Weeks before I had expressed interest in how chickens were slaughtered, which is why Pam, Brad's wife, had hurriedly emailed me the night before to let me know the next day's grim activities. But actually killing one myself? This I hadn’t expected. Brad emerged from his greenhouse carrying a dog kennel housing two young roosters. He explained that the neighbours didn’t care much for roosters; they already had alarm clocks. Also, two roosters will fight for dominance and mate with the hens and generally be a nuisance. “And so they must go,” Brad said matter-of-factly. Sixteen weeks prior, the chickens had been purchased as chicks, when you couldn’t easily tell the boys from the girls. Now it was a different story; the boys clearly stuck out. Luckily, Plymouth Rock chickens are a dual-purpose breed, meaning they are valued for both their eggs and meat. Obviously, the boys don't lay eggs - so their value is more singular.
Brad set the kennel down and with a docile voice told the roosters that everything would be alright. This reassured me. Maybe everything would be alright...
I'm Erik, the Burnt Chef. I'm a Finnish-born Newfoundlander living in Norway. I have a passion for cooking and a deep fascination for the culinary history of the North. Simplicity guides my cooking. Time, place, and history guide my storytelling. This is my personal blog about food.