Turkey
I woke up early on Christmas day 1984 seriously hung-over after a party inpromptu of the day. The portion provided in my place had been abandoned because of a lack of real ale (see previous question), but we made the best of it and had a great time with all the other revelers down at White Hart our tiny and old local pub, so no serious damage was done to the party.
I came to my room to the living room to find my buddies Phil and Ian asleep. Ian was fully dressed in coat and boots and had obviously slept exactly where he fell right at the entrance. Phil had done a little better, and was on the couch with his pants around his ankles and his arms above his head entangled in her sweat shirt, obviously giving up in the middle of an attempt to undress. We agreed that we cook our Christmas dinner ourselves for me this year, so it was time to start. I launched and Phil and Ian shook and shouted, "TURKEY TIME !! TURKEY TIME !!" them until they groaned in consciousness and began to question my parentage while suggesting j ' perform a physically impossible act with turkey. Finally, they sat up and looked around for a while until they get their bearings and reconstructed enough evidence to determine where they were. "Oh .. right .. Merry f @ # * ing Christmas," said Phil, scrape the groin and obviously full of seasonal joy.
After taking turns in the bathroom, the three of us stood in a row clutching hot cups of coffee to our chests and silently watching the great vintage bird sitting on my kitchen table. None of us had any idea where to start. Ian picked up a ready-made stuffing packet and risked the first assumption. "I think you push some of that shit his first ass ..." This was clearly going to be a challenge.
Finally, after several phone calls rather embarrassing to the mother of Phil, we had enough instructions to give it a shot. We peeled potatoes and carrots and Brussels sprouts washed and followed all the instructions of the mother of Phil. Hours later, the three of us were standing in the kitchen with a turkey in the oven and hot pots at each corner of the stove. We were very pleased with ourselves. What was the problem? Nothing to it. We should do this every year!
We sat for lunch a little after 13 hours. All accompaniments were there and all the colors were right, everything looked great. We raised our glasses and wished a merry Christmas before I started hacking the bird brown fat with my sharpest knife, while two others began to pile their plates high with vegetables.
It was horrible. The turkey was blood red in the center, the vegetables were rock hard and stuffing up the ass of the bird was stone cold. Half an hour later, we were with our families pleading for food. And actually, in the end, I'm happy. If you choose, you should always be with your family at this time of year. Wherever you are and whoever you are with this year, Merry Christmas!