A couple of years ago, I shared how my mom, the Martha Stewart of Montana (minus the insider trading), forgot to turn on the oven for the Christmas turkey.
This year, my dad had the honors. My parents, though long divorced, are somehow on the same wavelength.
About 9:30 yesterday morning, I recieved a phone call that went something like this.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Dad"
"What does that mean?"
"The. Turkey. Is. Still. Frozen."
After my maniacal laughter ceased, he explained to me that apparently, the spare fridge in the garage which had housed the 22 pound bird for 4 days is set just a tad too cold. Yeah. So into the microwave it went. Six minutes at a time, then rotate. And all was fine, as the turkey wasn't nearly as frozen as he thought. So a half hour later, it went into the oven.
And was delicious.
But maybe I'd better handle the turkey next holiday.