If they want to dive into the turkey first, they are welcome to it.

The sides are where it’s at anyway.

The person carving the turkey serves from their left: Elders first, then adults, then children, with the caveat that one breast be set aside for those children who are picky eaters.

Whoever correctly observes that I am the sole member of the human species that can correctly prepare this damned beast into something decadent and delicious gets their first choice of cuts after my wonderful partner gets a leggie (it’s his favorite).

I’m even so generous and benevolent that I’ll save you the keystrokes of asking how such a feat is possibly accomplished.

Homemade yolk-only herbed mayonnaise under the skin, spatchcocked and roasted high (like 425°-450°) on a raised rack until the thickest part of the thigh reads 150°, tenting the skin with foil if it looks like it’s browning too much. It’ll come to 165° as it rests, don’t you worry.

Youngest to oldest, physically at the table at the time.

Aside from only 2 drumsticks and 2 oysters, there’s enough of any part in demand.

They can have it, turkey is not good. I’ll eat the ham over here.