I was introduced to the Turducken in New Orleans. And it wasn't

Hear, O children of time, the tale of John Madden, the great herald of the gridiron, who spoke not of battlefields nor crowns, but of a curious feast: the Turducken. In his words there lies more than the description of food; there lies a lesson about wonder, about discovery, and about the sacred joy of tradition reborn. He declared: “I was introduced to the Turducken in New Orleans. And it wasn’t Thanksgiving. Glenn at the Gourmet Butcher Block brought it by, and I had never heard of it or had seen one, and they put it in the booth, and it smelled so good that I had to taste it. And it was good. Then Thanksgiving came, and we got one in addition to the traditional turkey.”

Mark well these words, for they are the testimony of a man who found delight in the unexpected. The Turducken—a chicken within a duck within a turkey—was no ancient dish carried down by forefathers, but an invention of modern imagination, a marvel of culinary craft. Madden, though rooted in the traditions of football and family feasts, did not turn away from this novelty. Instead, he embraced it with open hands and open heart, letting curiosity guide him to new joy. In this lies a teaching: that tradition need not be prison, but a living river that welcomes new streams.

Consider the people of Rome, who once adopted the gods, foods, and customs of the many lands they conquered. Where others saw strangeness, the Romans saw enrichment, weaving foreign practices into their daily lives. Thus their festivals grew in splendor, their tables grew in bounty. So too did Madden, when he welcomed the Turducken alongside the traditional turkey, showing that joy expands when the new walks beside the old, not in opposition, but in harmony.

But note also the humility in Madden’s tale. He did not seek the Turducken for himself, nor boast of discovering it. It was Glenn at the Gourmet Butcher Block who carried it forth, who shared it freely. And Madden, though a man of fame, became a student again, a receiver of gifts. This too is wisdom: that greatness is not in clinging to what one already knows, but in remaining teachable, willing to taste, willing to see, willing to rejoice in what others bring.

Think also of the pilgrims and the Wampanoag at the first Thanksgiving. They, too, shared not one people’s food, but the bounty of both—the maize, the venison, the wild fowl, the harvests of two worlds united. That feast was not pure tradition, nor pure invention, but a mingling. And though the years that followed were filled with sorrow and conquest, still the memory of that table stands as a symbol: that thanksgiving, true thanksgiving, is made richer by the gifts of many hands. Madden’s words echo this truth across centuries, though wrapped in laughter and football cheer.

Thus, O listeners, take heed of the lesson: when life sets before you something new, do not shrink back in fear, nor cling too tightly to what has always been. Welcome it. Taste it. If it is good, let it join your table; if it is not, you lose nothing but a single bite. In this way, the feast of your days will grow in color and in joy, and tradition will be a flame that spreads, not a chain that binds.

Therefore, let your own lives be like Madden’s table: keep your traditional turkey, the steadfast joys that anchor you, but make room also for the Turducken, the strange and wondrous gifts that the world may bring. In doing so, you honor both the roots of your past and the branches of your future. Gratitude, then, is not only for what is known, but for the surprises that awaken delight. Go forth, then, with hearts open, hands ready to receive, and spirits willing to taste the unexpected feast of life.