Still, after fifteen years of a turkey free Thanksgiving, I’d thought I’d break my tradition and give the bird a try. My resolution didn’t last long. In our local supermarket I looked at a number of frozen turkeys and I was shocked to see the prices … $35, $42, $50. Good grief, these birds certainly didn’t come cheap. Not to mention the size of them. Dieter and I would have to eat turkey for a week to finish the bird.
So, to pay honour to the millions of turkeys who lost their lives for this holiday, and gushed liters of blood, I celebrated Thanksgiving my way … by going bowling.
In case you’re wondering what bowling has to do with Thanksgiving … three strikes in a row is called a “turkey” and between Dieter and myself, we made so many triple strikes it’s was turkey galore.
When you compare preparing a real turkey with bowling, there are certain similarities.
You go into the kitchen – I go into the bowling alley.
You put on an apron – I put on bowling shoes.
You get the turkey out of the fridge – I get my ball out of its bag.
You coat the turkey with oil – I ask for lanes that have been coated with oil.
Both in the kitchen and the bowling alley, it takes a certain amount of experience, expertise and a cool head to produce a perfect turkey. When things go a little wrong, you have to keep a cool head.
The big difference between a real turkey and a bowling turkey comes later. While the satisfaction of having produced such a bird is the same, having consumed turkey meat tends to make to eater sleepy, while a bowler feels exhilarated.
And while a real turkey dinner leaves a ton of dishes for the cook, a bowler takes off his shoes, puts the ball in a bag and the cleanup is done.
No mess, no fuss, no bloodshed. All things considered, I prefer my way of celebrating Thanksgiving.