What could go wrong?

First, you must understand, just out of university, I fell in among actors…and, I never looked back.

The other things is…I love Christmas! I have loved it since I was a child and it has never, ever, lost its allure for me.

To celebrate these two distinct loves of my young life I threw a Christmas / Holiday / Solstice Party every year for over two decades.

In those early days I was as poor as a church mouse, barely scratching out a living and meeting my bills on $400 a month (the same as my actors). Yet, despite this I was determined to celebrate the Yule as Fezziwig and the Cratchits did in one of my favorite stories, “A Christmas Carol.”

It was Christmas, after all, and, somehow it would all come together…right?

So, I invited all the actors, friends, artists and other people I knew to my little house on a street called Faerie Queen Lane (that was its actual name…a story onto itself), which sat, literally and unfortunately, in the shadow of the Stadium at the University of Oklahoma.

This particular pre-Christmas , I did as I always had. I went out and bought the largest turkey I could find, in homage to the huge bird Scrooge bought for the Cratchits, along with a large ham, rolls the makings for stuffing/dressing and, of course, broccoli. All of these ingredients were to play an important role in this tale of Christmas woe.

Not having the foresight to buy a fresh turkey, I arrived home with this 26 pound behemoth, that barely fit into my largest baking pan (not a roasting pan really, more a large cookie sheet with edges. I devised that rather than soak it in a pan with running water, I could defrost it best in a hot oven.

No problem, I thought.

I put together the ingredients for the stuffing / dressing and realized I had not finished my Christmas shopping for a few of my guests (I always like to give a small present to everyone who attended). So, leaving the semi-frozen bird, defrosting in the maxed out oven, I set out to shop.

Upon my return a few hours later (yes, hours) my Christmas spirit, renewed by gift shopping, I was greeted by an incredibly hot and steamy (dare I say, smoky?) house with what looked like actual smoke rising from the oven.

Rushing to the oven, and flinging open the door I beheld…

… a split open giant turkey!

It had neatly cracked right down the middle, exposing the breast bone in all its whiteness. The skin was brown, crisp (the uncharitable might say, “burnt”) and curled, the meat, incredibly dry, falling away in chunks. The pan was filled, almost to the brim of its shallow walls, with turkey grease and I was afraid to move it for feat of starting a fire.

Opening all the doors of my little stucco house to 25 degree weather outside, I sought, vainly, to give the aforementioned smoke, and heat, an escape route.

And, my guests were arriving in two hours!

Frantically, my eyes search for a solution.

Then I saw it…

… The stuffing / dressing!

I found a deeper pan (why I did not use for the bird is still not a clear memory), and spooned the moist mixture over onto it. Then, carefully, oh, so carefully, I removed the dry white and dark meat from the bisected turkey carcass. I then shredded the meat and then mixed it all into the stuffing mixture in the pan.

It still looked so dry.

What to do?

I opened the fridge, as I often did in hopeless moments, and starred, in desperation, for a solution.

That was when I say it…

…margarine!

I scooped out the entire container, in large yellow mounds, upon the top of the dressing / turkey. Spreading some seasonal spices over the improvisation, I determined, “I have done all I can do.”

After carefully, very carefully, removing the turkey grease filled pan from the oven and placed it, somehow, in the sink to cool and congeal.

As my “Christmas Casserole” baked quietly, bubbling a little every now and then to make me think everything were okay.

I chopped up the broccoli into small flowerers, peeled potatoes to be mashed and completed other tasks.

My guests began to arrive. I took coats, made sure everyone had a cup of mulled wine or spiced cider and return to the kitchen.

While my house was small, it had a generous living room with a fireplace, which I had set to “roaring” just before anyone arrived. Of course, all of this was fore naught, as it seemed everyone wanted to stand around in a crowded, shotgun kitchen, drink in hand, overlooking my cooking efforts.

Trapped.

But, it looked like it was going to work. The “casserole” came out of the oven, looking crisp, and inviting. I sampled a taste. “Not bad,” I whispered to myself.

“Friends, we eat as soon as the broccoli is steamed!” I declared.

Taking down my trusty bamboo steamer, I deposited the broccoli within and placed it over a steaming pot.

Almost instantly it was overrun…with little baby roaches fleeing for their little roach lives from the scalding steam.

I just stood there.

Exposed.

Everyone in the kitchen could see, with horror, what had just happened.

The roaches, for their small part, did not survive the steam but had the good taste to stagger a few inches away to die horribly.

“Just tell them they are sesame seeds,” someone said. The joke for that Christmas party, and many to follow, became, “Try the broccoli with sesame seeds.”

Despite all of this, the casserole was a hit. It was so flavorful and had a rich, artery clogging taste. “Who else would have thought to make a casserole out of turkey and dressing?” Said one of my guests.

I tossed the broccoli. Even my deceit goes only so far.

So, in the end, everyone feasted on turkey casserole, drank their drinks and commented on how “homey” my little stucco house was.

Never since have I had a holiday dinner that had gone so wrong. I learned a lot about improvised cooking and event planning (like don’t buy the frozen turkey the same day you are going to roast it).

Don’t try this at home.