Gross. That about sums up my experiences in making turkey soup. I am no turkey-parts virgin. I’ve seen my share of gizzards and uncooked necks, as well as many a waxy bag of internal parts. I have plucked out errant quills from a Thanksgiving turkey prior to roasting. I have washed Mr. Bird every Thanksgiving and Christmas for many years. I have even been up to my elbow in a turkey cavity massaging frozen meat and trying to get rid of unfriendly ice crystals.

But this soup experiment nearly ended my turkey-lovin’ career. Don’t worry about the specifics. Just know that we host Thanksgiving at our house a few days after the actual Thanksgiving Thursday. To accommodate the crowd, we decided to roast up two turkeys, one the day before and one the day of the feast. The bones of both ended up in a giant stock pot on the stove, simmering away amongst celery, carrots, garlic and all the passed-over dark meat from the two gobblers who graced our table.

The house smelled like turkey heaven. Everywhere I walked, I was enveloped in a mist of turkey-goodness. It seemed that my love of November’s fine feathered friend could be drawn out across months to come with this concoction of deliciousness that would be ready for freezing in serving-sized portions in just 8 short hours.

The smells wafting out of that pot were just to get us hooked. Sure, come on over. Try it…you’ll like it. Straining the broth should have been my first clue that something was amiss in turkey-land. I can only describe what came out of the bottom of that pot as silt. But we gobbled on.

Stripping the bones, while an easy task of manual labor, proved to be an anatomy test. Do we want to eat this part? How does this look to you – too dark? Too game-y? I can carve a turkey with my Black and Decker electric knife and create a Better Homes and Gardens plating experience. Getting down to the bare bones of dear old Tom, however, required more caveman than I thought I had in me.

We cut the meat into small, soup-enhancing bits and added it to the broth. The picked-clean bones went into the trash. I did feel some satisfaction in finally using “the whole turkey.” My wife took a sick pleasure in telling me that the marrow of the bones cooked out into the broth and made it more flavorful. In the past, when I had thought about making soup, or being more responsible and using the whole turkey, I had never considered the “marrow.” I hope everyone will forget about the marrow for Christmas and for all holidays to come.

It was late and we were tired so the assembled soup base went into the fridge to be portioned out the next day. Apparently our fridge is some sort of food-altering laboratory, capable of changing ordinary foods into gelatinous goo overnight. Think Jell-o, about six inches deep. Now imagine it a deep brown color with bits of meat suspended here and there. Now add a frothy mocha-colored foam to the top. This was the result of our hard work? This is what we would put into freezer bags and eat on cold winter days? Reheating this could only result in the Health Department bursting through our front door, disinfectant in hand, wearing those yellow haz-mat suits.

To quell my churning stomach, I figured I would stir up the “soup” and then bag it up. Do you have any idea what gelatinous goo sounds like as you turn it over and over with a giant spoon? The grossness of the sucking and plopping sounds were rivaled only by the immense effort I had to use to stir everything together. Only when I started ladling 14 cups into each freezer bag did it hit me. This would be dinner one night. As I filled nearly five bags, I realized we’d be eating this Frankenstein more than just one night.

Nearing the end of the first-ever turkey soup endeavor, three of our five children let me know that (a) that soup looks gross and (b) they would not be eating that. More for me, I said hoping that, once my wife gets her magic culinary skills on this mess, turkey bliss will once again reign throughout the house for parents and children alike.

Until that time, I’m going to think something that doesn’t have bones. But not Jell-o.