1999
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The following story comes from Tina Jakes, another Fabio fan and a former Fan Club President. In the interests of holiday cheer - when many of us are called upon to cook under the most trying of circumstances. This has to be one of the funniest adventures I've heard of. Of course, I'm trying hard to catch up! What happens when those of us who love to cook don't have an oven? I used to have a really good one, that is until the local gas company ran new lines. To do this they cut my gas off. When the gas was turned back on, and the pilot light on the oven re-lit, it would not work, despite a lot of cussing and cajoling from my brother. So for thanksgiving I came up with a really good idea. I would order dinner from the local restaurant and not have to cook anything except macaroni and cheese. I paid out $44 for a fully cooked turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, giblet gravy and rolls. My brother and I picked up the food, which was boxed on Thanksgiving day at lunch time. The restaurant had put out a lovely brochure, showing the fully cooked food. However, my first inkling that something was not right came when my brother peered into the box once he sat it on the dining room table. "Uh, Sis, I think you better look at this thing." I supposed he meant the turkey. I knew it had to be cooked because I had not heard any stray gobbles from coming inside the box. "This thing is cold. It's been frozen," he informed me as I peered down at a bird that had been cooked but frozen and then thawed. It was wrapped in two layers of plastic. I rolled it over. A large pasteboard card had cooking instructions attached, telling me I had to heat this bird a minimum of 10 minutes per pound. The dressing was mixed and raw. Also had pasteboard cooking instructions. I pulled out the tin containing the rolls and was almost shocked that they were warm and fully cooked. I fumed and said a few bad words before heaving the ten pound bird out of the box. My brother had recently bought a small toaster oven because he got tired of holding his loaf bread over an open flame to make toast. I immediately decided there was no way the turkey would fit into the little oven. Out of desperation, I eyeballed the microwave oven, which I have no use for except to heat the odd item now and then. I had never used it to cook meat. The instructions said to remove the outer bag from the turkey, then cut slits on top for the steam. I did, noticing that there was juice in the bottom of the bag. I figured it was for self-basting. I plopped the bird on a plate and stuffed it into the microwave even though the turntable was not going to be able to rotate it. The bird was large as the oven. I defiantly set the time for 40 minutes. I then decided that since the dressing was raw, I would try that in the toaster oven. I was still so ticked at the restaurant that I butchered their dressing by adding sage and pepper to improve the bland flavor. It went into the oven while I boiled the macaroni. While I was doing all this, my buddy Yvonne, affectionately known as Brown came in. Brown and microwaves do not mix. I know this from experience. Namely the time she had been drinking and decided to use this same microwave to sterilize her soft contact lenses. She had put them in the oven, case and< all, forgot to loosen the tops on the case and set the timer for three minutes instead of 30 seconds. I had barely got up the hall before the microwave exploded and blew the door open. I ran back and she and I bent over and peered in at miniscule pieces of plastic that had once been contacts. The case was burned and twisted beyond recognition. Since then, I try not to microwave anything when she is around. As I was busily puttering about, I thought I needed to check on the bird. Good thing I did. It had leaked juice all into the hollow floor under the turntable. I had to drag it out, turntable and all since it was about stuck< in there. I mopped up the mess, shook the bird upside down by the legs over the sink to drain as much juice as I could, and shoved it back in the oven. This went on for an hour and a half. I had to pull it out and sop juice twice. Finally, a roll of paper towels later, it seemed to be done. I threw the cheese and milk and I Can't Believe Its Not Butter into the macaroni to melt while I began carving the bird. The cheese ending up scorching on the bottom of my good Revereware pot. Needless to say I was disgusted with the whole thing even though the dressing was perfect. Even the tapioca I had fixed for dessert turned out< runny. The only redeeming thing here is that the bird turned out to be extremely tender and fairly juicy. But I did learn my lesson. I will never again order a "fully cooked meal". Honey baked ham, here I come................. |
Copyright 1999 Donnamaie E. White. email to dewhite@NOSPAN_best.com