Me: Oh, honey, it's beautiful!
Him: I wish we had guests tonight, I'll never make one that nice again.
Me: I did my part - I kept up the tradition of burning myself basting a bird - see? [shows off hand]
Him: [rolls eyes]
The knife you see there is what we affectionately call "Grandpa's Killin' Knife." Hubby's grandfather used it to kill chickens. It's old, has a wonderful heft, and sharpens beautifully. You know the scene in the horror flick where you find yourself shouting aloud, "Don't go in there!" Well, if that's the scene and I do go in there, this is the knife I'll be seeking. There's nothing like the right tool for the job!
I wasn't kidding about that tradition: I could show you a scar today from the infamous Turkey of 1993, when the power went out for two hours during the cooking and I touched my wrist on the oven's heating element while basting - and our lovely guests remained our lovely friends. I don't make a point of burning myself basting, just seem to have a talent for it. Every major bird has exacted a price from me.
p.s. Bacon. In stuffing. THAT'S food porn.
p.p.s. Oh, and the gravy came out perfect.