Today was cool, really cool.
Started out as a slow morning. It was about 9am me and Mary Ellen were doing some research and father Depak came into the kitchen, where we were researching, all dressed to go out (bag on shoulder, cap on his head, etc.). Casually, we ask where he’s going and he replies to go get some chicken. My eyes light up… Is the chicken still alive right now? Yes, do you want to come? ‘YES!’ Well you have to be ruthless, Tim you seem ruthless, Mary Ellen, do you think you can handle it. She says yes and we go throw on some shoes. I’d prefer the blood to splash on my shoes rather than my bare feet.
So I have never seen a chicken killed and undressed before, even though I have easily eaten over a ton of chicken in my life. How unthoughtful of me… So we are walking through this area, called the bazaar which is the width of a narrow one way road with what looks like elevated storage units on each side. Each was about 6 foot by 8 foot with a 7 foot ceiling, so not very large at all. There are flies on EVERTYTHING. There are vegetable stands, watch makers, small appliance shops, shops selling grain, others selling chicken.
(If you are squeamish, skip to the next paragraph, otherwise, enjoy… this really happened… I warned you)
So we went to the chicken stand. Father seemed not to notice the 300 flies in the confined space. Or the blood still on the knife that looked like a machete was stolen from an Amazon bush whacker. Or the. Cutting block was a red, blood stained log stump. There were chickens squawking, as they obviously knew they were dead meat, pun fully intended. These weren’t pretty white chickens you see in commercials or visualize on old McDonald’s farm. These had yellow greasy feathers, looked like they had been fighting each other. So the ‘butcher’ grab on by the neck and asks father in Hindi if this one would be acceptable, father must have responded in a yes because without hesitation the butcher grabbed the knife and cut the chicken’s throat, it started bleeding and squawking, so what did the butcher do? Threw him into an aluminum garbage can, with blood stains running down the side. He had to hold the lid down because the chicken was getting violet. I was in awe; Mary Ellen seemed less in awe, more in shock. About 20 seconds later the racket stops and the guy reaches in a grabs this bloody feathery mess, chicken still somewhat alive. I now understand the phrase running around like a chicken with its head cut off... He chops off a wing, then another, cut here chop there, and the neck was skinned. Beak still on. This guy was good. You think hibachi chefs have great knife skillz, try doing that with a machete, this guy was legit, chopped the foot chopped the other, asked father if he wanted them, then he booked as us, I thought for about 0 seconds and shook my head, yes I’m a carnivore, yes I’m enjoying this, no I do not want to eat chicken feet. So the butcher grabs some feathers and the whole skin comes off. Woah. That was fast. Then chop chop chop, and this chicken is diced up. The butcher is tossing pieces into a metal bowl on the floor. He did not cut out the breast meat, he chopped the chicken like it was a steak and he was making stir fry somewhat square like cubed pieces. Oh this makes more sense… now I know why I’ve been getting really boney chicken pieces; I keep eating the neck of the chicken, duh. So the guy weighs the bowl, it weighs 1kg which cost like 120Rs. The rest he left on the board for the next lady, also wanting chicken. The guy double bagged it, not in a zip-lock, but like a plastic shopping bag, except much smaller. Father gave the bag to Mary Ellen and she held it away from her like it was nuclear waste. I thought the whole interaction was quite funny. I will certainly be going back.
So we continued in the market, stopping at a vegetable stand, getting tomatoes, limes, and cilantro, they use a lot of cilantro.
The rest of the day was pretty boring. Researched some stuff for the saturated vs. superheated steam, looked up design ideas for our solar cooker prototype, and emailed some professors. It was lunch time and I was hungry. What was for lunch, CHICKEN. Yes chicken that was alive less than 2 hrs ago. I assured father this was the freshest chicken I have ever had. It was delicious too.
Later that night, I worked out on the roof, drawing quite a crowd. One little girl was cute; she got her jump rope out trying to show me up. Not to be out done by an 8 year old, I put on a show of my own. The little girl, failing miserably hid behind the mother when I waved. The entire rest of the family, like 9 of them all waved back smiling and laughing. Even Fr. Paul came up and showed me that he too could once jump rope; he even did a few pushups. He really didn’t understand my exercise band or why I was working out. He said I was wasting my energy. Went in for dinner and afterwards chatted with a few friends via Skype. When I think of chicken now, it has a whole new image attached to it.
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