The Chicken that Died in Vain

This story may not sit well with everyone, but here goes… The true foodie appreciates where her ingredients come from, and wants nothing more than to have the freshest food possible grace her plate. So when B told me that he was going to help a friend kill a couple of his chickens that reached their prime, and that we were going to get one for ourselves, naturally I… threw up in my mouth a little.

Okay. I eat meat. I understand that said meat was once a living animal and that someone had to kill that animal in order for me to eat it. But having that person be my boyfriend is another story.

But B already promised his friend, and was excited to eat fresh chicken. He is the chicken man, after all. So, I relented and said he could bring it home, as long as it was completely cleaned before I had to look at it. I honestly wanted the thing to look like it came straight from the grocery store. I even suggested he have it shrink wrapped. (I will forgive B for having to finish plucking its feathers in my kitchen sink… after I sterilize my tweezers.)

Did I mention that B recently watched Alton Brown cut up a whole chicken on Good Eats, and decided that we would need to cut up our own chickens from now on? And did I mention how I told him that I didn’t have the right kind of knife to cut up a whole chicken, so oh darn, we’re going to have to buy them pre-butchered? And did I mention that he bought a boning knife so that the problem was solved?

Yeah, that’s B for you. A real problem solver.

So needless to say, B wanted to cut up this chicken himself and roast the pieces rather than the whole bird. (Okay, in fairness, he told me it was going to be a 10 lb bird, and I was concerned about it cooking evenly at that size, so I kind of talked him into it. But since he was dying to use that boning knife, I didn’t have to talk very long.)

Armed with a series of You Tube videos and my Good Eats: The Early Years book, and our new boning knife, this chicken didn’t stand a chance. Well, actually, this chicken didn’t stand a chance 24 hours earlier when Greg and B grabbed it for slaughter. But I digress…

He did a pretty good job for a first timer (and who am I to judge, really), but practice makes perfect as the old saying goes. See for yourself:

Once the bird was fully cut up (and the remains were in the stock pot with some carrots, celery and onions), we tossed the pieces with olive oil, Italian seasoning, kosher salt, and pepper. Alton Brown suggested we fry the chicken, but we went with the Better Homes & Garden Method of roasting the meaty pieces.

We should have listened to Alton. I was concerned that it would be hard to cook evenly, but figured it wouldn’t be that bad. Needless to say…

How good does chicken jerky sound to you? Not that good, right? Well, then, imagine chicken shoe leather because it was just a tad drier than that.

I felt awful. B slaughters, guts, and butchers a farm fresh chicken. And yet I’m the one who killed it. I can’t believe I ruined what could have been – or should have been – the best damn chicken we’ve ever eaten. Hopefully Greg has to off another couple of birds soon, so we can make amends with the chicken Gods. This time, we’ll definitely whole roast it. It will be prepared with dignity.

As always, B was full of supportive sentiments. “We learned for next time. It’s not that bad. You can still taste that it would have been good, etc.”

And I really thought he meant it until he ate the dessert I made. We got a batch of strawberries that were definitely on the pushing list, so I made a strawberry crisp that came out awesome (despite all the mistakes and “we’ll see how this works” corrections I had to use). B said it was “redemptive.” I thought he meant that I saved the strawberries, but no… he meant that I redeemed myself for ruining the chicken.

And that is the story of the chicken who died in vain, and the dessert that redeemed this wannabe foodie.