turkey is roasting, the pie is baked, and the cranberry sauce is chilling in
the fridge. My mind wanders back to holidays past. One year, I was cooking a
turkey at my mom’s house in California. It’s entirely possible that this was a
Christmas turkey, but no matter. As always, I simmered the neck and giblets to
make broth for the gravy. My brother came in the kitchen to help with the
last-minute dinner preparations.
thought that out of the goodness of my heart I’d cooked the giblets for his dog,
Lady, who had also joined the festivities. My heart isn’t actually that good.
At least it didn’t occur to me to prepare a treat for the dog. My brother
dumped the broth down the sink and cut up the giblets for Lady. Boy, was I
retrospect, the gravy was fine without giblet stock, my brother suspects I’m
kinder than I actually am, and the dog was delighted. Maybe that’s what
holidays are all about.