It all started with two large bags of chicken feet. You see, I happen to think that the feet make the best chicken stock. The flavour is much more intense than from using any other part of the bird. My grammie took things even further and served up soup with the feet still in, but I won’t go down that path on this blog. I suspect you’re feeling squeamish enough as it is.
Anyway, when my farmer friend called to say she had bags of chicken feet left over from the week-end’s butchering and did I want any, I quickly said yes and arranged to pick them up from her today at the Farmer’s Market Kitchen. She runs the kitchen there every Monday, making delicious lunches using mostly local meats and produce.
When I arrived it wasn’t much after 11, but my stomach started growling as soon as I walked in the door. On today’s menu was a chili made with bison, cheese questadillas with fresh salsa, and a fruit salad.
I opted for both the chili and the questadillas. Yes I know, I am a piggie. But it just looked too good to pass up. And in my defence I asked for small portions of each.
I took my lunch outside to sit at one of the picnic tables in the park. The sun was warm and full, the sky bright blue, there was the rhythmic distant pounding of hammer on nails as workers repaired one of the old homes on the edge of the park, birds were carrying on friendly conversations with one another: it was truely a zen-like moment.
In the dead of winter when it doesn’t seem possible that summer will ever come again, I will pull out some chicken feet from the freezer, cook up a mean stock and remember with great fondness today’s perfect lunch.