I just cut up a chicken.
In an effort to be frugal – an essential quality when one’s income is far below their wants – I bought a whole chicken when Rhys and I went shopping on 22 October… and then I put it in the freezer, and there it has sat for the past almost two weeks, because I was too scared to cut it up. For a start, it seemed like altogether too much hard work. Secondly, all that squidgy skin and bone that clicks as it dislocates and the potential of giblets still being present within the chicken really just freaked me out too much. I was a vegetarian for a very long time. Sometimes I flirt with the idea of returning to vegetarianism (although that’s a completely different story). People who flirt with the idea of not eating meat surely shouldn’t spend time cutting up a whole bird into manageable pieces. But I just did.
I watched a video on YouTube to guide me – there are many, so just watch a few until you find a technique you like. I wanted instructions that involved the least amount of bone-crunching possible, because honestly, the idea of cutting through bone grosses me out. I can’t watch action replays during the football where players have broken fingers or dislocated shoulders. Cutting through chicken bone? Yeh, it’s on the same level for me. So, I found a method that involved cutting off all the legs and arms, and then slicing the breast away from the bone – much better as I didn’t really want to cook the chicken with the bone still in – and what do you know? It wasn’t that gross. It only took me 10 minutes, and I now have ten pieces of chicken to work with – enough for two min meals and a few lunches each. I even de-fatted and de-skinned the meat, and I de-boned the thighs! And I will make soup from the carcass, because there is a lot of meat left on there due to the fact that my knife skills leave a lot to be desired.
I am, quite possibly, Margaret Fulton incarnate.
This is a big step for me in growing up. Rhys complained the other day that he’s sick of me being scared of things – which I am sometimes. Or most of the time. I’m scared of most things. I’m scared of throwing moldy food away in the fridge. I’m scared of cleaning hair out of the shower drain. I’m scared of pulling weeds with bare hands in case I touch anything icky, but I’m also scared of wearing gloves in case there is a spider in the finger. I was scared of cutting up the chicken because I didn’t want to feel squeamish, but it wasn’t so bad, and it saved me a buttload of money ($10 for a whole chook, would you believe? Free range, too! So cheap!). So, you know. Maybe it’s sometimes better to just face up to these things we’re a little afraid of. Sometimes it will be as bad as imagined, but most of the time, probably not.
I’m still not cleaning the hair out of the drain though.
*Reference to Maggie Beer, possibly my number one cooking hero because she uses the most fabulous ingredients and just does not give a damn about the skin on her chicken, and I admire that. Plus she lives in the Barossa Valley – i.e. wine country – and has the most magnificent produce farm in the entire universe… and I also admire that. ‘Admire’ here may be used synonymously with ‘greedily want to eat everything on the farm’.
