A Chicken Dinner

Just a couple of days ago I posted about the inadvertent chicken fatality and rapid preparation… Which let the cat out of the bag that my feather picker is done and works – and that I’m ready for harvesting these birds. But the question still on our “plate” had remained – how do these birds taste…

so, without further suspense – let me take you back to Wednesday evening… when the chickens were exactly 7 weeks from hatch.
Kelli had gotten home early and was continuing to work on getting the master bedroom walls painted. It’s been a slow process with all the things going on – but she has now set her jaw in resolve to get this job done. So, when I got home and asked the “What’s for dinner” question – I was the recipient of the look that marriage has taught me means that unless I’m thinking a bowl of cereal – I should take the feeding baton and run with it.
So off to the garden and the refrigerator. Of course – zucchini was part of the menu – it’s started – that annual avalanche of green logs that starts off welcome and somewhere along the way finds you leaving unmarked bags on the doorsteps of friends and family in the middle of the night – because there is just no way you can consume all of it! We aren’t there yet – only a week into the river of summer squash – still a good place to be.
Then to the refrigerator – open it up – and right there at eye level is a bagged very pink bird. Now, you might have thought to yourself – wait – the incident was Monday – I can’t believe they didn’t eat this guy (really gal) yet. And still – there I stood eye to something that had eyes that I had watched the spark of life leave. Ahh well – no time like the present – so I grabbed the bird and placed it on the butcher block. The plan was to grill up 2 chicken halves.
As I split the chicken along the breast bone – a couple of things looked a little “different” than any of Frank’s birds I have ever done this to… for one – the mercy killing was justified, the left thigh area had some clotting from the pen trauma and several ribs on that side were broken (as I surveyed this, I could hear Bones from Star Trek saying – “Damn it Jim, I’m a doctor not a butcher”)… the rib cage looked – ohh – I actually laughed out loud. See, one thing that’s supposed to be challenging about chicken evisceration is the fact that their lungs are notoriously difficult to remove. Now – when I did the deed – things came out pretty easy – I looked inside things looked good – and I called it a day and bragged to Kelli of my accomplishment. Now, with the bird laying split in 2 – it became apparent I had missed the lungs as they sorta fill the spaces between ribs – hence the reason they are apparently so tricky to remove. Good – note to self – move on.
Some observations I made as I finished splitting the chicken and placed her on the grill. The meat itself wasn’t the yellow of Mr. Perdue’s… as a matter of fact it wasn’t even the pink of the “organic” jokes you can buy… I would venture to say the breast meat looked almost as dark as a conventional chickens thigh… hummm – must be all the clover and critters they like to eat so much. As I dropped them onto the grill another observation was made – there is almost no fat on this bird! For her size – there should have been a lot of globby yellow chicken fat… very little… and again, what was there wasn’t the bright “corn yellow” stuff.
As the chicken grilled a very pleasant aroma started to fill the still evening air – and Kelli yelled down from her toils in the bedroom that “something smelled great”. I kept an eye on the grill – since doing chicken halves is notorious for flair ups… yet because there was so little fat on the bird it just remained more interested in cooking that charring – good bird – she always was well behaved (twinge of guilt here for again dropping the pen on her – good ole number 35).

It takes as long to cook a half chicken as it takes – and then – it’s done. So off the grill they came filling the house with a terrific aroma and starting my salivary glands to work. I called Kelli down – and it was time to test the fruits of our labor.
Now – for those of you who know me very well – you know it’s safe to say I’ll try just about anything once… So the veggies went on my plate, the baked beans went on my plate and we cut into 1/2 a chicken to share – Kelli taking the breast meat and me taking the thigh – because I always prefer something with a little more flavor.
“Mmmm – these beans a good” I said.
“Sure are – hey do you want some of our bread?” Kelli responded.
“Yeah, that would be great. I’ll get the spread.”
“The veg mix is terrific,” Kelli said as she shoveled a fork full of grilled zucchini into her mouth.
“Ohh, it is? I thought it would be they are fresh and small ones – the best to grill.”
(pause)
We stared at each other – then smiled. I laughed. “Are you scared too?”
Kelli’s face lit up and she laughed out loud at my question – “YES! I didn’t want to say anything and sound stupid!”
We both laughed then turned our attention back to the savory smelling uneaten bird 1/2 between us. And with that, I took fork to breast and thigh – carving up our first ever home grow, pasture raised, 100% all natural, can’t say organic – but it is – farm fresh broiler chicken.

I honestly can’t tell if it was the fear of working really hard on something and having expectations fall short or if there was a fear that somehow the bird had grown up LOOKING all normal but I had done something wrong… but we both were terrified to put that first fork-full into our mouths. But we did. And I’m not sure we were ready for what came next. Simply put – the flavor is absolutely, hands down, no question or contest, the best tasting chicken either one of us has ever had in our entire lives. Period. Exclamation point.
The flavor is substantial but also ineffable when it needs to be described. It’s just amazing. It’s one of those things that may make chicken outside of our home something that we simply will have to pass on. It is THAT good!
Beyond the ecstasy our palates were experiencing the meal itself became a powerful experience as our excitement over the amazing taste ebbed and we paid solemn respect to the fact we had raised this bird from 2 days after it hatched – we had nurtured it – we had cared for it – we had slaughtered it – butchered it – prepared it – and now rejoiced as we consumed it. It was a powerful (and tasty) meal that originated from our labors and our farm almost completely.

A simple 1/2 chicken dinner – I suppose – could change the world.