The glorious fragrance wafting through the house as it roasts in the oven all afternoon. The sight of it, golden-brown in the equally golden light around the dinner table, skin glistening as it rests on the traditional platter, still whole, still turkey-like, drumsticks angled in one final salute to its hungry audience before facing its destiny.
Whether digging into that drumstick with sleeves rolled up or delicately cutting through razor-thin slices of soft white — and, hopefully, moist — breast meat with a just-right dollop of cranberry sauce on the fork, we can only furrow our brows and ponder for a minute; what on Earth would we do at Christmas without our Christmas turkey?
Buy a turkey roast, if you're only two or three for dinner. Buy a turkey and cran sandwich at the deli if it's your first Christmas away from home and you have to have a taste. For turkey has long been part of Canadian Christmases, at least for the colonizers smart enough to have made the choice and lucky enough to have survived, since they first arrived.
In a rather circuitous route, turkeys came to Canadian Thanksgiving and Christmas tables from Mexico, via Europe.
In Mexico, writes Reay Tannahill in her excellent book Food in History, turkeys and dogs were the only domesticated livestock at the time of the Spaniards' arrival. Dog was considered useful but inferior meat.
To whit, she quotes from the 16th century history of "things of New Spain" written by Franciscan friar, Bernardino de Sahagún, who was part of the Catholic evangelization of New Spain: "The turkey meat was put on top and the dog underneath, to make it seem more."
First discovered by Cortes and his men in about 1520, the so-called "Indian chicken" made its way back to the Old World with amazing speed. By about 1523-24 the bird itself had made it to Europe, brought in via the agency of merchants in the Levant and, ironically, Turkey.
Not knowing how to pronounce the Mexican name, uexolotl, the English "solved the problem in the usual way" and called it "turkie cock." It started popping up not just on dinner tables but in heraldic arms as well.
In France it was known as coq d'Inde or "cock of India" — note, not the West Indies. People of India called it peru. As you can see, its popularity was unstoppable; people throughout the Old World found it as delicious and practical as we do.
Back here in North America, the Pilgrims who landed on Plymouth Rock were glad to see the turkey, native as it is to the Americas. The aboriginals called it furkee.
But this species is not the same as the one native to Central America and Mexico. The common or wild turkey, is native to North America. It frequents — or at least it used to — much of America's countryside, stopping for some unknown reason right at the 49th parallel. The wild male, called a gobbler or tom, grows to be over four feet long and up to 16 pounds, smaller than his now-industrially farmed, domesticated cousins but still a formidable-looking bird.