Rotisserie

My mother had a Ronco Rotisserie and I found it stashed down in the furnace room. Now, this is something to do with cooking that I like; I just thought it would be fun to resurrect the rotisserie. I scrubbed it all up and fooled around getting the spit mechanism to come apart and watched a youtube video on cooking a chicken/turkey. And now it sits on the counter. Okay, it might be challenging to get a turkey correctly positioned and rotating, but that’s about the end of it. Actually, it might be nice to just sit and watch it go round; heaven knows I have sat and watched an empty aquarium bubble before.

If I cook anything in it, people will eat it and it will be gone and I will have to clean the rotisserie again. This is not my modus operandi. I’m more of a set the table person – nice tablecloth, stemmed glasses, heavy silverware, attractive plates. Of course, it has to be cleaned up also, but at least nobody eats it and poof, it is gone.

But there is a rub in my non-utilization of a cooking apparatus: the little thought that popped into my brain concerning more exotic poultry, say a Christmas goose or maybe a duck. That sounds like the stuff of which a party is made – Christmas carols and roasting goose . . . and then a run for the peanut butter.