I Know Why the Caged Rooster Doesn't Crow
Yep. Offered offed our rooster Saturday. And he did crow--even in his cage.
I was wondering if there was a way to make a rooster's last hours highly pleasant--the rooster equivalent of a steak dinner. There isn't. They're not supposed to have any food or water for at least 12 hours before their death, so we had to put Tim in a cage overnight. Early Saturday morning, Offered put the last details on his slaughterhouse, and Tim's time ran out.
So here is how it is done (Squeam Alert):
The best way to kill poultry is to slit the throat. To do this, you hang a "killing cone" (actual name) from a high place (Offered used the track of the garage door), put the unfortunate chicken head down into the cone (so that the head would be sticking out of the bottom of an ice cream cone), pull their head slightly, and slit the jugular. This allows for a fair amount of blood to come out before the heart stops beating.
Once the bleeding stops (there's less than you think), you dip the bird in a large amount of hot water for 30 seconds or so to loosen the feather follicles. Then you hang it up by its feet (Offered used a rope (looped around the same track) with both ends secured to a little square piece of wood, wrapped the feet, and "latched" the rope on the wood) and pluck it. The plucking took Offered about half an hour. Even though the bird looked cleanly plucked, close inspection revealed the little pin hairs that are normally burned off with a propane torch (the fancy little kitchen ones would work great). We don't have a propane torch, so Offered suggested Rooster Stew, which would allow us to remove the skin (and the pin hairs) prior to cooking.
Offered had more trouble gutting Tim, and ended up frustrated with not as much meat as he had hoped. All he had to go by was some pictures in an old book, and he would have preferred a live example.
Still, he got a lot of meat from that rooster, which I turned into a lovely stew, which I couldn't eat more than a bite of. Offered, meanwhile, ate with gusto, proclaiming that "we've gotta get some more chickens!" Honestly, I was a bit squeamish about it, having had a personal relationship with the deceased, and not liking dark meat (and there was a lot of very dark meat). If this farming thing turns me into more of a vegetarian, well, that's not a bad thing. Offered, however, has tasted the flesh of homegrown farm animals, and there will be no going back.
Spawnasaurus--the victim of most of Tim's outbursts--had mixed feelings about the whole thing. He was not witness to the execution, but he did want to see the plucking. I got pictures of his reaction--the little face he made, as if he had just smelled something vaguely unpleasant but wasn't sure what it was. He said, "Tim won't be able to attack me anymore, now that he's dead." He seemed pleased about Tim being dinner, and we thought he would relish the sweet revenge of eating his backyard nemesis. However, when it came down to dishing up a bowl of Tim, Stevie opted for macaroni and cheese. It could be that he has gained a sense of what it means to eat meat, and will from here on out be a vegetarian (save for hot dogs, of course). Or it could've been the carrots. Either way, he dug for dinosaur bones without fear this weekend.
How are the other chickens, you ask? Tim's absence is definitely felt. The overall vibe of the chickens is more mellow. The only rooster left, little Sue, seemed surprised that his newly vibrant crows went unchallenged, but has failed to establish barnyard dominance--I saw one of the Reds henpeck him yesterday, so the ladies are feeling confident in their status as the Queen Latifahs (in "Chicago") of the coop.
All-in-all, it wasn't a traumatic experience (I didn't have to murder anything, after all, and Offered used his gloves). As a former "conscientious-objector" vegetarian, it was good to fully realize--and witness--what meat-eating entails. It was also nice to know that should I (we) continue to eat animals, that the animals had a good life, were not filled with hormones and antibiotics, were not part of the corporate farming machine that is destroying lives and the environment, and died in a relatively respectful manner.
I was wondering if there was a way to make a rooster's last hours highly pleasant--the rooster equivalent of a steak dinner. There isn't. They're not supposed to have any food or water for at least 12 hours before their death, so we had to put Tim in a cage overnight. Early Saturday morning, Offered put the last details on his slaughterhouse, and Tim's time ran out.
So here is how it is done (Squeam Alert):
The best way to kill poultry is to slit the throat. To do this, you hang a "killing cone" (actual name) from a high place (Offered used the track of the garage door), put the unfortunate chicken head down into the cone (so that the head would be sticking out of the bottom of an ice cream cone), pull their head slightly, and slit the jugular. This allows for a fair amount of blood to come out before the heart stops beating.
Once the bleeding stops (there's less than you think), you dip the bird in a large amount of hot water for 30 seconds or so to loosen the feather follicles. Then you hang it up by its feet (Offered used a rope (looped around the same track) with both ends secured to a little square piece of wood, wrapped the feet, and "latched" the rope on the wood) and pluck it. The plucking took Offered about half an hour. Even though the bird looked cleanly plucked, close inspection revealed the little pin hairs that are normally burned off with a propane torch (the fancy little kitchen ones would work great). We don't have a propane torch, so Offered suggested Rooster Stew, which would allow us to remove the skin (and the pin hairs) prior to cooking.
Offered had more trouble gutting Tim, and ended up frustrated with not as much meat as he had hoped. All he had to go by was some pictures in an old book, and he would have preferred a live example.
Still, he got a lot of meat from that rooster, which I turned into a lovely stew, which I couldn't eat more than a bite of. Offered, meanwhile, ate with gusto, proclaiming that "we've gotta get some more chickens!" Honestly, I was a bit squeamish about it, having had a personal relationship with the deceased, and not liking dark meat (and there was a lot of very dark meat). If this farming thing turns me into more of a vegetarian, well, that's not a bad thing. Offered, however, has tasted the flesh of homegrown farm animals, and there will be no going back.
Spawnasaurus--the victim of most of Tim's outbursts--had mixed feelings about the whole thing. He was not witness to the execution, but he did want to see the plucking. I got pictures of his reaction--the little face he made, as if he had just smelled something vaguely unpleasant but wasn't sure what it was. He said, "Tim won't be able to attack me anymore, now that he's dead." He seemed pleased about Tim being dinner, and we thought he would relish the sweet revenge of eating his backyard nemesis. However, when it came down to dishing up a bowl of Tim, Stevie opted for macaroni and cheese. It could be that he has gained a sense of what it means to eat meat, and will from here on out be a vegetarian (save for hot dogs, of course). Or it could've been the carrots. Either way, he dug for dinosaur bones without fear this weekend.
How are the other chickens, you ask? Tim's absence is definitely felt. The overall vibe of the chickens is more mellow. The only rooster left, little Sue, seemed surprised that his newly vibrant crows went unchallenged, but has failed to establish barnyard dominance--I saw one of the Reds henpeck him yesterday, so the ladies are feeling confident in their status as the Queen Latifahs (in "Chicago") of the coop.
All-in-all, it wasn't a traumatic experience (I didn't have to murder anything, after all, and Offered used his gloves). As a former "conscientious-objector" vegetarian, it was good to fully realize--and witness--what meat-eating entails. It was also nice to know that should I (we) continue to eat animals, that the animals had a good life, were not filled with hormones and antibiotics, were not part of the corporate farming machine that is destroying lives and the environment, and died in a relatively respectful manner.
posted by lulu | 8:33 AM
1 Comments:
My favorite, laugh-out-loud line?
"It could be that he has gained a sense of what it means to eat meat, and will from here on out be a vegetarian . . . [o]r it could've been the carrots."
A stirring tale, sensitively told with good detail.
I am, however, a bit confused by your last bit. If you continue to eat meat, will it only be animals that you raise at the ole' homestead? If so, you are seriously heading down a post-Apocolyptic path. A path that will be beneficial to us all!
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