…and then i killed it

originally posted at http://andimoore.theworldrace.org

Or, How To Kill, Clean, and Butcher A Chicken For Dinner

Well, I did it. I successfully killed my Helen, a deliciously fat and sweet chicken that was given to me as thanks for preaching in a cell group. And this is the story of how I went from sweet, innocent, young Andi to ferocious, murdering pioneer woman.

Pastor Simon, in whose home we are living, calls to me from outside. As I step from the kitchen to the great outdoors, I notice he’s holding down Helen, my big brown chicken, with her neck stretched out long. A large knife is sitting beside him.

“Ready?”

It’s at this point that I notice I’m shaking. I really thought I was prepared for this moment, I was even eager! But now that the moment had arrived, the real me came out: nervous, scared, and a little bit sad.

Also a little bit nauseated.

But grab the butcher knife I did, and bravely I stepped forward, reaching down… and I began to saw. He wouldn’t let me chop the head off, the way I’d seen in so many movies, but he asked that I saw the neck instead, albeit quickly and with purpose.

The moment when you take a life, even if it’s necessary for food purposes, is actually quite terrifying.  And even beyond that, halfway through the neck, the hen began to flap her wings and kick her little legs and I might have screamed and run away, much to the laughter of Pastor Simon, still manfully holding onto the mostly-dead-but-currently-disco-dancing chicken.

Let me also say that this is all on video. Video that I most likely won’t have fancy enough internet to download while still in Africa. But let me assure you that the moment I CAN, I WILL upload it. Because it’s certainly hysterical and embarrassing enough to warrant fan commentary.

Back to the chicken. With the neck half off, Pastor Simon advised me to just let her die and, gratefully (and expelling a huge sigh of relief) I oblige. Moments later when she finally lays still, I take the knife and finish the neck clean through in 2 swipes. Why couldn’t I have finished it that quickly before?

This is my poor attempt at smiling at my work.

With Helen successfully not living anymore (clearly the most dramatic part) (and also to save you, the reader, from becoming bored or bogged down by my excess expository) I shall simply give the steps to completing your dinner.

The boiling water comes next. Pour the boiling water over the chicken to soften the connection between the feathers and the skin, and then pluck away! Be sure that you get all the fine hairs between the soft skin of the leg and the tough skin of the foot.

With the body still warm (eek!), take your knife and slice from neck to tail along the stomach, breaking the sternum along the way. Reach into the cavity (just like a Thanksgiving turkey, only warmer and slimier) and remove intestines, spleen, and stomach, making absolutely sure that you don’t break open any of the organs. Throw them into the “trash” bucket. Take out the heart, liver, and lungs, saving these in the “good” bucket. Same goes for any eggs you find (and Helen had quite a few). The eggs are extra easy to break, so take extra care when removing. You are also welcome to leave them until the end of the process.

Real, real life.

Next comes cutting and breaking bones, starting with the legs. Cut halfway through what I assume is the “knee” joint, snap the joint, and continue cutting until leg is removed. Throw away the foot. Move up to the hip joint, repeat process, but throw the leg into the “good” bucket (who doesn’t like nice fried chicken legs?). Repeat on other leg, then move to the wings. Cut at elbow joint, snap, continue cutting, throw in “good” bucket. Cut at shoulder joint… you get the picture. When all limbs are removed, saw the back in half, break those bones, and continue cutting until the back is fully halved. Save both halves (after removing any last minute eggs).

Now that you’re finished, your chicken ready to be cooked, and you covered in its blood and slime, feel free to go throw up a little bit, but make sure you don’t touch any part of your own face or body with your blood-covered hands.

Wash up.

And you’ve successfully prepared a chicken, from living to the kitchen, the Kenyan way! Congratulations ensue.

PS. I have since killed and butchered ANOTHER chicken for dinner, and my Swahili tribal name has become MWANZILISHI, meaning Pioneer Woman. I quite like it.

Mwaaaaanzilshi!