The first *and last* time I attempted a faux turkey, chaos ensued. Here is a short account...
I was in Gainesville at the time with my girlfriend. It was Thanksgiving. We'd been invited over to this pretentious vegan slag's house for a nice, animal friendly meal.
It's not as if I dislike vegetarians or vegans or any other person based on their dietary decisions alone. I'm not a racist. However, this had to be the most foul smelling and obnoxious hippie I'd ever met. I didn't like him and I think the feeling was mutual. Perhaps it had something to do with my daily showering habits.
He being a family friend of my better half, the pressure was on my girlfriend to accept the invitation despite my protests. "Just look at it as a new experience. Something to write about," she said to me, my willpower caving in by the second.
"Maybe you're right."
We arrived around five and the evening began to pass without incident. Even the hippie and I had started chatting it up. "Hey man, I almost forgot I hafta cook the turkey," he said as he stood up.
"It's tofurkey, jackass," I muttered.
As he rose up from his chair, a cloud of body odor and patchouli followed him, launching a full scale attack on the olfactories of anyone foolish enough to cross his path. I noticed my girlfriend giving me an approving eye from across the living room. The message was clear, "Be good now."
In less than ten minutes he returned from the kitchen. "Uh guys... I might need your help. There's a problem," he said.
A problem indeed, it was a BFP. It seems that some ovens have advanced enough to where they can clean themselves. This makes sense inasmuch as scrubbing an oven is a tedious chore, nay should we forget that oven cleaner is nasty stuff.
I'm staring at the tofu turkey inside of the oven. The door is locked. The temperature is now over 500 degrees.
We alternated between watching television and the soybean based turkey replicant slowly destructing in the kitchen. We placed bets on if it would explode and if it did, in how much time. After about an hour the oven began to cool down and the door automatically unlocked. It had exploded. I was out of five bucks. Shit.
"Hey, can we still use this miso gravy?" said one of the hippy's friends. He looked vaguely like this roadie I met once at a Widespread Panic concert. "Miso hungry! Me me so hungry! Me love you long time!" he began to chant.
It was decided that we would hunt down something, anything to eat. The vegan, his friends and my girlfriend ate sushi, using the miso gravy as a dip.
I ate a hamburger.