I have a chicken addiction
I need to confess.
My name is Lee and I’m a chicken picker addict.
There, said it
As a big roast chicken fan there is more often than not some remnants of a chicken carcass in my fridge. Not for me the chicken breasts, I leave those to the lovely Mr G, I’m more of a brown meat kind of gal. Give me a chicken thigh or a chicken wing every time.
If I don’t have a chicken, whole or piece of, cooked or ready to be cooked in my fridge, then I feel like there is nothing to pick at and begin to get the shakes.
The problem, as I have already said, I’m not a healthy breast eating person. No, I like all the bits that are traditionally left over; I can pick a chicken bone until it’s impossible to even make a chicken stock with what’s left after I’m finished.
Which part of the Chicken do I want for a Sunday lunch? Here’s the other part of the confession, I’ll have the carcass please (don’t judge).
Its all down to my Dad, Croatian as I mentioned and a believer in the eat everything philosophy when it comes to food. A shout out to my sisters here in a hope that they will back me up on this.
There is a family story about a Saturday afternoon tradition of watching wrestling on the TV. Not the well-choreographed American version that gave birth to The Rock, but the UK version that produced stars such as Big Daddy.
This was before multichannel, Netflix and Amazon streaming of any kind. When three TV channels seemed to satisfy the television viewing habits of, if not a nation, then certainly our house.
Many a Saturday afternoon, to accompany our tradition of wrestling watching, my Dad used to make a huge amount of ribs. Other people have popcorn; we had pork ribs (again, no judging) . This is where I cut my teeth (No pun intended) on the nuances of picking meat bones. It’s travelled with me all my life.
Over the years I’ve occasionally had to hide my bone picking skills from boyfriends and the occasional friend. Seeing the perplexed looks as they scan my plate making the inevitable comment “You were hungry!” or some such remark used to make me wary of “enjoying” chicken bones to my full extent and I took my skill underground.
No longer. I freely admit out loud and joyfully that I love to pick chicken bones.
There, said it.
This may go someway to explaining why I wanted to see how many meals I could make out of one whole roast chicken. I made 6 in total. Obviously I used other ingredients, but as you’ll see the chicken played a big part in all of the dishes.
I didn’t get a chance to pick my chicken bones; I used the bones to make a stock for a chicken soup. It did make me want chicken, so I had to go out and buy some chicken wings, just to satisfy my picking craving.
Do you have a favourite chicken recipe?
