Turkey. Now there was a meat I could get behind. Ugly chickens, really. Practically as stupid as chickens, which — if we’re being honest — were the most disgusting animals on this planet, unless fried or grilled and bedded between two slices of toast. Having raised the creatures for significant portion of my childhood and having been on the receiving end of an angry airborne rooster when I was ten, I retain little love for the uncooked, unspiced species. Still, despite our differences, chickens proved more amiable to my stomach than cow, which — again with the honestly — were stupid, smelly creatures too. In addition, these lightning rods for all manner of buzzing stinging insects possessed all the personality of a Dodge truck and just about as environmentally friendly. I recall playing baseball with cow-patties one year when Ryan slid into home plate head first and . . .
Well, I digress. Livestock and I do not mix well without condiments.