You might be a redneck if... your yard furniture doubles as a chicken coop! Or if you butcher chickens in the backyard of your suburban home! I hope my neighbors have a Jeff Foxworthy sense of humor. These three handsome roosters, which were extras from the last batch of chicks raised by mom, were our very first foray, and so far the only solo foray, into home butchering. I spent many months psyching myself up for this job, and even volunteered to help my friends pluck and butcher some ducks and a rooster to get some practice. Even after practice, I was nervous. Lucky for me, Joe was interested in learning how to turn chickens into food, and Brandon and Jamie were somewhat willing accomplices. We had a chicken plucking and beer brewing party in my backyard.
Jamie dropped the three, six month old, roosters at my house late in the evening on a Sunday. I put two of the roosters in a dog crate and one in a cardboard box and put them in Brandon's studio over night. Early Monday morning we woke to the sound of crowing. Not distant crows that give you that quaint farm-ville vibe, but powerful loud crows from inside the house!
The plan was to converge at my house after work to do the dirty deed, so the roosters would only have to be in my yard for one day. I rigged up a temporary cage using my yard swing, twine, a staple gun, and some chicken wire pieces I normally use to keep Helen and Mrs. Hall out of the tomatos. Of course, as soon as I put the roosters in the homemade cage on Monday morning they began to escape. One of them went straight for Helen with raised hackles, and attacked her with both feet. It was not love at first site (thank goodness!). Brandon and I were nearly late for work on Monday because we had to catch rogue roosters before we could leave the house. It was not a good start.
I was surprised at the lack of interest Helen and Mrs. Hall showed for the roosters. I thought my spinster hens would be all a flutter for some rooster attention. I didn't see any chicken flirting, at least not that I could discern. But maybe I'm not in tune to the romantic strategies of chickens. Hopefully I didn't kill, literally, a budding romance.
For one reason or another the butchering was delayed an extra day. I am confidant now that roosters are the perfect meat animal. I was worried I would be traumatized by their deaths, but after listening to them crow for two days, I was ready to ring their necks myself, and had no problem sending them to the great chicken coop in the sky.
We set up operations in the sandy circle where I put my swimming pool in the summer months. The actual killing involved an inverted road cone nailed to the deck rail to immobilize the chicken upside down while it's neck was cut and a plastic bucket for catching the blood. After killing, we dunked the chicken in hot water that was heated in a pot on the turkey fryer burner to loosen the feathers. Then we tied it to a tree by its feet and stripped off the feathers. I took it inside to the sink to do the gutting and finish them up.
For newbies, I think we did a good job. We were slow - it took nearly four hours for four people to do three chickens and one five gallon batch of pumpkin ale, which is embarrassingly slow. But, since it was our first time we messed around with the equipment and spent some time standing around passing the ipad and confirming scalding temperatures and throat cutting techniques. I'm surprised no one in the neighborhood called the cops. It was dark by the time we really got into it, so we had some flood lights shining on the plucking tree, and there was blood and feathers on everything. We were all wearing cover-alls or aprons to protect our clothes. With our scalding water steaming and our beer pot brewing we could have been mistaken for practicing animal sacrifice witchcraft, I'm sure. This is Kentucky though, so all my neighbors probably knew what we were up to, and could have offered some helpful advise.
I decided that if we ever butcher again I would need some really sharp knives. I did some research online and lots of folks recommended these knives for butchering, so I ordered them. One of these knives is HUGE! What were these people butchering, elk? I knew it was an eleven inch knife, but I didn't realize it was an eleven inch blade. It's like an incredibly sharp machete, and I'm sure I would cut my fingers off if I tried to use it. But, maybe I should try to grow some pork...
I was surprised at the lack of interest Helen and Mrs. Hall showed for the roosters. I thought my spinster hens would be all a flutter for some rooster attention. I didn't see any chicken flirting, at least not that I could discern. But maybe I'm not in tune to the romantic strategies of chickens. Hopefully I didn't kill, literally, a budding romance.
For one reason or another the butchering was delayed an extra day. I am confidant now that roosters are the perfect meat animal. I was worried I would be traumatized by their deaths, but after listening to them crow for two days, I was ready to ring their necks myself, and had no problem sending them to the great chicken coop in the sky.
We set up operations in the sandy circle where I put my swimming pool in the summer months. The actual killing involved an inverted road cone nailed to the deck rail to immobilize the chicken upside down while it's neck was cut and a plastic bucket for catching the blood. After killing, we dunked the chicken in hot water that was heated in a pot on the turkey fryer burner to loosen the feathers. Then we tied it to a tree by its feet and stripped off the feathers. I took it inside to the sink to do the gutting and finish them up.
For newbies, I think we did a good job. We were slow - it took nearly four hours for four people to do three chickens and one five gallon batch of pumpkin ale, which is embarrassingly slow. But, since it was our first time we messed around with the equipment and spent some time standing around passing the ipad and confirming scalding temperatures and throat cutting techniques. I'm surprised no one in the neighborhood called the cops. It was dark by the time we really got into it, so we had some flood lights shining on the plucking tree, and there was blood and feathers on everything. We were all wearing cover-alls or aprons to protect our clothes. With our scalding water steaming and our beer pot brewing we could have been mistaken for practicing animal sacrifice witchcraft, I'm sure. This is Kentucky though, so all my neighbors probably knew what we were up to, and could have offered some helpful advise.
I decided that if we ever butcher again I would need some really sharp knives. I did some research online and lots of folks recommended these knives for butchering, so I ordered them. One of these knives is HUGE! What were these people butchering, elk? I knew it was an eleven inch knife, but I didn't realize it was an eleven inch blade. It's like an incredibly sharp machete, and I'm sure I would cut my fingers off if I tried to use it. But, maybe I should try to grow some pork...
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