To Kill a Fu*king Bird

(http://bourdainmediumraw.com/essays/view/1002) About my essay: Cooking well is to pay homage and tribute to the person who taught me the very basics of cooking, my Home Economics teacher. May I make her proud. Let's cook, shall we?

Class this is how you dress a chicken!" Those were the exact words of my Home Economics teacher who had asked for a volunteer over the weekend to bring a LIVE chicken to class for we were about to witness the painful truth about what happens to a chicken before it gets served on your plate! She firmly held the neck on one hand and patted its head to give comfort to the doomed bird while holding a big, sharp and blindingly shiny knife on the other.

Underneath was an empty aluminum pan. It reminded me of the medieval times wherein one performed the guillotine in a plaza surrounded by a crowd of angry peasants. I glanced discreetly at each and everyone of my classmates...one closed her eyes, another made the sign of the cross and the one across from me covered her mouth as if she was about ready to puke, faint or do both while the majority of us including myself anticipated the "Throat Slitting Event of the Century" and just stood still.

She continued to lecture while holding the bird's neck telling in detail what she was about to do, "Class, may I have your attention please." (Each word being said with clarity while clearing her throat at the same time.) "I will slightly cut her neck in this angle, pointing diagonally and somewhat tickling its throat. When the bird gets limp, (meaning DEAD) I will then ask each and everyone of you to come forward and help me pluck its feathers "gently." We will then rinse the bird thoroughly in cold running water. If we still have enough time, I will also demonstrate to you how to debone the chicken. We will save all edible parts including its innards and feet. Any questions?"

You could just hear the constant motor of the ceiling fan above while all eyes fixated on the poor bird. She then assigned two girls to hold the bird's wings and legs while she positioned herself at her victim. The bird gave its last struggle and final but very, soft cry. And there it was....blood gushing and flowing like the RED SEA! Pandemonium took place. Everything else became a blur. Screaming! Crying! Cursing! People covering their faces in shock. One person swore out loud, "I WILL NEVER, EVER EAT A CHICKEN FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE, EVER!!! I SWEAR!!!"

That was some 30 years ago which I definitely consider as one of "the most graphic" experiences I've ever encountered in the art of cooking. I give credit to her for she was a fierce and evil warden in her own DAMN kitchen who taught me how to cook really, really DAMN well. But the one who was in charge of the clean up and what she did to the stock in the pot is a whole different story...