I am exhausted of body, but tranquil of mind tonight. The gravy for tomorrow’s feast has been stowed away in the refrigerator, the cornbread and french bread for the stuffing are stale and dried in pans on the counter, and a truly lovely 16 lb natural turkey is submerged in a giant pail of brining solution. The dissolved maple syrup, kosher salt, brown sugar and spices will work their magic overnight.
That’s the plan anyway. It’s all experimental, based on the molasses-lacquered turkey recipe in the latest issue of Cuisine at Home.
I went to great lengths to find a natural, unfrozen turkey. Naturally, none of the local supermarkets carry anything but the Jenny-O self-basting type variety. So yesterday, Kipp and I drove up to St. Paul to the Whole Foods Market. I had telephoned, asking if they would have natural turkeys available.
“Oh, we’ve got plenty,” I was told by someone in the meat department. “Come on down.”
We drove on up the next morning (St. Paul is north of Red Wing), finding the place with minimal trouble.
Once inside, Kipp and I made our way through the produce department practically crying at the sight of softball-sized pomegranates and the most adorable golfball-sized clementine tangerines. So many wonderful, delicious things just there for the taking (and the paying). I was in awe.
I was in awe, as well, at the number of people and carts crammed into this small market. With some determination, we were able to make our way through all the shopping cart traffic jams, back to the meat department.
“I need a 15 lb natural turkey,” I told the friendly meat dept. guy.
“Did you call and reserve one?”
“Uh. . .no. But I did call. And the guy said you had plenty.”
“Well, you see. . .” and then he launched into some long spiel about free range turkeys and organic turkeys and pounds and prices and suppliers and arrival times. I didn’t care. All I knew was that I needed a turkey that wasn’t self-basting and that hadn’t been frozen. All I knew was that I had called and had been told to “come on down.”
He took pity on my harried self and my equally harried child. “Let me talk to the boss,” he said. The turkeys had evidently just arrived.
The end result is, yes, I got the turkey I needed. And then some, as we loaded up our tiny cart with hard-to-find fruits and other healthy items not available back home in the hinterlands.
While I got the turkey I needed, I was not able to get the 3lbs of turkey wings I needed for the do-ahead gravy. So off we went to yet another grocery store, to a warehouse market, where I was able to nab the last two packages of wings off the shelf.
By this time the traffic, the crowds, and the road construction had given me a headache. The transition from small-town life to metro area is always jarring to me. I'm not afraid to drive, but loathe the trip all the same. Thank God there were no blizzards or ice storms on top of everything else. I just wanted to get home.
When we finally did pull into the driveway, I began to unload the groceries and somehow, in between one of my trips back and forth, from car to kitchen, Seneca got out and made off with one of my packages of turkey wings. Bad, normal dog! I was just lucky he didn’t go after the entire bird.
So, today, I made yet another trip to a grocery store, where I procured more wings, and after a long process of roasting and simmering, the gravy is finished and ready for tomorrow. This takes a lot of the heat off tomorrow, quite literally. Making last-minute gravy is one of my least favorite things to do in the kitchen. It’s such a hot, greasy, messy process—always in the midst of twelve other things that need to be done as well. Now, with the gravy out of the way, I ought to be able to sit down at the dinner table as calmly and composedly as anyone else, provided that I don’t botch the turkey.
Hope you can hack the suspense.
11:01:59 PM 
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