please, let me explain | chicken stock

i know, i know. this is not how it’s supposed to happen.

If you knew the things I do to chickens, well, all poultry, you’d understand my hesitation and limitations.

I got shamed early.  My mother caught me and chided me.  I stopped and vowed to never bring home a whole bird again. Since I only eat the breast anyway, I thought I would be safe.

Then, early last summer, I kept reading about this chicken with milk in a pot. Jamie. Yeah. Fine.  I bought a whole chicken.  Brought it home.  And it happened.  Again.

I tried to get past it.  The chicken cooked up alright and fell off the bone.  But, with my actions weighing heavy on my heart, I couldn’t really enjoy myself.  I left it out overnight.  Threw the whole thing away the next day.

I gave it up for the summer.*  I couldn’t forget what I’d done.  But, I got interrogated.  Why? Why? Why? No chicken, really?  I had to try to find plausible reasons to defend the indefensible.  Because, hello, I eat bacon.

I was strong.  All fall, I think I may have had one piece of fried chicken breast from Von’s.  Cause it makes me feel Goooouuuhhhhhddddd. (♥: Will you ever let that Halle/Billy Bob moment go?) Nope.

Then, Thanksgiving came to town.  Excited and feeling festive, I had one problem.   Poultry.  If and how became concerns.  Because I was rolling solo dolo, turkey, too much.  Turkey breast, still too much.  Chicken, I didn’t think I could trust myself.

Options, I needed more.  I thought getting fried chicken was kinda wrong.  It was so un-Harvest Celebration-y.  I’d never bought rotisserie chicken from the grocery store.  Then it called to me from under the heat lamps.  Two days before the big day, I couldn’t leave it to chance.  I had to have a pre-dinner tasting.  Hello, exclamation point eating!

Yes.  I liked it.  Lots.  I picked over pieces that I, normally, sneered at.  What to do with the bones?  What to do with…ahhh.  Throw it in a pot.  Make some stock.**  EASY.  I tossed in some celery bits left over from the dressing.  Covered with water.  Let it simmer.  Ding, ding, ding!!!! We have a winner.

Look, I hope you’ll understand.  I guess it should be made from a bird that I actually cooked, but at least I’m not wasting the bones.  That’s good, right?  I know some would say just don’t eat chicken.  That’s just not going to happen.  I won’t lie.

Oh, you want to know why I can’t… Keep reading.

Hi, my name is Nikki and I dance with chickens.  The sink is the club and we get down.  It starts with the Twist.  I think I can stop at anytime, but I never do.  Sometimes, it’s a little Harlem Shake or a bit of Salsa.  Once we start dancing, it makes me sad to dig for the dirty bits.  Before you know it, I’m a sloppy sobbing mess trying to wash the insides.

I know I can’t not dance with the bird.  So, I will either buy it already juicy dripping good or get the skinless, boneless frozen breast planks.

N♥

*Well, with the exception of one family gathering.  You try turning down food around those women.

** It really was good.  I’ve used it in a bunch of things.  Most notably some killer gravy.