Food matters again.
Has the weekend turned my mind to balls? Football? Cricket? That strange game played with an oval ball?
No, chicken balls.
How crucial os our food?
Have a relaxing weekend.
Steve
Food matters again.
Has the weekend turned my mind to balls? Football? Cricket? That strange game played with an oval ball?
No, chicken balls.
How crucial os our food?
Have a relaxing weekend.
Steve
Oh Steve! Iām wiping tears of laughter from my eyes here. Just loved that. The big āwhite phoneā! I had to read it twice!! Chicken balls, chicken Nuggets, gougons. Chickens donāt have these on their anatomy. The same as fish donāt have fingers.
Good blog Steve , Its hard for mums when you have fussy kids and everyone wants something different. Jars are a staple in our house. Occasional pizzas and kievsā¦Now what part of a chicken are they from??? I try not to think too hard about it . If lived alone i think Iād live on toast and jam , itās so easy and you donāt get put off by wondering which part of the animal it came from or if they were happy or sad . Fraserās glad that we donāt live in China or he might have been part of someoneās menu. Michelle and Frazer xx
Great blog Steve, thanks. Back in the day when I was a little girl my Dad had his own shop as he was a butcher, ironic really as I only ever ate a small amount of meat!
I remember especially Christmas time and all the chickens and turkeys arriving, all still with feathers on and jiblets in situ. My Mum was chief āpluckerā and jiblet remover, and she would appear at the end of the day absolutely shattered and feathers in her hair, not wanting to see another chicken or turkey ever.
Probably why we always had beef on Christmas day!
Hope the move goes smoothly.
Pam x
Was that last comment regarding the Sex Pistols never mind the āchicken bollocksā?
Nice blog piece as always Steve. I must say though, your picture of the happy smiling mutton chopped butcher looked like the butcher in my village. My good man (aka Mr Sssue) goes trotting round to the village butcher regularly for what are known in this house as āDaveās big breastsā, or a little piece of beef to roast, some steak (biggish bit for him, 3 ounces for me!), sausages or some Old Spot pork. I donāt think the butcher necessarily knows the name of the specific pig heās selling, but he often knows exactly where the beast comes from.
Vegetarianism isnāt likely to infect this house in spite of the frequent meat free meals. (Lovely risotto primavera last night!)
Sue