Grandpa's Killin' Knife and the Perfect Bird

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.