Hey y’all! Y’all want more Paula Deen? Sho’ y’all do! And that’s precisely why I watched Paula’s wondrous Southern Thanksgiving special from last year this week on the Food Network. I have to admit, her Thanksgiving spread wasn’t nearly as heart stopping as I’d anticipated. There was only one deep fried item (a turkey), a couple pan fried items (bacon wrapped bread sticks and creamed corn with bacon drippings) and one dessert disguised as a vegetable.Paula invited us into her world; we met her physically fit sons (who obviously don’t touch their mom’s cooking), her daughters-in-law, her Hells Angels meets Santa Claus husband (who is the poster child for what happens to the human body when you do eat Paula’s food), and her dog, Sambo. Yes, Sambo. Who knows, maybe Paula is a practitioner of the martial art of that name, rather than an old Southern belle from Georgia hanging on to things like the Confederate flag and historically racist books.
Paula made something called “Oyster dressing” which is apparently a southern staple. So, for all of my friends here in Connecticut that insist I am from the South (Philly area), I have never even heard of oyster dressing, let alone eaten it. So there. I was born and raised north of the Mason-Dixon Line, thankyouverymuch. Though, I can recommend some good places to chow on some scrapple, if you’re into that sort of thing. So the oyster dressing looked delish and Paula was on her way.
On her way to the slaughterhouse, that is. Before I knew what hit me, Paula was standing before a giant pile of meat; About 30 lbs worth of poultry. She was preparing a very special dish called “turducken.” A turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken all stuffed with stuffing. Hmmm, intriguing. Why she left out the Cornish hen stuffed with a quail stuffed with a hummingbird is beyond me – the turduckenhenailbird, of course. Paula giggled through some of her typical innuendo (“Don’t forget to rub your meat *wink*” and “Splay your legs, ooooh!”) and called in her husband. I guess all that sex talk got him to the kitchen. Though, looking at Michael, it’s the food talk that gets him out of his chair more these days.
She and Michael wrapped up the HUGE turducken mess and shared a kiss. Yes, that’s what I like. A stolen kiss over a giant pile of raw meat. Yum yum. As if that weren’t disgusting enough, she then proceeded to merely rinse her hands in water. Nah, no soap for Paula, just good ol’ Savannah water to wash off her salmonella and avian flu.
[Sidenote: I was listening to ESPN radio the other night and heard Coach Mike Ditka say that he'd be enjoying some "Turduckauge" on the big day - turkey, duck, and sausage. And we all remember those George Wendt/Chris Farley SNL skits, now don't we.]
Paula proclaimed her meal so far as “SlapKaDap-Perfect” and licked her diseased fingers. Not content with giving herself some heretofore unknown turducken-borne illness, she then joined her two sons out with the deep fried turkey and promoted her heart disease as well. How does one finish off a deep fried bird? By literally pouring what was at least a half cup of melted butter into the cavity of the bird. And you know dear Paula licked that butter pot afterwards too.
The sons continued their segment after telling their mom that she was, “About four weeks away from starving” by cooking some ridiculous cheeseburgers encased in puff pastry and preparing some bacon wrapped breadsticks. I thought of a rather lewd joke about how Paula probably enjoys certain “sticks” wrapped in bacon but it’s the holidays, y’all, so I won’t go there. Let’s just say that I hope Michael is careful.
Next, Paula took some perfectly healthy sweet potatoes and added her special Paula touch. She mashed them up, dumped in a ton of brown sugar and butter, mashed that up into balls the size of softballs, inserted marshmallows into their centers, and rolled them in coconut. I’m sure that’s tasty but when that’s more or less your vegetable, you might want to have the cardiologist on speed dial.
Then it was time for a quick trip to the candy store. In spite of the “No sampling” signs around the store, Paula stuffed her face with about ten different pieces of candy. “When you bring a fat girl to a candy store, wait’ll you see how big her smile gets.” Um, no offense, but I’d be more concerned with how big her ass gets, but that’s just me.
Double Damn, y’all.
Soap is for sissies
Ernest Borgnine meets Santa meets buttermilk on his cereal
Do y’all think Paula puts butter in her tea?
Ketchup is more of a vegetable than this thing
After three wardrobe changes due to her general sloppiness and several instances of her sons mimicking her unsanitary finger licking practices (ugh, these people own a restaurant?), it was time to eat.
What did I learn? Well, I learned the difference between “Bawwl” (“boil”) and, “Balww” (“ball”), that Paula laughs like Richard Simmons, and that drinking butter from a deep fried turkey carcass is simply devine, y’all!