Here’s the All-Time List of Top Conspiracies:
- JFK assassination
- The moon landing
- Eating turkey at Thanksgiving
And turkey should probably be number one because we’ve all fallen for the lie. Fear not, however, because I am your Morpheus, and what follows is the red pill of awakening.
Let’s start with a simple question: What’s your favorite meat? Whatever you said, it’s not turkey, right? Of course not. Sorry for wasting your time.
OK, next question: Do you know anyone who would say their favorite meat is turkey? No. Me neither. In fact, not only do I not know anyone who’s favorite meat is turkey, I don’t know anyone who knows anyone who’s favorite meat is turkey. And you don’t either.
Here’s My Continuously Updated Scientifically Defensible List of Top Meats:
- Steak. Steak is the clear King of Meats. It stands on its own with no need for seasoning or sauce. Heck, you don’t even have to cook it, and it’s awesome. Steak tartare tastes like soft buttery angel tears.
- Bacon. I’m not wasting time on an explanation. If you don’t know why bacon is on this list, stop reading. Seriously, you and I are never going to make sense to each other. We should just end this relationship now.
- Ham. I know this is a controversial pick for bronze on the Top Meat List, but follow me for a sec: ham is an incredibly diverse and talented meat with an absolutely unrelenting show of daily domination. For a Guaranteed Great Day, start with ham and eggs for breakfast, then treat yourself to a ham sandwich for lunch loaded with thin slices, followed by a honey-drenched spiral cut ham for dinner and then end your evening with a beautiful charcuterie board resplendent with prosciutto—the ham of all hams and perhaps even the meat of all meats.
- Sausage. Yes, I do know what sausage is made of—more than you do. I come from butcher stock. My grandfather started and ran a series of butcher shops in and around Mason, OH (Ranson’s Fine Meats ring an old bell for anyone?). Two of my uncles had their own butcher shops, and cutting meat is how my dad paid his way through college. I’m fully aware of the nasty bits and pieces that go into sausage and even participated in making it. But can I just confess that those nasty bits and pieces have my whole heart? Sausage is the Ultimate Wing Man. Just try to think of something sausage doesn’t make better. Spaghetti? Boring on its own, but bring some sausage to the party and BAM! Suddenly the kids are excited! Pizza? Splash some sausage on that pie! Eggs in the morning? Those things are begging for a sidecar of links. And hot dogs qualify as sausage. If you don’t like hot dogs, you don’t like Patriotism.
- Chicken. The Chicken Marketing Department are magicians. Just think about this: your favorite pieces of chicken are parts they don’t even have: fingers. Incredible. Can we get a slow clap going?
You know what’s not on that list, though? Turkey. It honestly wouldn’t make the top 25 or even qualify for a bowl game. Side note: Dear whoever makes bowl games, we have enough. In fact, we’ve had enough for a while. When you started The Southern Indiana Mall Walkers Bowl, you took it too far.
So how in the crap did meat that absolutely no one would say is their favorite meat leapfrog all other meats and steal its own holiday?
I’ll tell you how: Through a brilliant web of deception woven by a secret society more powerful and influential than the Illuminati: the Turkey Marketing Department, or the TMD.
Their singular brilliance has been convincing us that the Pilgrims ate turkey when they sat down with the Native Americans to celebrate surviving an incredibly harsh first year, thus marking the very first Thanksgiving. A few problems: the historical evidence that such a meal took place is sketchy at best. Beyond that, we have no idea what they ate. Is it possible they ate wild turkey? Sure. But it’s at least equally possible they ate deer. So why then isn’t the traditional Thanksgiving meal a nice whole deer on a spit? Look, kids, Bambi! I’ll tell you why: the Deer Marketing Department (DMD) clearly got crushed by the Turkey Marketing Department.
Even if turkey was the main dish, eating it because the Pilgrims ate it is based on the logic that if it was good enough for the Pilgrims, it’s good enough for me! You know what else was also good enough for the Pilgrims? Dysentery.
Two of the biggest problems with Turkey:
1. Turkeys induce lying. And Jesus hates lying. This Thanksgiving, your Uncle Bob or whoever is going to cook a turkey. A thing everyone in the family claims he’s an expert at even though, again, you only eat this crap once a year, which means Uncle Bob has only ever cooked a turkey a handful of times in his entire life. Everyone chooses to ignore the obvious fact that you can’t become good at anything if you only do it once a year with a full 365 days between each go. And yet, Uncle Bob will pull that turkey out of the oven, proudly slice and plate it. And then all the lying will begin:
“You did it again, Bob!”
“This is great, Bob!”
“So good, Uncle Bob!”
No, it’s not. Lies, lies, and more lies.
2. Turkey is utterly inedible on its own. You know it’s true—just to choke the bird down, you’ve got to drown it in something. Gravy is the traditional method to lube it up for the ride down the old throat pipe, but lately, you’ve realized it’s not enough, haven’t you? The TMD saw this concerning development long before you did and invented a solve they coined, “brining.” Now, we’re desperately trying to get ahead of the game and are pre-soaking our turkeys in a frantic attempt to make them mildly more edible. It works like this: you plop your sad lump of decapitated poultry into a gigantic zip lock bag filled with tap water, and salt, then let it get bloated for a few days like a dead body floating down a river. Scientifically, the salt opens the muscle fibers and pulls the tap water into the turkey. Now, this method absolutely does result in a less dried out bird, but what you’re doing is literally watering down the meat. What other food gets better when you water it down?! It is crazy and only further proof that we’ve all been tricked.
But Kyle, turkey is naturally juicy if you just cook it right. Stop it. I cook it to perfection. Last year, I smoked two turkeys and pulled them at the earliest possible moment. They still tasted like astronaut tofu.
The Defense of Turkey is shallow and frail, so let me just head you off at the pass before you embarrass yourself. I know what you’re going to say:
But turkey is great because it makes plenty of food for a ton of people. Right, you can efficiently disappoint a lot of people. Congratulations.
Everyone loves Club Sandwiches with turkey. Club sandwiches are only proof of the second biggest problem with turkey: to make it even mildly edible, you have to add all kinds of crap to it. A typical club sandwich requires 50% more bread than a normal sandwich, an extra slice of cheese, lettuce, onion, tomato, mustard, mayonnaise, a wad of ham, and the king of all kick-saving foods: bacon. Do you know what would make a club sandwich better? Removing the turkey.
Now that your eyes are opened to The Truth, there’s only one thing to do: Call the Butterball hotline and tell them you’ve seen the light, you know what they’ve done, and you’re spreading the word. And this Thanksgiving, for the love of all that’s holy, pick a better meat. God Bless America.
And Happy Thanksgiving.Written by Kyle Ranson on