On Sunday, President Joe Biden pardoned turkeys Liberty and Bell during the annual White House turkey pardoning ceremony, one of our most absurd and delightful national traditions.
I’m hoping Liberty and Bell go on to live long and happy lives, or as long and as happy as a turkey’s life can be. I recognize the hypocrisy in me, an avid carnivore, hoping for joy and longevity in an animal raised for human consumption. But my average turkey sandwich didn’t come from an animal with a name. As soon as you name creatures — as a farmer in Minnesota named Liberty and Bell — they become pets and I can’t eat pets.
But also, I believe we should pardon all turkeys. Not because I care about their longevity and happiness, but because I don’t especially enjoy preparing or eating that particular brand of poultry. I don’t believe most people do.
And yet, every year in November, we collectively prepare and eat turkey.
Turkey became a part of our Thanksgiving feast, we think, because in the early days of America, turkeys were native to the land, they were large enough to feed a crowd, and their eggs were inedible. In other words, they happened to be around, and no one would miss them if they were gone. Which, in my opinion, is not a good enough reason to eat something. No one would long for tarantulas should they disappear from the face of the earth, but you won’t catch me chomping on one of those eight hairy legs.
I might understand American society’s insistence on serving turkey every year if it were easy to prepare. But it’s not. Getting turkey to taste edible requires a week’s worth of preparation at a minimum. First, you have to defrost the bird, then brine it, then stuff it, then slather it in butter and seasoning, then roast it to the exact moment of doneness. One minute more and the meat is dry. One minute less and you’ve given your entire family salmonella.
It’s the size of the bird that renders it nearly inedible in the hands of the average home cook. Thoroughly cooking the bird and not killing your guests requires heating the center of the meat to 165 degrees, while the outer perimeter of the bird far exceeds that temperature and gives the meat the texture of sawdust.
I have been lucky to have been served some exceptional turkeys by the hosts of Thanksgiving dinners I’ve attended, but I want better for those hosts. I want them to not have to make a month’s worth of preparations just for one dish. I want better for all of us.
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This is not my laziness talking. I am more than willing to tackle a complicated cooking project. Just last weekend, I spent two days making the world’s most complicated pie. I recently spent an entire Saturday making croissants. Last Christmas, I devoted a week to making the perfect beef tenderloin. Those were sacrifices I was willing to make for a delicious end result. But not for something that will, best-case scenario, land on the good end of average.
Is there no better way? Don’t suggest frying the turkey. For every one dad bragging about his turkey-frying success, there are five other dads with weary eyes telling the tale of the Thanksgiving they nearly incinerated the family home with a grease fire. The only thing worse than subpar protein is a charred house.
I’m sorry, but I thought we lived in America. The land of innovation. The land that brought the world electricity, the lightbulb, the automobile, the airplane, the television, the internet, and the Pop-Tart. We’ve leveraged these revolutionary inventions to streamline and improve nearly everything about our modern lives. But we’re still eating the least among the meats on one of our most American holidays?
The pursuit of the American dream demands more from us. We must innovate once more and rethink the anchor of our Thursday afternoon meal.
