Dear Tante Camilla,
I just love this time of year! What are some of your favorite Thanksgiving foods, memories or traditions?
Dear Turkey Whisperer:
Chère, I love me a good giblet gravy. First I boil the turkey giblets, gizzards and neck until the neck meat falls off the bone, then strain the stock and take the bones out and chop the meat up and put it aside. Chop half an onion and put it in the stock then add some water and a bouillon cube boil it. Then on the side you mix some water and corn starch and add that to the stock along with the meat and a chopped up boiled egg and salt and pepper and let it all simmer until it becomes a gravy. You know Tante Camilla don’t make no measurements so you gotta make sure you add enough of the corn starch mix for it to get thick but not too much. Chère bette! Ca c’est bon, especially over the creamed potatoes.
Anyway, bonjour, mes amis. This is Tante Camilla ready to give you some advice. So venez ici and écoutez. Mais, it’s not so much conseil you want today but a memory.
When I was younger we used to spend the l’hiver at the camp so daddy could trap. My job was to wash the furs in the tub and pass them through the wringer and hang them on the hooks so they could dry. Cho, one time I passed my finger through the wringer on accident, my nail turned noir, noir and fell off. Talk about blesser.
Eh-ban, mon préféré mémoire is the time that daddy had surprised us and bought a turkey from the store to bring out to the camp so we could cook it for Thanksgiving day. We didn’t always have the money to get a turkey but that year he did good with the rats so when he went in to sell them he came back with a big turkey. Well it was cold outside so he hung it up on the hooks where we hang the furs because we didn’t have room in the ice chest for it. We went to bed so exitayed that night because we’d be cooking that big turkey the next day and inviting the neighbors at the camp next to us over to share it.
Well, during the night we heard the dogs making a rahdot but we figured they were fighting with a chaoui like they do sometimes. Daddy had a big, goofy Golden Retriever and a medium sized Lab. The next morning when we woke up those merde chiens were still chewing on the bones of our big turkey. We couldn’t believe it. They had picked it clean. None of us had even thought about the dogs eating the dog gone turkey. I thought daddy was going to kill our dogs but he just shook his head and got his stuff together and went out to make a hunt. Momma told me that he probably realized it was a couyon thing to do to hang the turkey outside with two big dogs around.
We were all pretty disappointed at the time since we had to have canard instead of turkey; but now, that Thanksgiving is one for the books and it still makes me pomeé just to think about it.
Eh ben, c'est tout pour asteur. When I get another question you’ll get another answer.
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Posted on Wed, November 23, 2016
by The Lafourche Gazette