How could I have forgotten to tell you about this incident at the farmer’s market this weekend:
We approach the stand of the farm from which we usually buy chicken feet. Since we had inquired about them the week before as soon as the farmer saw us he asked if we wanted our chicken feet. He sent someone to grab them and while we were waiting another person working at the stand asked if we were being helped to which we responded that we were just waiting for the feet.
And this is what she said: “Ah I should have recognized you, the chicken feet family.”
My response was “Oh dear, is that how we’re known?”
She reassured me that it was a good thing and we discussed the wonders of homemade chicken stock.
And it is a good thing, I’m proud of making my own stock with chicken feet. I find it dishonest to enjoy eating meat products but to be unable to deal with those parts that actually remind you of an animal.
But still, I’m not sure I want this nickname to spread.
And to remind you why more people don’t make their own stock here’s a picture of a bag of frozen chicken feet!