After clearing up the discarded wrap, a job made more difficult by the presence of soggy packages distributed in odd spots around the floor, I decided it was time to stuff the bird and get it in the oven. As I hoisted the huge turkey into the oven I glanced at the clock and figured if I put it in now it should be ready to pull out around 5:00. Two hours later the smell of bleach had finally receded (I am a poultry paranoid, and bleach everything within sight after turkey prep) but, oddly, the smell of cooking bird had not yet filled the house.
I decided to go out for a walk and try to regroup. By the time I came back the wonderful scent of roasting turkey would no doubt have filled the house, and I knew this would go a long way towards restoring my sagging Christmas spirit. This plan would have been fine except when I returned there were no wonderful smells to greet me when I opened the front door. Puzzled, I walked into the kitchen, expecting my nostrils to pick up the scent at any moment. Still nothing.
I glanced at the digital meat thermometer on the counter and the turkey was only up to 90F. That seemed odd. It was supposed to be done by 5:00 and it seemed like an extraordinary amount of cooking needed to happen in the next few hours. I opened the oven door and was happy to note I could faintly smell cooking turkey, but alarmed to realize that I was also greeted by warm, not hot, air. I decided to raise the oven temp up to 350F.
In twenty minutes when I once again checked the meat thermometer what to my wondering eyes should appear but the same 90F reading! I decided the batteries in the thermometer must be weak so I madly searched the house for four AAA replacements. Of course there were none. So I opened the oven door again to wiggle a leg- the bird’s, not mine. After all, this used to be how I tested to see if a turkey was before I owned the fancy thermometer.
Even in my sleep deprived state I knew as soon as I opened the oven door that the problem was not dead batteries. It was a dead oven. The air coming out of this doomed appliance was barely warmer than that surrounding me in the kitchen. It suddenly dawned on me why I had had trouble baking the shortbreads earlier in the week, and why the sticky buns would not cook properly that morning. My oven was broken. Complete with a semi-cooked twenty four pound bird in it. I was scrooged.
It's not over yet.....!
Karsten, Kristie, David, Rebekah, Alexandra, Jay, Kellen
Karsten, Alexandra, Rebekah, Kellen, David