyone!
Thought
you might enjoy hearing about our Christmas Vacation at the Verdoni House. Just keep this in mind, this has not been
altered to improve its story--this actually happened.
It all
started about a year ago when we had Christmas at my brother, Ken's home. Rich, after a few beers, invited everyone
over to our house for this Christmas.
Afterward, he has no recollection he ever said that. He will deny it to his grave.
For the
past two weeks or so, he has been determined to cook the turkey himself. A friend of ours owns a deep fryer for
turkeys and has had several occasions to enjoy cooking turkeys with it for her
family with huge success. Rich liked the
fact that he could cook a 20 lbs. bird in 60 minutes. I told him that the bird was his
responsibility and I would take care of everything else. Every day I had heard his stories about how
wonderful this would taste, how much peanut oil he will need to buy, how easy
this is going to be. He even watched a
video to see a pro at work. That's when
it all started...
"We
need to buy another bird,” Rich said to me 48 hours before Christmas Day. "What?
We have a 20 lbs. bird bleeding in the refrigerator?" I told him.
According to the video, the fryer could only handle up to an 18 lbs.
bird. Ours was too big and Rich felt we
needed to buy another bird--and more peanut oil. (Apparently, there is never
enough peanut oil). After a few phone
calls, we found out that someone cooked a 23 lbs. bird without a hitch. Problem solved.
Christmas
Eve Rich was called into work 3 times for a faulty alarm system. Mind you, he had barely slept 2 hours in 24
so he was pretty beat when he finally got to sleep around midnight and had to
get up again at 6 AM to let his crew out of the building.
Getting
ready in the morning went as usual, Jonah not wanting to wear what he picked
out the night before (Momma, I want to wear the fish t-shirt and green socks to
church!) and Rich not getting up until the last possible minute wondering what
I picked out for him to wear. However
humorous our morning was, it was to get better.
We got
home from church around 10 AM. My family
was expecting to eat at noon. Rich
thought they were coming at noon and started to feel the pressure. "Don't park the car in the garage, I'm
going to set up the fryer in there."
He told me. "Rich, you want
to put a propane tank with boiling oil into our garage which has a wood pile,
riding lawnmower, and a snow blower with a full tank of gas in it? Do you realize you could blow up our
house?" "No problem, it will
be safe." he assured me. "By
the way, I'm not sure we have enough peanut oil."
As I am
busy trying to clean the last two bathrooms and help the kids take the many
toys out of their boxes, Rich begins the process of starting to get the turkey
and the fryer ready. Apparently, to keep
the turkey moist, it needs to be injected with a marinade via a hypodermic
needle. Jonah was watching Papa
intently. "This needle is too
small. It is not getting any of the
seasonings into the bird,” says, Rich.
As I am helping Erin with her doll that needs 7 AAA batteries, I hear
screaming. "I'M BLIND! I'M BLIND!" I run to the kitchen to see what's the matter
and that's when I see my husband with brown grease all over his face, hair and
shirt. I helped him to the sink and
began helping him wash off the seasonings off his face. When he calmed down, I was able to see the
rest of the situation. We had brown
grease splattered on the ceiling, Jonah, the floor, all over the counter, the
patio doors and the far wall by the great room.
What had happened is that Rich was fed up with the hypo and decided to
take it apart to get the juices into the bird faster.
After
we cleaned that mess up, Rich thought it was time to get the oil heated. "Where are the long matches?" he
asked. We have been out of them for
several months now. "Why don't you
tell me when we are out of things so I can get them." At this point, I felt it was best to keep
quiet. Then he says to me, "This is
going to be dangerous." I found a
match holder, but he didn't want to use it, so I shut the door. It is best not to see your husband go up into
flames, only to call 911 afterwards.
As I
began the process of making the other 10 dishes for the feast that was to
happen in about 60 minutes, I heard a blood-curdling scream coming from the
garage. I ran as fast as I could afraid
that my husband was doing his impression of baked Alaska, When I opened the
garage door, I saw Rich holding a large plastic container with something that
looked like lard in it--his eyes were glazed over. "ALL THE PEANUT OIL IS FROZEN!!!! I
CAN'T GET IT OUT OF THE CONTAINER!!!"
So I ran back into the kitchen and got a bread knife and told him to cut
the plastic jugs open and scoop out the peanut oil. Prior to putting the fryer in the garage, he
meant to put a tarp down on cement, but forgot.
When the time came to put the turkey in, oil was splattering all over
the place so he yelled at me again--this time to put rags over all the oil
(near the propane tank, near the open flame, in my garage with a wood pile,
lawn tractor, and snow blower.
"There is too much oil! I
need something to bail it out!" says my husband who had told me for two
weeks straight he needed more peanut oil.
I just shut the door. After Rich
got the turkey in, he had another beer and called his mom. "Mommy . . ." and then he proceeded
to tell her how difficult it is to cook a turkey. Like she has no clue. Apparently, she was laughing on the other
end.
At this
point, guests started to arrive. I was
flitting around the kitchen like a Japanese chef, slicing and dicing everything
I could find in my refrigerator to make sure these people had something to eat
until the turkey was done. 70 minutes
later, the side dishes were ready and Rich went to get the turkey out of the
fryer. When he brought it in to carve
it, it reminded me of those mummies I've seen on PBS. He placed it onto the carving board and began
to cut the legs away from the rest of the bird.
With a trembling voice and his eyes popping out of his head he says,
"Where's the meat? Shawn, does this
look right to you?????" I looked
down to see crispy strings of meat and skin--almost crystallized. He kept cutting and asking, "Where's the
meat?????" Then, my mother looks at
the situation and says softly, "Rich, dear, isn't the turkey upside
down? The meat's on the other
side." He looked up at her with
wide eyes and turned the bird over.
There was meat. As if praising
God, he says to my mom, "Thank You!" and began carving the turkey
that was supposed to be the easiest thing to cook on Christmas Day.
Does
the story end here???
NO.
At the
dinner table, Rich leans over to me and says, "Next time, we want to try
something new we should test it out before we have guests, don't you
think?" He has a college
diploma.
Does
the story end here???? Almost.
As I am
in the kitchen cleaning dishes and putting things away, Rich (having had 2
glasses of wine and a 6 pack of beer) decided it was time to bring out the
camcorder and take candid moments of me in the kitchen. I was telling him that I didn't want him near
me with the camera, when the phone rang.
Pam was on the line checking in to see how everything went. Grandma June also walked into the room and
heard me telling Rich I wanted him to just put the camera away. Then she makes this amazing revelation,
" JUST SHOW HIM YOUR BOOBIES!"
My eyes popped out of my head as Rich is trying not to drop the phone or
the camera. He had to leave the room to
keep his composure--I heard him laughing all the way up the stairs. My mom, trying to take control of the
situation, says to grandma, "Mom, you shouldn't say that." Then grandma proceeds to tell my mother and
me how "boobies" isn't a naughty word, and that it's okay to show
them even in the water . . .." Mom
said, "Mom, that's enough wine."
The
end.
No comments:
Post a Comment