Not a huge lot to tell here. I took it out of its package. I rinsed it with water. I winced at the way it felt in my hands and the way watery blood poured out of it along with with the water, but I got it into its roasting pan and sprinkled it with salt, pepper, sage, rosemary, garlic, and onion powder. The kids laughed at my antics, especially when the lid didn't want to sit down on the pot because the leg bones were sticking up--just like that scene in Overboard. But at least the chicken was already plucked and didn't have feet--because that would have been really gross. I cooked it for about 2 1/2 hours total, and it seems completely done and tender. It looks a lot less like a raw, dead carcass, thank goodness. But I still haven't cut it apart. I'll just let people carve things off it until the Huz comes home and decides to de-bone it. He'll only be gone another two days, so since it's cooked, it'll keep that long. I'm sure this won't be the only time I'll have to deal with dead poultry, and I'm sure I can do better, given time. It's just that the more time goes by, the less animal protein appeals to me. It tastes good, but it comes with too much baggage. Or maybe that's just me. Oh, well, I never claimed to be the perfect omnivore.
And then for some reason I just had to watch a vampire movie on HBO tonight. (Shakes head.)
I can't wait to plant the vegetable garden. Even so, it's just weird that no matter what, if we want to eat and live, something has to die, even if it's just a carrot. I think I prefer fruit; the apple might be consumed, but unless something went horribly wrong, the apple tree is still alive when we're done.
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