I had nearly convinced myself and my small but loyal posse of girlfriends that I was a master chef (this is, by the way, the same sweet and supportive group that sees me as a writer and an architect, though I am not yet either), when a mishap of epic proportions occurred in my kitchen. I had finished the thanksgiving meal, complete with tasty turkey and apple pie made from scratch, and was attempting the practical act of redemption that is broth made from turkey bones.
I had been reading a fantastic book called Cold Tangerines wherein the author celebrates different aspects of life. The book inspires me, particularly a chapter where the author talks about redemption about how making soup from bones was a practical act of redemption, a metaphor for what God can do in our lives. I believe in redemption, especially as a Christian, and I was inspired to attempt redemption in my kitchen with my very own thirty dollar turkey carcass.
I cleaned the bones reasonably well and chucked them in a large pot to boil with water for a couple of hours. What could be easier than making broth from bones? I was thinking redemptive thoughts deep in the labyrinth of my own mind while my hands cleaned up. After I finished tidying, I sat down to watch a movie with Greg, while the stove boiled bones. I checked the pot every so often, as the house filled with the rich smell of homemade broth. When the movie finished, I put the whole pot in the fridge so that I could scrape the fat off the top when it cooled, because practical acts of redemption needn't add extra calories to my waist. With the broth, or what I supposed would be broth, safely cooling, I climbed into bed, my heart satisfied with the work of cooking my first whole thanksgiving meal, and my mind soothed by meditating on redemption.
The next morning, I awoke eager to subdivide the broth into usable portions to be frozen. I was envisioning the casseroles, gravy, and Asian ginger marinade that I would make from the treasure of a homemade soup base when I opened the pot. The fat was predictably solidified on the top, but what awaited me under the fat was something horrific. For reasons I don't understand, for reasons I can't comprehend, the turkey broth had turned to primordial ooze. In all my domestic pride and glory while I pondered deep and meaningful thoughts, I created turkey sludge!
I had many purposes for broth, but what to do with turkey ooze? I froze some just in case it would melt into broth, but mostly I laughed. I guess in hindsight the real accomplishments were being thankful on a day of thanksgiving and cooking a whole traditional meal without the guidance of mother or mother-in-law. Next thanksgiving I will leave redemption to God and experiments to scientists, who might have some use for expensive primordial turkey ooze.
