For Thanksgiving, Tyler Cowen twote:
The plain truth: Turkey hardly ever tastes good.That, I have long thought, is this holiday's elephant in the room. You think up recipe ideas for what could be months, prepare for perhaps weeks, spent at least a day actually cooking, and what's it all revolve around? Turkey, quite possibly the least appealing meat commonly eaten in the developed world. Its blandness is well-documented, but I haven't read much about what I consider to be its fundamental sadness.
I don't know about you, but I've never chosen to eat turkey unless all the other available options are truly repulsive. (Vegetables, for example.) Having come to regard the turkey sandwich as a symbol of wan resignation, I cannot fathom the mind that possesses enthusiasm for it. I find few images sadder than that of the sad-sack who, given all of the world's brilliant culinary variety, actively chooses to eat a turkey sandwich. Glumly he pulls the defeated meal from his rumpled brown lunch bag, biting softly in as the smothering clouds of pedestrianism engulf him.
Hence the expression "turkey sandwich lifestyle," which I mainly use in my internal monologue. A turkey sandwich lifestyle is, you might have guessed, the lifestyle equivalent of a turkey sandwich: limp, featureless, willfully bland. I have what might be called a lengthy list of goals, near the top of which sits "don't live a turkey sandwich lifestyle." If you find yourself resigned to turkey, Mistakes Have Been Made.
But turkey's problems, I suppose, constitute the relishable challenge of Thanksgiving. You have the fixed component of your meal: the turkey. Now make it good, if you dare.