Social distancing, spatchcocking and other reasons why this Thanksgiving is different

As if it weren’t hard enough to focus on gratitude at this difficult moment in time, Thanksgiving Day has dawned dark and gloomy. A steady rain is falling.

Yes, this is a different Thanksgiving. There will be fewer people seated at our dinner table this evening. We’ll be sharing the holiday meal with our immediate family. Even though we don’t live in the same household, I’m told we exist in the same “pod” — whatever that is — so we can safely be together. Nevertheless, we’ll be maintaining social distance. In fact, we won’t even be seated at the same table. And when we’re not eating, we’ll be wearing masks. I think. Katie’s in charge. We just do as we’re told.

For the first time in a long time, we’re not hosting Thanksgiving dinner at our house. Our daughter’s house is way bigger than this little Cape Cod we’ve called home for 25 years. Its interior dimensions don’t really allow for social distancing. When it was built in 1949, “cozy” was good.

And to underscore how different Thanksgiving will be this year, we won’t be carving a stuffed turkey roasted to perfection whilst reclining on its back in one piece. No, no. Our bird has been spatchcocked. I’d never heard of this before, and let me tell you, it’s not a pretty sight. Spatchcocking involves removing the bird’s backbone and then pressing the carcass onto a baking pan until the breastbone cracks.

But this is a better way to cook a turkey, I am advised. It takes less time, browns more evenly and results in juicier meat.

The spatchcocking in progress, however, resembled a murder scene. I know because I am the frequent recipient of gross images texted to me by my adult children. I’m sure I am not alone in this phenomenon. Odd rashes, insect bites, cuts, splinters, and other things that best remain unspoken. What did we do before smart phones allowed us to document everything in photos and scare the bejesus out of our parents?

But I digress. The spatchcocking photos made me so queasy I had to delete them from my Photos app library, lest I happen upon them unsuspectingly a few weeks from now, while searching for some other image.

Tuesday’s batch of grotesque images included a FaceTime video required to pose the following question: “Mom, is this the backbone?” The body part in her hand was clearly not a backbone. Though I have never spatchcocked anything in my life, I have a pretty good idea of what a backbone looks like, and that wasn’t it. She had removed a breast bone it seems. Along with a chunk of breast meat.

But it doesn’t matter, anyway. A spatchcocked turkey bears no real resemblance to a turkey. In fact, when Katie first sent me the “perfect turkey” recipe, accompanied by a photo of the finished dish, I had to stare for a bit at the mangled thing on a platter to try to figure out how what I was looking at was actually a turkey. You know when you’re looking at something that just doesn’t make sense? How it takes a few minutes for your brain to actually “compute,” as we used to say?

In any event, spatchcocking is a thing in 2020. It even has a hashtag. Honestly, a spatchcocked turkey is pretty perfect as a symbol for this year, in my opinion.

Maybe we can’t stuff that spatchcocked turkey, but I can still stuff those big, beautiful white mushrooms sitting — whole and unmolested — in my fridge. And I’m following my mother’s recipe, which involves sausage meat and parmesan cheese and garlic a splash of marsala wine. So whatever becomes of that turkey, I’ll still have my mushrooms.

Actually, there will be plenty of vegetables to choose from, as usual: potatoes, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, green beans — and probably some I’m not remembering since I’ve been relieved of responsibility for this feast. I’m sure there will be lots of leftovers, too. If I’m so inspired — depending on the outcome of the spatchcocking experiment — I can run to ShopRite tomorrow morning and pick up a turkey for stuffing and roasting in the traditional manner.

Embracing change is good. It means growth. (I was advised by one of my children just yesterday that I am “evolving.” I decided to take it as a compliment.) Embracing change is healthy. The alternative is being stuck — stuck in your tried-and-true, comfortable, hell-this-worked-for-me-for-the-past-40-years-when-did-you-get-so-smart-and-remember-I-taught-you-how-to-use-a-spoon, habits.

I don’t know about you, but, evolving or not, I’m craving a little tradition right about now. But here we are.

I hope this brought a smile to your face on this gloomy day.

But before I go stuff those mushrooms, I just want to say, in all seriousness, I’m grateful for so many things on this American day of gratitude. I’m grateful to be alive. I’m grateful for my family, my reason for living. I’m grateful for the frontline workers in our community who have saved so many lives this year — the healthcare workers at our hospital, EMTs, police officers, firefighters. I’m grateful for the people who’ve kept vital services in government and commerce operational in the most challenging of times. I’m grateful for the farm workers who labor in fields near and far to put food on our tables every day.

I’m grateful for the annoying piece of cloth covering my mouth and nose. And I’m especially grateful for the one covering yours.

I’m grateful that there are only 35 days left to 2020 and hopeful that 2021 will bring better days for all of us.

Thank you for your support through the year, for your membership donations and your kind words of encouragement. Thank you for reading RiverheadLOCAL.

Be smart. Stay safe. Stay healthy. Happy Thanksgiving.