“I don’t stop eating when I’m full. The meal isn’t over when I’m full.
It’s over when I hate myself.” -Louis C.K.
It’s finally November. This means two things. First of all, the weather has become more tolerable. I don’t have to spend my day hiding in air conditioned basements anymore! Secondly: Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving: that one magical day when nobody is gonna judge me for going a little overboard with the eating, drinking and merriment. The day when I can spend all day in the kitchen getting slowly drunk as the smells of meat and gravy fill up the room. The day that, for whatever reason, my roommates and I have dedicated to watching Kate Bush music videos on repeat until we have the choreography memorized.
My girlfriend takes thanksgiving very seriously, as does her family. For them it isn’t a once a year celebration, it’s a meal prepared for any occasion they deem special enough to validate roasting an entire turkey. Before I met her, I have to admit, I wasn’t too fond of turkey. In my prior dealings it was too dry, too flavorless. I like meats that belong in the juicy, fat-dripping family of meats: beef, pork, duck, meats that leave enough drippings to fry a potato in.
But after last thanksgiving I’m a changed man. A turkey should be juicy. A turkey should have delicious crispy skin. A turkey should be soaked in a brine for at least a day
before roasting it in an oven. A turkey should have a whole can of beer poured over it while it’s cooking. A turkey should be served, poundfor- pound, with an equal amount of gravy. There is an order to this universe, a formula for the way we should live our lives, and turkey – really well prepared turkey as I have just described it – is necessary for life to be worth anything.
This is the last issue of the semester, so I’d like to leave you with this simple message: don’t settle for subpar turkey. Life’s too short. As always, if you need to reach me, reach out and touch me at: editorinchief.ubpost@gmail.com
Signing off,
Kyle Fierstien
Editor-in-Chief
The Sting 