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Editor's ViewpointMeditations Of A Minnesota Mossback |
Grim Tales, Building The House of Their Dreams, & Licorice Firehoses
Nature’s Gusset Plates … Velociraptors Roasting On An Open Fire … And A Little Fowl Play
Several years back, I spent an enjoyable hour visiting with Marie Riopel of Hugo, who raised eleven children here. Mrs. Riopel, who died earlier this year, was known for her beautiful and colorful hand-braided rugs. She told me that she learned to braid rugs as a six-year-old and that—once she started keeping track—she’d made over 150 of them.
After my visit, it occurred to me is that many of us are still doing the things we enjoyed doing as children.
For instance, it became clear early on that my next-younger sister, Merry, was cut out of a different bolt of cloth. While I spent rainy afternoons curled up on my bed with my nose in a book, Merry was busy being creative. She would mold the most amazing things out of mud, rocks, buttons and feathers; she would collect odd bits of paper and spend hours gluing them into a collage; early on she asked for a small sewing machine and began making doll blankets and pillows.
Much later, after Merry had children of her own, she launched her own seasonal craft company and named it Merrythought.
And that’s rather clever, when you think about it: a merrythought is the archaic term for a wishbone.
The word wishbone was coined in the late 1800s; before that time, the term merrythought referred to the tradition similar to the one many of us celebrate at Thanksgiving. In the old days, however, custom dictated that the person who was left holding the longer piece would marry first.
Interestingly, the wishbone, or furcula (“little fork” in Latin), is found in birds and theropod dinosaur skeletons. The fusion of the clavicles—essentially, Nature’s gusset plate— strengthens the thoracic skeleton during flight.
(Side note: As I type, I suddenly envision a cartoon sketch of a recently roasted Velociraptor near an open fire, two cavemen preparing to pull the wishbone. Gary Larson, we miss “The Far Side”!)
Which brings us around to the turkey.
While doing my turkey research, I stumbled across the Web site, www.artofmanliness.com. Apparently, real men carve turkeys. But it seems that the picturesque carving of the turkey praised by fine chefs everywhere has to do with what the turkey looks like, not how it tastes. (“The final step can make or break your presentation,” one Web site advises.)
Presentation?
Spending lot of a time stressing out over how to carve a turkey is rather like waxing your Lexus. It has nothing to do with how the thing handles on the road.
Over the years, we’ve found that while you’re busy carving that bird, the juices are all leaking out and you’ll be left with dry turkey meat.
Nope, at the Barnes house, we engage in a little fowl play and take a more medieval approach to carving. That is to say, we don’t.
We let the turkey sit under a foil tent for half an hour, and then my caveman tears the thing apart with his (clean) bare hands in the privacy of the kitchen, artfully arranging the turkey on a platter. After 32 years of preparing Thanksgiving dinner together, I can honestly say that our turkey is moist and juicy and tastes great.
So, whether you subscribe to the method employed by Dr. Suess’s Grinch, who carved the roast beast—or simply coax your turkey apart with your bare hands—may you have only merry thoughts on Thanksgiving this year.