Misadventure with organic chick

Last week, I remembered my grandmother’s delicious boiled chicken. In it I would find chorizos, garbanzos, cabbage, potatoes, green beans, saba bananas and a round black circle that was the chicken’s blood. That was particularly delicious. The maid would kill the chicken while I stood and watched her get the chicken’s head bent backward, slash its throat with a blade and catch the dripping blood in a saucer. That saucer would be set aside for cooking later. The hen would struggle and squawk a lot, but we would all wait patiently until it died. Then the dead hen would be soaked in a big casserole of boiling water so the feathers could be pulled off after which it was cleaned inside – the heart, gizzard, liver, intestines, and unhatched eggs and everything else inside the chicken removed. After that, it was seasoned and set on the stove to boil. Later on, the chorizos then the vegetables were added. Chickens were already organic then so it took hours to boil, about three to four hours I think.

I was so touched by these memories from my childhood that I decided I was going to boil myself a chicken for Sunday lunch. Never mind that I live and eat alone and it might feed me for a whole week. I was going to enjoy every piece of it. Mentally, I even knew the chicken I was going to buy. I had seen it at the Salcedo Market where someone sold organic dressed chicken and unhatched chicken eggs like the ones they used to get from the hen’s stomach.

Off I went to the market on Saturday morning buying little cooked food but stopping at the organic chicken. I bought one organic chick and a kilo of those yummy unhatched chicken eggs, more expensive than the organic chicken. But never mind, my dream would come true. Then I went to the supermarket to buy chorizos and a package of vegetables for nilagang manok. I was all ready for a sentimental Sunday with my childhood.

On Sunday morning, I began to cook. Ooops, what’s this? The organic chicken is clean, but it still has its feet on! Oh well, I struggled to take them out of the stomach but in they stayed stubbornly tucked in. Organic chickens are hard to manipulate. It’s like they are petrified. Their bones are not as flexible as the inorganic hens. Oh never mind, I told myself, I am eating alone. I will let the feet stay and remove them later when the chicken is soft. They should make the soup more delicious.

I cooked the chicken with onions, chorizo, salt and pepper for around two hours and a half. After that, I put in the rest of the vegetables. After half an hour I was ravenous and all set to eat. I took the chicken that had sat there boiling for three hours. I tried to get the feet out of the stomach again. They would not even budge. The drumsticks would not even wiggle. I tried to do all sorts of things but the organic chick would not cooperate. Finally, out of desperate hunger, I managed to carve two very tough pieces of chest meat and some skin. The skin felt and tasted like rubber. I was so thankful that I had put two chorizos in. They were cooked well and tasted wonderful with the unhatched eggs. Finally, I had lunch. It was 2 p.m.

Sunday evening. By then I had gotten over my bad mood over the organic chick. I took the whole petrified chicken, put it in a bowl, added the leftover soup and stuck it in the bottom of my refrigerator. Sometime this week I will take it apart forcibly, chop it up, add mayonnaise and make chicken salad. Once it is finished, I will never buy organic chicken again. It gave me the worst culinary experience I ever had and it doesn’t taste good. Next time I will buy a dressed chicken from the supermarket, chemicals and all – it is 300 times more delicious than this tough organic chick.

Monday morning I awaken feeling strangely well. The usual muscular aches and pains left over by my stroke are gone. It is the morning when my masseuse comes. She tells me about a woman she knows who cooks and eats chicken feet regularly because it is a cure for arthritis. Huh? Suddenly I wonder: did the irremoveable organic chicken feet work on me? No, no, never mind. I have learned my lesson well. I will never buy organic chicken again. It is not even as delicious as the chicken of my youth.

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I am starting writing classes again on September 16. If you’re interested e-mail me at lilypad@skyinet.net or secondwind.barbara@gmail.com or text 0917-8155570.