Gone are the days when I used to have white-collar IT hands, soft like a baby’s butt, only capable of typing away on a computer. Now, I have “worker” hands — tough and callus-stricken — capable of chopping, beating, kneading and butchering.
When the headless chicken and I first locked eyes, I thought that there was no way I was going to survive the culinary program. It was only the second week in the kitchen. I knew when I signed up for the program what I was getting myself into. I figured I would be able to handle the dead meat. When the moment actually arrived, I was squeamish and disgusted. The blood dripped off the poor chicken’s dead body. I was so shook up for a second that I couldn’t tell where the legs were and where the wings were. Random thoughts raced through my mind like, “How would I feel if someone did this to me?” Weird, I know. My Kill Board The funny thing is that I have tried chicken before. Dan even cooks it from time to time at home. We buy the breast or the thigh meat at the big grocery stores where all meat looks the same. Red or white. You can barely tell what it was before it was cut …
When the headless chicken and I first locked eyes, I thought that there was no way I was going to survive the culinary program. It was only the second week in the kitchen. I knew when I signed up for the program what I was getting myself into. I figured I would be able to handle the dead meat. When the moment actually arrived, I was squeamish and disgusted. The blood dripped off the poor chicken’s dead body. I was so shook up for a second that I couldn’t tell where the legs were and where the wings were. Random thoughts raced through my mind like, “How would I feel if someone did this to me?” Weird, I know.
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