Precious peace was restored to our homestead on Saturday with the butchering of thirteen roosters. Though they were mostly scrawny old bantams, Herb and Emma processed them for the freezer and the gumbo pot. It was a great family time, and we all missed Nathaniel terribly. He had gone to visit his friend Ross in Louisiana.
Nothing compares to the aroma of fresly-scalded chicken on a cold and rainy day!
Emma was a little troubled at first by the slaughter and made various and sundry pleas for saving some of them. She had raised the birds from egghood. Herb wanted to save Sir Roosterlot only, but I intervened on Emma's behalf, and he granted stays to two of her favorites.
Emma recovers her sense of humor. 
The butcher at work.
"Can she make a feather bed, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?"
Emma takes a turn with the knife. By this time the temperature had turned so cold that I had to clamp a hat down on her wet head to keep her from freezing. Herb set up the shop heater under the table.
Gelatin, sweet gelatin! After I had washed and freezer bagged all the meat except for the birds that I was going to cook for the gumbo supper, I scrubbed the feet, and threw them in the freezer. By this time Emma was walking in a dreamy cloud of idealistic happy homesteader satisfaction. She asked me earnestly, as if we had been arranging heirloom roses in a blue bowl all day, "Don't you feel domestic?"
"Oh, yes! Terribly!"
The first step in making the chicken and sausage gumbo is the roux. This picture absolutely does not portray its stunning beauty. I sat on a stool and stirred constantly for two hours to achieve its rich velvety brown-ness. I was so pleased I forgot to take a picture of it until after I had thrown in the onions. Oh, well. Take my word for it. It was the purtiest roux you've ever seen! And the roosters were so flavorful, they were something to crow about!
No comments:
Post a Comment