And a very merry (albeit belated)
gobble-gobble to one and all. Thanksgiving is one of those holidays I harbor somewhat
conflicted emotions about, mainly because I never much cared for the dry and
generally flavorless experience of eating turkey. Throughout the years, the
thought of ingesting a bowl of freshly harvested bellybutton lint seemed more
appealing to me, in terms of providing a rich array of intriguingly complex
tastes and beguiling textures.
And so it was until, at last year's Thanksgiving
shindig, Mrs. Casual decided to try something new and put that overgrown
chicken in an oven bag. Lo and behold, Thanksgiving hasn't been the same
tasteless, dry, and rather depressing affair, since that fateful decision was
made. Flavor explosion is a phrase I never would have dared put in proximity to
the word turkey. But here we are... Just another curve-ball the multiverse decided
to throw my way.
So, to keep things in accordance with the occasion, I would like to mention
that I am quite thankful for a number of things in my life, not least of which
are oven bags. Anything which makes my life juicer, gets a thumbs-up from me.
And since we're on the topic of thumbs, I am
also quite thankful for this blog, and for being able to share some of my
ramblings with this small but ever so delectable community of readers (yes,
that means you over there!). Many thanks to all involved—as well as oven bags. (How
this relates to thumbs, I will leave for you to figure out. Please report back,
should you find the answer.)
Now, you may be sitting there twiddling your thumbs (Aha!!), wondering what in
the blazes the above picture of a tiger could possibly have to do with Thanksgiving.
Well, here are a few ideas. Maybe the tiger identifies as a turkey. After all,
it is the current year, and from what I’ve been witnessing as of late, nowadays one
can claim to be whatever one wants to be. As long as you want it, it must be
so... Or must it? (But I digress.)
On the other hand, the tiger’s connection to Thanksgiving may simply be that he
just ate a turkey. Do tigers eat turkeys? I assume they do, simply because they
can. If you were a tiger, wouldn't you?
Or, perhaps, the tiger is from Turkey… You see where I’m going with this.
But here's the simple truth of the matter. Mrs. Casual and I have a little
Thanksgiving tradition, which is that, on Black Friday, when stores are overrun
with deal-seekers, consume addicts, and those adventurous (or silly) enough to
participate in the customary sales-bin stampede at the local mega-store (risking
life and limb in the process), we grab the opportunity to take a leisurely walk in the other direction.
We like to spend the day after Thanksgiving at the Bronx Zoo.
This year I figured it’d be a great opportunity to take the new camera for a
spin. So, there I was, happily clicking away, minding my own business, capturing
colorful images of tropical birds, perched on crooked branches looking like a
witches index finger directing
Hรคnsel and Gretel toward the oven; shy desert mice enjoying a nibble of fresh fruit, while
hiding behind a rock looking like... a rock; when, suddenly, this fine fellow
placed himself squarely in front of the lens, barely two feet away from where I stood.
The
crazed look in his eyes belied his calm demeanor. I could tell he was hungry. Panic started setting in (me, not him!). Would I be
able to get the shot before the monster decided to charge and rip my clothes
off, so as to get to the succulent meat within? (My body has been seasoned with all manner of exotic
spices and fermented marinades since before oven bags were a thing. I’m sure it
would make for an exhilarating culinary experience for any tiger of class and
distinction.)
Hungry tiger or not, a photographer is as a photographer
does. And what a photographer does is press the shutter button. My trigger finger
spasmed. The shutter crackled like a baby elephant stomping across a field of
Rice Krispies. My focal point fixated on the eye of the tiger (it’s the thrill
of the fight); cold nervousness running down my back. Seconds turned into
lifetimes; lifetimes turned into eternities; eternities turned into whatever is
longer than eternities.
Did he move? I thought I saw his shoulder jerk ever so slightly. Ready to
pounce? The flame of my life mere seconds away from being extinguished. Alas, I knew he wouldn't dare kill me just yet. I
hadn’t gotten that shot yet.
And then it happened. The moment in
which all the pain and joy of my life, the successes and failures, doubts and
convictions, tasty food and olives, culminated into one ultimate climax. "YES!"
I shouted, triumphantly. “Yes, indeed!” The elephant took one more, heavy step,
as I toppled backward, crumbling into a trembling heap of cold sweat and hot nerves.
The perfect picture was mine. Finally.
As I lay there, I looked upon the
majestic beast. His eyes became mine, and for the first time in my life I
observed the world without fear. Come and feast upon my flesh, king of the
jungle. I got the picture. You can kill me, but you cannot hurt me. The purpose of my existence is
fulfilled. I am ready now!
I waited.
Eternities became seconds.
Without another word the tiger
shrugged his shoulders, and leisurely walked away.
Confused but somewhat relieved about not having
been enjoyed for lunch, I pulled myself up. Wobbly-kneed I realized that all
this time there had been a 2-inch thick pane of glass separating myself from
the tiger. This, I suspect, had been the main reason this Bengal royal hadn’t proposed
to tear me to shreds.
And thus the story ends.
You're still sitting there? Still twiddling your
thumbs? Ah… You’re probably still wondering what any of this has to do with
Thanksgiving. Well, let me come straight to the point (after having spent about
a thousand words of circumventing it). All this was simply to say that in
addition to oven bags—which keep turkeys juicy and flavorful, and thusly a joy
to eat—I'm also very thankful for glass panes of multi-inch thickness— which
keep me uneaten (yet juicy and flavorful!).
