Saturday, August 06, 2005
Sevare, Mali
I butchered my first chicken today. Earlier, I was thoroughly enjoying one of our self prescribed "rest" days that follow intense traveling. I decided that it would be a great evening to cook a nice meal. Sean and Nate soon arrived from their day's outing, and suggested that I go to the market and pick out a chicken. A smile snuck across my face. "Just imagine yourself walking from the market, down the road, with a live chicken in your hand," Sean said. I was sold.
The market was just about to close down for the day. I had trouble finding the vegetables for the meal I was imagining. Finally though, after finding few necessities, I stood in front of the chicken seller and with painstaking ease, said: "Give me a strong one." He grabbed two chickens from the cage and handed them to me. Of course, I chose the fatter one. I kept my cool with the exchange of money (about $3), but as soon as I had the chicken in my grasp and walked off, I couldn't stop smiling. No one on the street seemed to notice anything strange. I felt unreasonably proud. As I walked into the compound, Sean and Nate complimented me on my choice. The chicken looked very healthy.
Killing, gutting, and plucking a chicken is no easy feat. It takes hours for an untrained hand. Sean had gutted a few chickens, so he instructed me on where and when to cut its head off with the swiss army knife. As I watched the life bleed out of the animal, I thanked it for its gift of life which it so kindly provided, for our nourishment. "Cut it open, from the ass and between the breast plates, then start pulling its guts out," Sean said. Easier said than done. The chicken was warm with life, not at all like the fish that I had become used to gutting with my grandfather. I imagined that it was still moving. Indeed, blood spewed out from severed arteries at every movement of the knife. As I grabbed its guts, the heat was intolerable. It is a strange feeling to know that your hands are inside an animal that was alive a few minutes ago!
Plucking is by far the most time consuming task. Did you know chickens have fine hairs all over their body? Good, neither did I.
Finally, I stood in the hot kitchen, the dead, cleaned, and plucked carcass in a bowl in front of me. I started to feel anxious. I had roasted chickens before, but this one was different. I was worried about overcooking, undercooking, drying, tying, and spicing. I had many cigarette breaks. I was a nervous wreck.
Finally, everything came together. Mashed potatoes, salad, roasted onions and peppers, along with the centerpiece of the meal, a fresh roast chicken. The process of preparation was extremely gratifying, but I was exhausted by the time dinner was ready. But the best part, and the most heartwarming, was to watch two hungry guys devour the meat, suck the bones dry, and compliment the gatherer, the butcher, and the chef.
I butchered my first chicken today. Earlier, I was thoroughly enjoying one of our self prescribed "rest" days that follow intense traveling. I decided that it would be a great evening to cook a nice meal. Sean and Nate soon arrived from their day's outing, and suggested that I go to the market and pick out a chicken. A smile snuck across my face. "Just imagine yourself walking from the market, down the road, with a live chicken in your hand," Sean said. I was sold.
The market was just about to close down for the day. I had trouble finding the vegetables for the meal I was imagining. Finally though, after finding few necessities, I stood in front of the chicken seller and with painstaking ease, said: "Give me a strong one." He grabbed two chickens from the cage and handed them to me. Of course, I chose the fatter one. I kept my cool with the exchange of money (about $3), but as soon as I had the chicken in my grasp and walked off, I couldn't stop smiling. No one on the street seemed to notice anything strange. I felt unreasonably proud. As I walked into the compound, Sean and Nate complimented me on my choice. The chicken looked very healthy.
Killing, gutting, and plucking a chicken is no easy feat. It takes hours for an untrained hand. Sean had gutted a few chickens, so he instructed me on where and when to cut its head off with the swiss army knife. As I watched the life bleed out of the animal, I thanked it for its gift of life which it so kindly provided, for our nourishment. "Cut it open, from the ass and between the breast plates, then start pulling its guts out," Sean said. Easier said than done. The chicken was warm with life, not at all like the fish that I had become used to gutting with my grandfather. I imagined that it was still moving. Indeed, blood spewed out from severed arteries at every movement of the knife. As I grabbed its guts, the heat was intolerable. It is a strange feeling to know that your hands are inside an animal that was alive a few minutes ago!
Plucking is by far the most time consuming task. Did you know chickens have fine hairs all over their body? Good, neither did I.
Finally, I stood in the hot kitchen, the dead, cleaned, and plucked carcass in a bowl in front of me. I started to feel anxious. I had roasted chickens before, but this one was different. I was worried about overcooking, undercooking, drying, tying, and spicing. I had many cigarette breaks. I was a nervous wreck.
Finally, everything came together. Mashed potatoes, salad, roasted onions and peppers, along with the centerpiece of the meal, a fresh roast chicken. The process of preparation was extremely gratifying, but I was exhausted by the time dinner was ready. But the best part, and the most heartwarming, was to watch two hungry guys devour the meat, suck the bones dry, and compliment the gatherer, the butcher, and the chef.
2 Comments:
Cheers to you Tuuli. I don't know what took me so long to check out your postings, but I finally did and am reading them all. I'll make more of a concerted point to check them more regularly now.
And I'm happy to hear you finally got to butcher your chicken. I know well how hard and gratifying it can be. Be safe, love.
Jeffrey
p.s. for future reference, you can often just sear the fine hairs off the chicken
And I'm happy to hear you finally got to butcher your chicken. I know well how hard and gratifying it can be. Be safe, love.
Jeffrey
p.s. for future reference, you can often just sear the fine hairs off the chicken
Jeffrey, you rock my world. I will sear the hairs off the chicken the next time. It will save me about 30 minutes. As always, you are practical knowledge embodied.
Love, Tuuli
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Love, Tuuli
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