Smaller birds than in the good old days
Today I was a hunter. In the modern, post artillery sense. This is the start of the Thanksgiving weekend in Canada; we have to celebrate our harvest earlier than the Americans to avoid snowfall. And, if tradition is to be followed, a turkey must be part of the menu.
The first thing is that there are no wild turkeys in my immediate neighbourhood. Rumours of range-fed fowl north of here abound, but the folks in Valcartier are particular about hunting in their barns and enclosures. I settled for the more civilized hunt, held in the aisles of local supermarkets.
There aren’t many birds out there this year. I went early, and the only “fresh” ones would feed a very small family. After two stores worth of hunting, I settled for a slightly larger, frozen hard as a bowling ball, wrapped in heavy plastic, bird. At least I won’t have to learn how to pluck.
Now, ever since Mister Bean put the turkey on his head, there has been an expectation of turkeys being, well, of a size suitable to feed a messhall. Not the local prey. Mine is marked as being 5.670 Kg. Including the heavy plastic. I’ve prepared my meal by purchasing an addition 4.00 Kg of rice; I can hide the tiny naked bird in a mountain of fluffy white grains. Along with some potatoes, tomatoes, turnips and atokas, we’re set.
It has to be a reflexion on the size of the modern family. Try feeding a family of ten with a bird that weighs just more than a sack of milk and you’ll be glad of the extra rice.
