He liked the leftovers better than the first time through.
See, my family was evenly divided, white meat or dark. We all liked dark better, and Bob liked the white. It was fair. We stuffed ourselves on legs and wings, and he got the breasts. He would feast for days. I think he actually ate more of the rest of the dinner on Thanksgiving night; the potatoes, beans, stuffing, relish, and pie - lots of pumpkin pie with piles of whipped cream. But he went easy on the white meat so's there'd be lots for sandwiches. My brothers and I wanted nothing to do with the left over white meat, since we'd wanted nothing to do with it the first go round. And it's plenty hard to make sandwiches from the dark meat, it being all chunky and sinewy. Can't really slice it well for layering.
But white meat was the queen of the turkey. The prime to the rib. The meat on the bones. I think for Bob it had something to do with his childhood, with poverty, with being lucky enough to have a turkey at all.
As a kid, and a teen, I didn't appreciate his hunger. The lusty way he ate those sandwiches, not even taking time to sit down, just munching them down on the spot. I can appreciate the act of devouring left-overs. We almost always had more than enough. He made sure of it. And he thoroughly enjoyed it while it lasted. And he made it last a long time.
So, seeing a turkey - I hardly consider the meal itself. I just think about the sandwiches later. And remember Bob.