It’s always been puzzling that on Thanksgiving, a day when Americans are supposed to appreciate all they have in life, we are supposed to eat turkey, a big bird that deserves little to no thanks.

The nicest thing one can say about turkey is that it’s not dry, a compliment that indicates that the bird does not taste like biting into desert sand — how turkey usually is unless it’s brined, basted, buttered to a point, thankfully, beyond resemblance. There are even instances where, in a desperate effort to impart more flavor onto the flavorless bird by deep-frying it, Americans have set their houses ablaze.

Equally frustrating is that there’s a plethora of more delicious meats to choose from. Turkey would make sense if Americans were limited hunters and poor fishermen. But we are far removed

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