A tradition that has fast taken hold here in Sweden is that of a Christmas turkey. I am a little unsure when the bird is actually eaten in Swedish homes as Christmas here is focused on Christmas Eve, or if this culinary migrant comes with a complementary Christmas Day dinner. Whatever, for me it has made things a great deal easier in purchasing our yuletide fowl. This last Christmas I called our local poultry farm and as usual put in an order for a family of 12 sized bird. In contrast to earlier years I was quite specific in the description of the bird I required. In fact after repeating my requirements a second time or possibly even a third time I would not have been surprised if the woman on the phone was wondering where on a scale of slightly less intelligent to complete idiot the person she was talking to would comfortably slot into. Life has taught me that getting good results more often than not requires an extensive toolbox of personal skills. Ranging from education to experience to social skills where not bothering about looking foolish can be an added price worth paying in order to achieve success or as in this case avoid disaster.
Just over a year ago, that is the Christmas before last, my then 9 year old grandson and I drove over to pick up our Christmas turkey. After giving the lady in the farm shop my name and the weight I had requested she walked into a back room where I assume recently slaughtered turkeys were kept only to almost immediately re-appear holding a strange looking turkey wrapped in cellophane. I couldn´t quite make out what was so strange until she put the half-bird onto the counter in front of us. “There you are, just under 6 kilos,” she said without a hint of anything being wrong.
It is at times like these that I think we human beings become aware of how quickly our minds work. There was a silence that lasted no longer than 2 or 3 seconds but in that time the following went through my mind.
- “the stupid cow has chopped the fucking turkey in half
- must have been a big bugger to start with
- how does she expect me to serve it?
- it´s Christmas tomorrow, slim chance of getting another turkey
- maybe they have a spare one?
- if not how do I serve this one?
- prop it up with toothpicks and place it at the end of the table, inwards outwards so to speak
- only one drumstick!
- where do I put the bloody stuffing?
- keep cool Rick, no bad language, Leon is with you”
”Errm, actually I would prefer a whole turkey which I assumed was what I had ordered,” was my calculated reply that broke the silence. If there are gold medals for not blowing your top I definitely deserved one. As it turned out this calamity sorted itself out when she said she could replace this bird with a slightly larger one. I felt like snidely pointing out that what she had offered me was not a turkey, since when is a steak a cow, but the job of grandfather comes with a set of rules.