One True Ingredient: Bad Ass

Dad brought two roosters by tonight.

“They were free,” he said.

“I figured,” I replied. I eyed the two full-grown roosters, one red, one black, sizing them up.

“I thought I could trade ‘em for one of your roosters.”

I shrugged, thinking to myself that at least my roosters weren’t already fully formed assholes. They’re either young enough or cowed enough by the hens that so far they haven’t been overly aggressive. These two, even in the kennel, looked like fully blown assholes. But I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.

“Sure,” I said.

My first mistake was dropping the roosters in amongst the hens. We have a chicken tractor rather than a coop, but one side has roosts for hens while the other side doesn’t. There’s chicken wire in between so they can’t hassle one another. The hens also have a door now so they can get out to roam in the afternoon. They have two roosters with them, but the Buff Orphington roosters are under eighteen weeks old and pretty mild for roosters.

We don’t have the term cocky for nothing, I tell you what.

Before long, the new roosters had the hens completely harassed. They piled up in corners and on top of the young roosters and were repeatedly pushed away from the food at one end and the water at the other. The new roosters, it seemed, lived up to my expectation of bully to glorious effect.

Now kicking myself with a fussy child and absent partner, once the Offspring nodded off to the land of sugarplums and puppydog tails, I marched out to the coop, climbed inside on hands and knees (as it’s very low) and proceeded to corner and catch the offending pair of cocks, dragging them out of the coop behind me. One attempted to reach around and peck me, whereupon I seized him around the neck and narrowly restrained myself from strangling him. And for the second time that day, these birds found themselves overpowered by a Barclay, only this second one was a pissed off, tired, overworked, no patience momma.

The only condoned rape on Barclay Farms from now on will now be between two consenting males. Mom has spoken.

My harried hens fluffed themselves and slowly, very slowly, began to move normally about their side of the coop once more. The offending roosters, I shoved into the opposing side and fastened the door.

As the roosters crow this morning, making me feel vaguely Amish, Dad’s suggestion of putting them in the cookpot has some appeal. The future ingredient to one of our meals was therefore the topic of this week’s episode of “One True Ingredient.” The other bonus ingredient this week I thought of while cornering and seizing both cocks around their necks, one in each hand and proceeding to drag them out by their feet at nine o’clock at night.

That ingredient? Be bad ass.

Keep choking your chicken.

The Incredible, Edible Egg

The STC made the most ridiculously delicious omelets on Sunday. Why we never added caramelized onions to omelets before is anyone's guess. Why I wasn't smart enough to take a picture is another. Why he's away overnight for work and thus unavailable for consultation as to his orgasmicly awesome omelet recipe is the fault of the Army. But let's not point fingers, let's just work with what we have.

First off, we spent probably 45 minutes caramelizing garden onions. The fridge needed a thorough going through and so most of that time was spent with the onions at a low simmer and us with knives flashing and vegetables flying and a lot of "eww, what do you suppose that was?" to one another.

Next, the STC sauteed green and red bell peppers and some raw white onion in with the caramelized. I can't speak as to his omelet technique, but I think a lot of it owes to our new pans, the Green-Life cookwear I've mentioned before. (Must add that I am not getting ANYTHING from the company for plugging their product, I merely think these pots and pans are the singularly most awesome thing I've ever had in any kitchen. Ever.)

So STC did the omelety thing to the egg (five farm eggs, no milk, no salt and pepper, no water, just wholesome farmy goodness), added the veg and some diced ham and cheese and the holy-I-think-I-just-jizzed-in-my-own-mouth-holy-awesomeness-batman-omelet was born.

We call it WTF good for short.

Was it the egg, the onions, the phase of the moon? I have no idea. But I intend to force the beloved father of my children to repeat this recipe over and over until I unlock it's secrets. Or until we're sick of omelets, whichever occurs first. Until next time, keep it sunny side up. :)

What We Aspire To

Putting the Poultry Out to Pasture

A Monday Rant

This screen shot of one of my Google alerts illustrates the dichotomy present in the backyard poultry issue.

On one hand, chickens are the easiest species of livestock to raise. They come up quickly and certain breeds can be ready to butcher within six weeks. Egg layers will start producing between 18-22 weeks.

On the other hand, from what I’m reading, at NPR and other websites, because people have been disconnected from the raising of livestock, they don’t know how to be good managers. Not because they’re bad people, but because they lack experience and buy in perhaps a bit naively.

Life is all about cycles, and while I am not a religious person, there’s a lot of truth in that line about there is a time to live and a time to die. Let’s look at this plainly. Since the domestication of animals, we’ve raised them to die for us. They feed us, with milk or eggs; they clothe us, with wool and leather; and finally they feed us, with their flesh. Unless we’re vegan or vegetarian, this is the cycle. That we’ve removed slaughter from public view does not change the fact that it cost an animal its life to make your meal. If you or someone in your family is not willing to be the one to take that life, then maybe you need to rethink whether you’re ready for poultry. Broken legs happen, birth defects happen, roosters who chase the dog and harry small children happen, and if you’re too squeamish to put an aggressive or injured animal out of its misery, or find someone who can, that’s the big difference in mindset that separates farmers and non-farmers. Farmers don’t enjoy killing, but they are raised with the understanding that life is about cycles and every cycle has an end. And that end has to be dealt with quickly and humanely.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s great that people want to raise chickens and I’m a firm believer that so long as they’re going to be good caregivers and maintain proper cleanliness for their residential standards, it’s fine to raise livestock wherever they’d like.

But raising livestock isn’t enough.

You have to have the wherewithal to humanely, even reverently, put down that livestock as well. We’ve raised these animals this way. It’s essentially our fault and our responsibility to ensure their well-being and happiness. Feeding us is their job, working for their well-being is ours. All the tree-hugging in the world won’t change that, so long as humans are the top predator, remain omnivorous, and maintain herds of domesticated livestock. We bred them to depend on us, for life and for death, and it’s our obligation as good caregivers, not to give them rights, but to maintain the best standard of care that we are capable of giving, for both the length of their life and their death.

For more information on abandoned poultry, try these thinks

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2013/07/10/200699728/hipsters-off-the-hook-the-truth-behind-abandoned-backyard-chickens?ft=1&f=1053


http://millbrae.patch.com/groups/around-town/p/backyard-chicken-farmings-ugly-side-homeless-poultry_27225965