Talkin Turkey
Some say that life is about choices. I would agree, but I’d add that it’s also about trade-offs.
Maybe it’s just me, but regardless of the choices I’ve made in life, there’s always been that give and take thing going on. You sacrifice one thing to gain something else.
Some of life’s trade-offs we don’t really have much of a say in. Like the trade-offs one encounters in getting older—trading all that vim and vigor of youth for the unexpected pleasures to be found in slowing things down. There are other trade-offs one makes through the aging process, but that’s another conversation. The trade-offs I’m really hitting on here are the ones over which we actually have control.
I was thinking about all this as I stood over my kitchen sink the other day, in a quandary over what to do with the gravy pouch that came stuffed inside the turkey breast I was getting ready to roast.
See, instead of getting a package of the paper-thin processed lunch meat that, frankly, always smells a bit weird to me, I like buying a small turkey breast to roast for sandwich meat, or, should the mood overtake me, to throw in with pasta or whatever soup du jour I may concoct. It’s not exactly convenient, but for me, it’s a worthwhile trade-off—extra effort for higher quality at a better value, with more versatility of use, and much better taste.
But now this gravy—that’s a problem. I hate to be wasteful, seems to go against everything I’m working for in this particular scenario, and the truth is, if I got creative it could be repurposed—watered down for soup stock, or used in a rice casserole or something. But I still can’t get my mind around the mystery ingredients contained in that plastic pillow of poultry suspension.
I grew up in a family that makes our gravy from scratch—always. The plastic pouch of preservative-infused pretend gravy—gravy-wannabe—was fed to the dogs.
But life is different now. I no longer cook for a family of six. My grandmother—the matriarch and master cook of the family—has been gone for almost twenty years now. Someone might say I’m no longer necessarily held to the same standards as before; maybe it’s ok to cheat and use the pouch stuff, no one’s looking. No one will know but me. Which feels like the kind of thing someone who hides a gin bottle in the chicken coop might say to himself. Which is concerning. I’m standing at my kitchen sink but now it feels like the precipice of a very slippery slope.
What if the perceived convenience of pouched gravy is the gateway to other, potentially more dangerous, trade-offs? Who knows, next I may want to get one of those super sonic tooth brushes that vibrates so you don’t have to actually move your hand while brushing your teeth, or, heaven forbid, a battery-operated portable bidet wand so I could spend less money on toilet paper.
See how far down the spiral this could really take a person?
Choices and trade-offs. Life is full of both.
The trade-offs we choose today set the stage for what life becomes tomorrow; even the most seemingly innocuous—like an innocent little pouch of gravy—could lead you down a road you never intended to traverse. It’s best to think these things through. You’ll be glad you did—and sometimes, like in my case, your dog will be happy you did, too.
