By Adam Scott
I'll keep this one fairly short and admit if it wasn't for a friend's "Monty Python's Flying Circus" DVD, I would not have known what to write about this week. As it just so happens, I was watching the semi-infamous SPAM Sketch, in which every food offering at a cafe frequented by Vikings includes the tinned luncheon meat. It was at the point where an exasperated matronly woman (well, technically a man in drag) cries out, "I don't like SPAM!" it hit me.
I do like SPAM. And burgers. And a sirloin steak. I like a good pork roast as well. Sometimes I enjoy fish, especially salmon and the lowly whitefish. Chicken can be a wonderful, versatile yet flavorful meat. I've tried duck, which was tasty but a bit too sweet for me. Venison and bison are favorites of mine, each tasting a bit like something beef aspires to be in its own way. Beef liver, every now and again, can be very good; I've found it pairs best with very moist vegetables like tomatoes and mild peppers rather than onions, but to each his own. I once had a wild game jambalaya at a church picnic that included squirrel, quail and what I'm pretty sure was dove and found it excellent enough to get seconds. I have a decently open-minded attitude about processed meats in general -- I'm no fan of braunschweiger or pat? since they're too over-the-top in richness for me, but I'll eat ham, pastrami, hot dogs, garlic bologna, Polish sausage, pepperoni or even a salami-and-olive loaf sandwich with a smile.
But there is one meat I've always pretty much tolerated, glad more for the friends and family I've been around while eating it than for the meat itself.
OK, I know Ben Franklin suggested quite vocally in the founding years of our nation that there was a better choice for a bird to be our national symbol than the bald eagle.
And I know his suggestion, given its (relative) intelligence, resourcefulness and general all-around ferocity and gumption, at least as compared to the unarguably majestic bald eagle, may have been a very good one. Franklin's suggestion was, of course, the turkey. And I know millions will flock to a Thanksgiving table next Thursday to enjoy a feast centered around the oven-roasted, wood-smoked or fried domesticated version of our almost-could-have-been national bird.
That being said, I don't much like turkey. Even done very well by a talented cook (several of whom I've been blessed to know over the years), it's one of the blandest meats I've yet encountered. This isn't necessarily a bad thing; have a turkey sandwich with mustard on rye and you sure taste that mustard and rye. Have it with cranberries and/or gravy and it certainly does not overpower their respective tart and savory flavors.
Still, given how many foods there are out there available for human beings to taste, I suggest trying something new this year. I realize most people reading this will brush off what I'm suggesting, choosing instead to stick with tradition, no matter how much in the way of stuffing and gravy and yams they must ladle over it to add some real taste, and that's fine. We live in a nation where we are free to choose. That freedom is one item that should be included near the tops of the lists of what most Americans are thankful for this Thanksgiving.
We are free to eat pretty much what we want (at least after reaching the age of 18), when we want, with the people with whom we'd like to eat it and for the reasons we want to eat it with them in this great nation.
I'll make one admission, though. As far as I know, my roommate will be making a turkey again this year. And it will be about as well-made as a turkey can be. Late Thanksgiving night or maybe the next day I'll have some of it and I will thank him for making a delicious turkey, which it will be. And in thanks, I'll even share some of the turkey I buy with him. Of course, mine will be the in-name-only kind of turkey that comes in a bottle. You know, the wild kind.
Happy Thanksgiving. Do it your own way and be thankful you can.
Adam Scott
366-3533
ascott@normantranscript.com
