La Caza Sudamericana Salvaje De Pavo
The Wild South American Turkey Hunt
by: Heide Cruikshank
Really. How many 21 year olds have cooked a turkey?
And, more than that, how many have cooked a truly magnificent splendid feast of a bird?
And, even MORE than that, how many did it in Santiago, Chile?
It is an elite club, but I am accepting membership applications.
Address envelopes to Heide L. Cruikshank, President, at Large.
Cooking a turkey is an undertaking. I mean. It´s cooking a TURKEY.
But, beyond the intrinsic challenge of cooking a rather large bird without drying it out or burning the house of your Chilean host mom down, there´s the fact that….. I was in charge of The Icon of Thanksgiving. My celebration´s authenticity and charm were absolutely hinging on the quality of my dish.
No. Scratch all of that. The hardest part of cooking the turkey was finding the goddammed bird.
On Tuesday night I was talking to my mom on the phone about the Big Day and Bette, always thinking, asked me, ¨Do you have the turkey yet?¨ Naive daughter replied, ¨No.¨ Always Thinking Mama Bette´s voice completely changed. ¨WHAT!? It takes a frozen turkey a whole day just to defrost! You think you´re going to be able to find a fresh turkey in Santiago??!!¨ Suddenly Spurred to Action Daughter Heide responded¨Oh.¨
And S.S, to A.D. Heide set off.
(Please note that all the following conversations went down in Spanish. Please also note that my Spanish SUCKS.)
First I walked down the street to the Lider ¨Express¨ supermercado near my house. No dice. BUT. The dude told me that their larger location (a Lider ¨Vecino¨) down the road would have one.
Sweet. I was on the road again. 15 minutes later I still had not found the Lider Vecino and asked a lady if I was close. She said it was a few more blocks away still.
20 minutes after leaving Lider number 1, I reached Lider number 2.
Again, the dude in the meat section told me they were fresh out of entire turkies. Frozen or otherwise. Frustrated but still not entirely discouraged, I asked him where I COULD find a turkey. Dude 2 suggested that I go to the Santa Isabel mercado even further down the road. Okay. Fine.
25 minutes walk (where I was at this point) from my house starts to get a little sketchy. If Santa Isabela was going to be ANOTHER 20 minutes walk (45 minutes from my house), I knew that I would probably be in an area where I´d start to really regret wearing a tank top. And being white. And a girl.
So, I decided to ask a lady, who looked normal enough, how far away the Santa Isabel market was.
(translation)
Me: Hi, pardon me. Good afternoon, do you know far away the Santa Isabela market is?
Her: Why do you want to go there?
Me: I need to buy a turkey.
Her: There´s a Lider right behind you.
Me: I know. They don´t have any whole turkies.
Her: Yeah. We don´t eat a lot of turkey in Chile.
Me. Oh. Well, I really need to buy one. Can you tell me how far the Santa Isabela market is?
Her: It´s down the road. When you get to the rotunda, turn left. But, we really don´t eat a lot of turkey here in Chile.
Me: I know, but I need it. I am having a lot of people over to my house and I am supposed to cook the turkey for dinner.
Her: Well. It´s down the road. I´ll walk with you.
Me: Okay…thanks.
Me and Lady Who Really LOOKED Normal start walking.
I spent the next 15 mintues geting lectured by the woman on how great Latin American men are and how I should be dating one. Apparantly, they don´t make a lot of money because salaries are so much lower here, but they have lovely dark skin and they are great communicators.
When we finally reached the market, instead of dropping me off, the Lady W.R.L.N. walked me all the way to the back and made herself my personal spokesperson. If I even TRIED to speak, she would interrupt and complete my sentence for me. At one point the two of us were elbow deep in frozen chickens trying to find the one frozen turkey, that the butcher told us was in the freezer. He was a liar.
When it became clear that I would not be buying a turkey from Santa Isabel, the Lady Who No Longer Appeared Normal was still not through with me.
Clutching her purse a little closer, the Lady W.N.L.A.N. took me on a tour of the market pointing out Mapuche (indenous people) shopping. I literally followed some poor woman in a black and hot pink head wrap down the yogurt and cheese aisle while the Lady W.N.L.A.N. whispered something moderately racist in my ear.
At this point I told her I needed to call my friends and figure out how I was going to find a turkey within the next 12 hours. I thanked her profusely and pretended to listen while she gave me an elaborate description of her route home….
CRAAAZZZYYY people. Are EVVERRRYYWHHEERRE.
The next morning I found what I am convenced were the only two entire frozen turkies in Santiago. I LOVE JUMBO. Picture Meijer. But Chilean.
I picked up the better bird, named him Big Bird and returned home wishing I had a harpoon, or something equally awesome, to hang my kill from.
Cooking the bird was a snap and it turned out amazing. I was so proud. My friends took a video of me carving it afterward.
I also made gravy and about 8 liters of sangria.
All the rest of the food turned out equally amazingly.
My friends SOMEHOW found pumpkin pie ingredients.
So we had all the trimmings of an American Thanksgiving Feast. Plus some South American treats like pebre and vino.
What a day. What a night. What a life.
Thanks.
by: Heide Cruikshank
Really. How many 21 year olds have cooked a turkey?
And, more than that, how many have cooked a truly magnificent splendid feast of a bird?
And, even MORE than that, how many did it in Santiago, Chile?
It is an elite club, but I am accepting membership applications.
Address envelopes to Heide L. Cruikshank, President, at Large.
Cooking a turkey is an undertaking. I mean. It´s cooking a TURKEY.
But, beyond the intrinsic challenge of cooking a rather large bird without drying it out or burning the house of your Chilean host mom down, there´s the fact that….. I was in charge of The Icon of Thanksgiving. My celebration´s authenticity and charm were absolutely hinging on the quality of my dish.
No. Scratch all of that. The hardest part of cooking the turkey was finding the goddammed bird.
On Tuesday night I was talking to my mom on the phone about the Big Day and Bette, always thinking, asked me, ¨Do you have the turkey yet?¨ Naive daughter replied, ¨No.¨ Always Thinking Mama Bette´s voice completely changed. ¨WHAT!? It takes a frozen turkey a whole day just to defrost! You think you´re going to be able to find a fresh turkey in Santiago??!!¨ Suddenly Spurred to Action Daughter Heide responded¨Oh.¨
And S.S, to A.D. Heide set off.
(Please note that all the following conversations went down in Spanish. Please also note that my Spanish SUCKS.)
First I walked down the street to the Lider ¨Express¨ supermercado near my house. No dice. BUT. The dude told me that their larger location (a Lider ¨Vecino¨) down the road would have one.
Sweet. I was on the road again. 15 minutes later I still had not found the Lider Vecino and asked a lady if I was close. She said it was a few more blocks away still.
20 minutes after leaving Lider number 1, I reached Lider number 2.
Again, the dude in the meat section told me they were fresh out of entire turkies. Frozen or otherwise. Frustrated but still not entirely discouraged, I asked him where I COULD find a turkey. Dude 2 suggested that I go to the Santa Isabel mercado even further down the road. Okay. Fine.
25 minutes walk (where I was at this point) from my house starts to get a little sketchy. If Santa Isabela was going to be ANOTHER 20 minutes walk (45 minutes from my house), I knew that I would probably be in an area where I´d start to really regret wearing a tank top. And being white. And a girl.
So, I decided to ask a lady, who looked normal enough, how far away the Santa Isabel market was.
(translation)
Me: Hi, pardon me. Good afternoon, do you know far away the Santa Isabela market is?
Her: Why do you want to go there?
Me: I need to buy a turkey.
Her: There´s a Lider right behind you.
Me: I know. They don´t have any whole turkies.
Her: Yeah. We don´t eat a lot of turkey in Chile.
Me. Oh. Well, I really need to buy one. Can you tell me how far the Santa Isabela market is?
Her: It´s down the road. When you get to the rotunda, turn left. But, we really don´t eat a lot of turkey here in Chile.
Me: I know, but I need it. I am having a lot of people over to my house and I am supposed to cook the turkey for dinner.
Her: Well. It´s down the road. I´ll walk with you.
Me: Okay…thanks.
Me and Lady Who Really LOOKED Normal start walking.
I spent the next 15 mintues geting lectured by the woman on how great Latin American men are and how I should be dating one. Apparantly, they don´t make a lot of money because salaries are so much lower here, but they have lovely dark skin and they are great communicators.
When we finally reached the market, instead of dropping me off, the Lady W.R.L.N. walked me all the way to the back and made herself my personal spokesperson. If I even TRIED to speak, she would interrupt and complete my sentence for me. At one point the two of us were elbow deep in frozen chickens trying to find the one frozen turkey, that the butcher told us was in the freezer. He was a liar.
When it became clear that I would not be buying a turkey from Santa Isabel, the Lady Who No Longer Appeared Normal was still not through with me.
Clutching her purse a little closer, the Lady W.N.L.A.N. took me on a tour of the market pointing out Mapuche (indenous people) shopping. I literally followed some poor woman in a black and hot pink head wrap down the yogurt and cheese aisle while the Lady W.N.L.A.N. whispered something moderately racist in my ear.
At this point I told her I needed to call my friends and figure out how I was going to find a turkey within the next 12 hours. I thanked her profusely and pretended to listen while she gave me an elaborate description of her route home….
CRAAAZZZYYY people. Are EVVERRRYYWHHEERRE.
The next morning I found what I am convenced were the only two entire frozen turkies in Santiago. I LOVE JUMBO. Picture Meijer. But Chilean.
I picked up the better bird, named him Big Bird and returned home wishing I had a harpoon, or something equally awesome, to hang my kill from.
Cooking the bird was a snap and it turned out amazing. I was so proud. My friends took a video of me carving it afterward.
I also made gravy and about 8 liters of sangria.
All the rest of the food turned out equally amazingly.
My friends SOMEHOW found pumpkin pie ingredients.
So we had all the trimmings of an American Thanksgiving Feast. Plus some South American treats like pebre and vino.
What a day. What a night. What a life.
Thanks.