Frederick the Free Range Chook

If you happened to read my facebook status last Tuesday it went along these lines:

'Just bought one of the school chickens and was given the instruction "Don't eat it tonight, it was only killed this morning." The ex-vegetarian in me feels very squeamish.'

This was followed by a flurry of comments about rigor mortis setting in and needing 2 days for the muscles to relax again so it won't be tough. Ugh. Yes, I was vegetarian. And for fluffy bunny reasons. Health reasons are actually what forced me to go back to eating meat and I don't regret it. I actually enjoy it now and have gotten over my issues.

I went from a 15 Year old who had to cut raw chicken with a knife and fork because the texture made me heave, to a 30 year old who will happily eat, cut and handle it. But rigor mortis? brought back some residual squeam. The thought that this morning it was happily pecking grass just down the path and then had a date with a person at the abbatoir and then was in the plastic bag in front of me.... I know we are all about sourcing food locally these days but this was a bit personal!

I've mentioned that I'm a school librarian. Well, the school has an agriculture plot so we often get the opportunity to buy fresh eggs at low cost to help the program pay for itself. This week was the first time I remember fresh chickens being offered and at $6.00 for a small and $8.00 for a large free range, it was an offer I couldn't pass up. It can't get more free range than being born and bred 100m from my office window. I can see how lovely it is out there. A utopia for chooks of grass, gum trees, dams and blue sky - plus the affectionate attention of Year 10 trying to get a decent grade.

The chickens were apparently a year 10 agriculture project, and they appear to have done pretty well. It was the largest "small" chicken I've ever seen. Weighing in at about 2 kilos, I had to look up how long to cook it - according to Donna Hay about 1.5hrs for the poor dear.

That was the other thing. I started referring to it as the 'poor dear' all the time as it sat in my fridge "relaxing". My friend Kate at work (the country girl) suggested it was better not to name it as that would make the process more traumatic. She then suggested if I needed to call it something i should call it "dinner" or "chicken with lemon and thyme". I thought this to be very wise but when I got it home and explained it to the lovely husband he immediately christened it Frederick. Oh dear.

Then it came to actually cooking poor Frederick. I made Husband cut off his still existing neck the night before and remove it from the blood/water in the bag.
When we gave the neck to the cat for a treat, the citified creature had no idea what to do with it, looked at us quizzically and went back to munching on her dry cat food - apparently the taste for fresh meat is not instinctual. I hear you sister. Looks yucky to me too.

It may surprise people to know that I've never actually roasted a whole chicken before. Husband occasionally does, but I always buy the deboned rolled ones from Leonards (mmm honey macadamia stuffing!) so I looked up a few recipes and decided to put cut up lemon and garlic and thyme in the cavity, - that is a kind of gross process i must say- paint him with olive oil and sprinkle him with salt, thyme and paprika.

I roasted him in a 190C oven for 1.5hrs with pumpkin, potato and some lemon wedges.

And the flavour.... it was good. I have to say I did feel a little bit odd eating it and I think that affected my view of the flavour but Husband said it was great and the house did smell delicious. I made dessert too, so that if dinner made me a bit uncomfortable I would have a yummy back up plan. More about the wonderful chocolate self saucing pudding next time!

Would I do it again? Yes. Possibly without a name next time.

Alas poor Frederick, I knew him well. And he tasted pretty decent too....