Well, you know if you kill and process your own chickens, you have to be just a little off-the-beaten-path, right?
I had been reading everyone's posts about chicken-foot stock, so this evening I threw a bunch of skinned feet, some celery, onion, and carrots into my crock pot, and got comfie to come read BYC.
The third post says "cut the nails off". WHAT??? I looked back to the other recipe and didn't see that. Well, dang....
So, I padded back into the kitchen, took the top off the now-fragrant crock pot, and fished out the feet.
I took my new Kershaw knife (I LOVE my the two new Kershaw kitchen knives my knife sharpener loaned to me. He said I would never use another kitchen knife again, including my Cutco knives; by jove, I think he was right! I particularly love the anti-slip coating on the handle. It is so sharp that I bumped the back of my hand against the blade, and it cut a micro-thin slice! http://www.thekershawstore.com/Kershaw_8_Chef_s_Knife_p/k9945.htm
But, I digress...
So anyway, the feet, plumped up from cooking for an hour, and without skin, look amazingly like little human feet. Or maybe little cartoon feet (since there are only 4 toes).
I went to Catholic school as a child, and as I cut the first joint off of the first foot, I had a flashback to all the times the nuns would tell me to hold out my hand, and they would wack my knuckles. Was this some strange kind of chicken karma?
I am also missing the entire first joint of my right pointer finger, and 1/2 of the joint of my left pointer finger (two separate accidents, 30 years apart) and as I chopped off all those little chicken fingertips, things got creepier and creepier. I thought back to my first accident, when I was 3, and lost the first joint of my finger. I thought back to the stupidity of cutting off my fingertip with my new garden shears (boy, were THEY sharp! LOL!). And then I started thinking about every Mob movie I'd ever seen....
Whack!
Whack!
I thought about Lizzie Borden. I thought about the guy who cut off his own finger to escape from the boulder in which he was wedged.
By the time I had cut off all the little fingertips, the nails were looking decidedly pink, like little dowager nails which had been recently painted, and I felt as though I was hallucinating!
I probably won't be doing chicken foot stock again...
I had been reading everyone's posts about chicken-foot stock, so this evening I threw a bunch of skinned feet, some celery, onion, and carrots into my crock pot, and got comfie to come read BYC.
The third post says "cut the nails off". WHAT??? I looked back to the other recipe and didn't see that. Well, dang....
So, I padded back into the kitchen, took the top off the now-fragrant crock pot, and fished out the feet.
I took my new Kershaw knife (I LOVE my the two new Kershaw kitchen knives my knife sharpener loaned to me. He said I would never use another kitchen knife again, including my Cutco knives; by jove, I think he was right! I particularly love the anti-slip coating on the handle. It is so sharp that I bumped the back of my hand against the blade, and it cut a micro-thin slice! http://www.thekershawstore.com/Kershaw_8_Chef_s_Knife_p/k9945.htm
But, I digress...
So anyway, the feet, plumped up from cooking for an hour, and without skin, look amazingly like little human feet. Or maybe little cartoon feet (since there are only 4 toes).
I went to Catholic school as a child, and as I cut the first joint off of the first foot, I had a flashback to all the times the nuns would tell me to hold out my hand, and they would wack my knuckles. Was this some strange kind of chicken karma?
I am also missing the entire first joint of my right pointer finger, and 1/2 of the joint of my left pointer finger (two separate accidents, 30 years apart) and as I chopped off all those little chicken fingertips, things got creepier and creepier. I thought back to my first accident, when I was 3, and lost the first joint of my finger. I thought back to the stupidity of cutting off my fingertip with my new garden shears (boy, were THEY sharp! LOL!). And then I started thinking about every Mob movie I'd ever seen....
Whack!
Whack!
I thought about Lizzie Borden. I thought about the guy who cut off his own finger to escape from the boulder in which he was wedged.
By the time I had cut off all the little fingertips, the nails were looking decidedly pink, like little dowager nails which had been recently painted, and I felt as though I was hallucinating!
I probably won't be doing chicken foot stock again...
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