Fresh Food

“The Nepalese girls are leaving tonight,” the head mom says, “so I am going to make a chicken.” And she sends a young man off. Twenty minutes later he arrives with a white chicken hanging upside down, his fingers holding the yellow feet securely. I watch as he walks through the compound, unable to follow, grossly curious about what will happen next. I cannot decide if I want to know.

I watch the whole process. Twelve year old Agrippina holds it’s body down, puts her foot over the wing, bends it's head back, plucks it's neck feathers and slits. Slits further and removes the head. Blood leaks from the neck and the body tremors for a few more minutes.

“We eat the whole thing,” Lillian explains, “Agrippina’s tribe and mine: feet, head, eyes, intestines.”

The bird goes into the boiling water and four hands begin to pluck the feathers. The bird becomes bare and it is brought out of the water and taken to the table, for the fine plucking of the fine feathers, then the butchering. It is chopped into pieces, washed, set on a tray, seasoned, and ready for cooking.

All parts are used for baking, stock making, and the added treat: drained intestines put into the coals. “It is sweet,” says Linda, “Our tribe’s tradition.” She smiles and pops a piece charred intestine into her mouth.