Dear Turkey,

I’ve been working up the courage to write this letter for some time now.
At first, I didn’t know if I had the conviction to express what are some of the hardest words I’ve had to put down on paper, knowing it will hurt one of my most cherished food friends.
But.....Turkey, it has become abundantly clear.....I think we need to take a break and I need my space.
Now, before you go flapping your wings in emotion, hear me out. You have always been a fascinating food as part of the gastronomical gang to me. You are one of the most multifaceted foods I have ever met, where my spark of interest in you quickly turned into a roaring fire of delicious delectables.
You offer racial harmony, with both dark and white meat, working in perfect harmony for a better tomorrow for my taste buds. You also have a spiritual side with your link to the Pope’s Nose which was always a favourite of Papa, my grandfather, God bless his soul. He always had first dibs on that, with the Pope’s Nose tasting so heavenly to him. Also, name me a food where breaking cartilage can bring people good luck with your wishbone? For those snackers out there having their bouts of insomnia, you offer the perfect cure with your sleep-inducing amino acid of tryptophan. While there were other foods that were stuck-up prudes out there, acting like they had a stick up their butt, not you turkey. Instead, you gleefully allowed stuffing to be put up your butt for young and old to enjoy in your humble way. That humbleness, with that stuffing, made you a food of the people, you should take up politics in your culinary world. There was no waste with you Turkey, as there was always turkey soup to have the next day or a nice sandwich with stuffing, mustard and mayonnaise.
Turkey, you always found a way to be so understanding during the holiday season. You are the only food I know of which after consuming, finally gave Uncle Larry a free pass without a hint of uneasiness among family members to undo his belt and relax on the Lazy Boy in front of small children.
Quite simply Turkey, you have rocked my world in so many ways over the years and I have been forever grateful my stomach and you met. But in 2013, that passion has disappeared for me. I was hoping it wasn’t true, but New Year’s Eve confirmed it for me.
At a house celebration, there you were in all your deep-fried goodness and there I was not even batting an eyelash at you. I was thinking perhaps it was just me still getting over the flu at that point, that suppressed my ravenous hunger for you. Maybe it was the bountiful harvest of other foods and snacks that were offered up that fateful night at the Simmons’ household that made me stay away from you, Turkey.
But no, the passion was gone where there were no more excuses I could think of. Even you dressed up with that sexy flavour injection of creole butter the hosts gave you could not rekindle my once fiery passion for you. The smoldering ashes of our once proud union could be found the next day as I picked at your carcass with my fingers. Your taste to me was as bland as a rerun of According to Jim.
I know it sounds like a cliché Turkey, but it’s me, not you of why we must part ways. I just think I’ve been spoiled by what you have to offer. Two times at Canadian Thanksgiving, another time at American Thanksgiving. To accommodate different family schedules, there were also two more times at Christmas. Throw in New Year’s Eve and all those resulting leftovers for weeks from all the previously mentioned examples of our gravy-filled forays and it was just too much. You even had me by the second Christmas turkey dinner considering consuming the red-headed stepchild of holiday cuisine — ham. Maybe I just need some space to admire you from afar for now.
I’m just so confused right now. We’ve had so many good memories together. Remember when we walked on the wild side back in the late 1980s and I tried you with cranberry sauce? It was the go-go Wall Street 1980s back then, where a lot of people were doing crazy things.
I just think I should eat others in the bird family, for now. I’ve neglected Chicken and Rice for awhile now and even though my mother has warned me, maybe I’ll venture off to the wrong side of the tracks and try me some Game Hen. Maybe I’m making the biggest mistake in my life Turkey and when February rolls around I’ll imagine myself in skin-tight pants with hair-sprayed locks atop my head, playing a piano on the beach crooning, ‘Don’t Know What You Got (Till It’s Gone)’ with what you meant to my palate.
As I wipe away the tears, I just ask that you be patient with me for now and give me some space to think about things. Maybe when October rolls around my passion for you will be renewed tenfold Turkey. But if it’s not, know this, I will be forever grateful for the sustenance you have given me over the years along with the fond memories that have been accompanied with family associated with you Turkey.
I know you deserve better than this letter but I’m afraid if I see you in person again, you’re going to make me nauseous. You’ve meant too much to me to let you see me in that state. With a heavy heart I must bid you adieu.

I wish you nothing but the best,
Greg