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.

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

The sides are where it’s at anyway.

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

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.

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.