About 10 years ago, I was married. I spent every Thanksgiving with my wife's family. I wasn't close to mine and they were literally a 30 minute train or 15 minute cab ride away.

Easy peasy.

I love Thanksgiving food. They were midwestern so I thought it would be solid.

Her uncle was the "cook" of the family.

You know the type.

The self-proclaimed foodie. Buys premium ingredients from Whole Foods. His only social media activity is food-related. I've eaten his food. He reads cookbooks and always tried new things!

I trusted him.

One Thanksgiving... he didn't make turkey.

"The family just doesn't like it."

He made roast pork tenderloin. FINE. Whatever.

There were steamed green beans. Instead of potatoes, we had roasted cauliflower.

I was trapped in some Weight Watchers, Lean Cuisine nightmare.

I went to the supermarket the next day and bought a turkey, corn bread mix, corn, green beans, cream of mushroom soup, Idaho russet potatoes, 2 boxes of butter, celery, sage, macaroni, 2lbs of cheese, and jell-o.

I was so upset, I demanded a Thanksgiving do over.

I knew my friends were exhausted of Thanksgiving food, but I implored them.

"PLEASE LET ME HAVE REAL THANKSGIVING."

I took my turkey. It was a sad leftover turkey that was part of the post-Thanksgiving sale. It was only fifty cents a pound and it was like 24lbs.

It was very very large.

Now, most people brine something like 5%.

As someone who really likes ham, I have always been a proponent of "fuck that 5%, make it by weight.

FYI it's about 10lbs of brine to 24lbs of turkey. Duck you high blood pressure.

FLAVOR TOWN.

It was great.

Next year, the wife's family said no to turkey again.

FINE. I'm bringing my own turkey. It's a turkey for me.

What could be more American than saying duck you to my wife's family and bringing my own turkey to a family meal?

So that year. The year after Diet Meal From The Back Of Country Living Magazine™ Thanksgiving, I ordered a fancy af heritage turkey.

I did my ham brine.

I roasted it at 500º in a convection oven with no basting because I wanted to heat blast it.

No mercy turkey.

When it was done, I moved it to a throwaway roasting pan. I took air filled ziploc bags and cushioned it inside a larger ziplock bag — one of the giant ones for blankets.

I wrapped that inside insulated blankets.

When we arrived, I unpacked. People were curious.

When they ate my turkey, there was silence. The home care nurse was the first to speak. "Is this really turkey?"

Yes, it's pickled turkey. Ham turkey. FLAVORTOWN.

It took a lot not to scream "flavor town" in uncle's face, but he's a nice guy so I didn't want to be mean.

And that's how I became a turkey baron.

Finis.

Flavor town population: ham turkey