More agricultural memories; this time about chickens
I used to help to collect the eggs on the farm. One day I was, to my ginormous pride, sent to collect them ALL BY MYSELF
It was a long time before I was allowed to forget that my oh-so-carefully carried harvest included the china egg whose sole purpose was to encourage the hens to lay
Another chicken memory concerns the Young Farmers Wives competitions at the Bakewell Show - how deliciously, nostalgically anachronistic that sounds now. One class involved plucking & drawing a chicken. Results were judged on speed & thoroughness. The speeds achieved were truly astonishing
I could if presented with a whole chicken, still remember how to draw it, though I doubt I have the requisite strength in my hands. But I would not want to pluck one. I get the shudders just thinking about it. The reason stems from an act of downright disobedience by my three-year-old self in the days just before Christmas
My father arrived home & dumped a sack just inside the kitchen door. I went to investigate while he was saying hello to Mum. Despite cries of DONT I put my hand in the sack ... the shock of feeling feathers - almost alive but somehow not quite right - made me squeal
Christmas isnt Christmas without the smell of proper giblet gravy simmering on the stove. Its sad that it is now virtually impossible to find anyone who sells chicken with giblets, though turkey with giblets is still available in some supermarkets
I try to avoid all ready meals & sandwiches which include chicken. Not just because I hate battery farms; I also worry about those products which make claims to using only prime breast fillet from free range animals. What happens to the rest of the chicken? Im with the River Cottage man: if you are going to eat an animal, you should at least show it the respect of eating as much it of as possible
