Tuesday 29th March 2011
I made this a couple of weeks ago (14 March-for recipe.) and froze what was left. I didn’t eat enough of it last time so I’ve been looking forward to this day.
We ate a lot of chicken when I was a kid. Chicken and lamb. Sunday roast was invariably one of these two. I imagine it was for economic reasons coupled with the fact that beef & pork a very chewy for young jaws and end up at the side of the plate in one way or another.
But chicken was a different story, we stripped it. Literally down to the bone. We must have been bone-picker in a past life. My sister, Jane, and I were very good at it but it was my foster-brother, Mansion, who was the king. He could leave the carcass of a chicken bone dry like it had been left to the buzzards. There was no shame in picking up a chicken bone to get the good bits in my mum’s house. The parson’s nose was also very sort after for the same reason but as the family grew and the tradition was passed down the ages there were more of us who wanted first dibs.
I’m fortunate that in my house both my wife and son are quite happy to let me keep that tradition to myself. My wife cringes as I crunch my way through gristle and soft bone. Zephyrus feels that he has much better things to be getting on with rather than sitting at the table for any longer than he has to.
“What’s your favourite meat Zeph?” I ask.
“Chicken…” He replies.
There’s hope for him yet.