THIS?

This my friends, is a Trash Can Turkey.

Yes.

It is exactly what the name sounds like – it’s a turkey, cooked in a trash can.

And it is absolutely delicious.

I will teach you, okay? I will teach you and you will learn to enjoy and love the trash can turkey as I do.

First, you need a turkey.

Second, you need to remove all of those gross entrails. I don’t have photos of this because I was too busy grossing Kevin out with the turkey neck while Ashley convinced Niel that he’s not allowed to eat the gizzard.

Eww.

Clean your turkey and inject her with butter. Or garlicy butter. Or whatever. I don’t know people. I mainly just observe things like this.

While the turkey is being prepped, send your handyman husband out to wrap a board in tin foil and bury it in the ground. He should oblige. Boys like digging.

Ignore the juices. This photo is obviously from after the turkey was done. We’re just looking at the board people.

Do a final assembly check.

Turkey? Yep.

Buried board? Yep.

Tin foil covering the board and surrounding ground? Yep.

Trash can? (Preferably a NEW TRASH CAN, do not use your old trash can or your turkey will taste like, well, trash. Not what we want here, people!)

Okay.

You have everything, let’s begin.

Put the turkey on the board.

Cover turkey with trash can.

Cover trash can and surrounding rim with charcoal and set the coals on fire. This is another job that can be done by your handy husband. Boys like fire.

Wait about an hour and twenty minutes.

Don’t quote me on that.

Instead read the comments below. Ashley will instruct you the time per turkey. Just do whatever Ashley tells you to. I use that same rule of thumb for everything else in life.

I love volunteering people to do things for me. Makes life much simpler.

Once the turkey is done, scoop off the coals and pull off the trash can.

She looks delicious, doesn’t she? But you can’t eat it yet! You need to take the turkey off of the board.

I have no good tricks for this.

Sometimes good old, plain forks will work, but I’ve seen a Trash Can Turkey that was so moist it fell on the ground when we tried to move it (this is why we use tin foil).

Use caution, people.

Here it is folks, the moment of truth: the transfer.

Which reminds me of something. Does anyone ever watch those cake baking competitions on Food Network?

You know how the contestants spend all day working on their cake, perfecting flowers and arranging layers, and it all boils down to that one moment where they have to move their cake, and everything gets really quiet because you fear if you move you’ll somehow cause that fifth tier to come tumbling down?

That was us, totally holding our breath.

But we made it, and we rushed it in to cut it up and enjoy it.

It goes without saying that there is no pictures of the final product. All I can say for that is five out of five campers approve!

THE KITCHEN CALLED TODAY, and I listened.Wait, that sounds like that old “Is your refridgerator running? Well you better catch it!” joke. This is not a joke, I really did cook.

and cook.

and cook some more. Please feast your eyes on AubreyMo’s Meatloaf. Just forgive the backflash.

Meatloaf wasn’t the only thing I crafted up today. I made two loafs of homemade bread.

Muffin bread to be exact. Mmm. Toasty.

(please ignore the dirty spoon).

Scratch white rolls completed the table, along with corn and baked potatoes, which I didn’t picture because they were by far the simplest to cook. For drinks we had my childhood favorite, Orange Julius drinks fresh from the blender.

So. . .anybody want to come help me eat all of this? My eyes really are bigger than my stomach.

If you can’t join me, at least allow me to share something with you. The grand master, the recipe to rule them all. I give you:

Momma’s Orange Julius

Prelude this recipe with a frantic call to your mother, which starts out “Hey Mom, what are the measurements to that recipe we used to make as kids all the time growing up?”

Only a mom would be able to decifer that. “Hold on, let me get that for ya”. Thanks mom, love ya!

1/2 Cup Milk

1/2 Cup Water

1/2 Can frozen orange juice

1/4 Cup Sugar

1 Teaspoon Vanilla Extract

1-2 Cups Ice Cubes (varies with personal preference)

Directions:

Add all ingredients to blender and push the Easy button. Or if you don’t have an Easy button, hit “Blend”. Remember to laugh at the similiar named company in the mall, since you now have a cheaper recipe than buying a drink from them. Drink and enjoy!

LAST WEEKEND WHEN DALE’S NEPHEW CAME HOME FROM SERVING HIS MISSION IN CHILE, we drove down to the burning lands of St. George for the welcome home and a luncheon get-together.

I was in a permanent state of euphoria due to the heat. That delicious, dry, skin scorching heat. The kind that makes a car into a moving oven, burns lawns, entices me to become lethargic and turns my skin a lovely shade of brown. Oh how I loved the heat.

The luncheon was fantastic, with hearty sandwiches, succulent salads, and Tang to drink. I was getting full just by looking at the buffet being laid out. It was about half way through the meal that we notice Dale’s younger brother and his new girlfriend in the kitchen, still hard at work on some secret concoction whilst everyone else is reclining back with full bellies and tightening waistbands. Upon further questioning (of family members of course. You never ask the person in question the actual question), we found out that the cute, darling, fantastic, friendly girlfriend was making everyone some fresh baked, homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Let me spell that out for you. C-O-O-K-I-E-S.

That took a lot out of me. I just gained ten pounds thinking about it.

We keep conversing about the confections and his brothers blossoming romance, his siblings and I. “Maybe he’s over there trying to get first dibs on the fresh loot,” one sibling jokes. “Looks pretty serious. I wonder if they need help picking out a ring?” another offers. This is when my dear, sweet Dale decides to interlude.

“I told him that if she’s cooking, she’s definitely a keeper”. Notice two things right here. One being he did not make eye contact with me when he said this. The other being there were no remarks as to my cooking skills, which was probably a good idea. I knew I probably shouldn’t be offended. I shouldn’t feel hurt that I’ve invested two years into this relationship and I’m not the one getting the matrimonial remarks. But Internet, I am not the type to keep my opinions and sassy remarks all to myself.

“Well, if that’s all I have to do is cook,” I spoke up, forcing him to catch my gaze, “I can go and help!”

Postnote: On the drive home, when I was feeling rather solemn and sorry for myself, I apologized to Dale for my lack of culinary arts, particularly in the Nestle Toll House department.

“That’s alright. . . because nobody can make a mean meatloaf like you”.

Satisfaction, guaranteed.