Culinary Failures…The Shame is Real #WWBC

fried meat on white plate
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Welcome, y’all! Today I’m going to be sharing my answer to the weekly blog challenge question posed by our #WWBC host Long and Short Reviews. Be sure to drop by there to find the list of participants in today’s hop, as well as sign up information if you have a blog and would be interested in joining in.

And the question of the week is…what’s a skill I wish I had but don’t. I’m pretty sure in two seconds most of you will be shaking your heads over this one. Actually I hope I don’t make anyone spit their morning coffee back out.

Let me start by prefacing that I basically had a bonus mom in the form of my grandma. My mom, on the advice of her doctor who believed she was losing it, went to work outside the home in a factory when my sister turned five and I was eight. Now, before the groaning starts, I have nothing, absolutely nothing, against women in the workplace. I worked for many years outside the home in more job fields than you can count on both hands and one foot. I actually wound up in the same factory mom was slaving away in at age twenty-one when I found myself a single momma. What I take issue with here in this scenario, is that the doctor decided Mom needed a back-breaking job to get herself together. And that’s what factory life was like, back-breaking. What Mom actually needed was some counseling because I’m pretty sure she had some depression issues. I’m not bitter that she was out working and certainly not upset that she had something going on she couldn’t control. I’m a bit peeved at the mentality of the doctors of the day, particularly male ones who wouldn’t recognize hormonally induced depression if it bit them in the special parts. Mom turned into a bit of a workaholic after that and as a result Grandma became the bonus mom. So, none of that has a thing to do with the question, now does it? However, there it is. And it’s leading up to something.

Grandma was a workaholic in her own right. She was what I believe people call these days a homesteader. She had gardens and canned what she grew, and she raised chickens. I think we kids actually thought the eggs in the store were artificial in some way because we saw where real eggs came from. We also saw where Sunday fried chicken came from. I’m sure y’all know that fried chicken is a southern staple every southern gal learns to cook from a young age. Trust me when I say, we kids were well aware of the circle of life at an early age. Are we traumatized from it? Nope. Not in the least.

Now I’m grown and I have gardens of my own. I know how to can and freeze, and I do. And I have backyard chickens. While we have more eggs than we know what to do with at times and share them regularly with our neighbors, the one thing I can assure you of is this: none of my girls have been Sunday dinner. My chicken comes from the store like everyone else’s because it’s anonymous chicken that hasn’t been named Pearl or Myrtle. I know it probably sounds weird, but again, there it is. However, even if I were to contemplate this notion of inviting the girls to dinner, this is where the skill I wish I had comes in. After all I learned from my grandma, watching her do her own butchering for years, I cannot cut up a chicken to save myself. I’ve tried! I buy the whole fryers at the store and bring them home only to mutilate them. There’s usually not a decent piece to be had worthy of dredging with a nicely seasoned flour then browning in the iron skillet filled with lard.

I have just admitted my greatest culinary shame. I cannot cut up my own chicken. I always have my butcher take care of it for me.

While that’s my greatest culinary shame, another shortcoming of mine comes in a close second. I can’t make a decent from scratch pie crust to save my life. Grandma must surely be looking down from heaven completely appalled, or laughing her fanny off.

So, there you have it. I wonder if the butcher would take pity on me and try to teach me if I asked nicely?

 

26 thoughts on “Culinary Failures…The Shame is Real #WWBC

  1. I feel the same way about the cattle at the farm. I know where they end up because I was raised by a cattle farmer, but I don’t want to KNOW that. I don’t want to eat someone like Buckeye (one of the heifers my neice named) because… it’s like family. And I can’t cut up a chicken well, either. I know how, but I’m not good at it. Good post!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. lydiaschoch

    I’m sorry your mother’s doctor didn’t get her the help she needed.

    I can’t cut up a chicken or make a good pie crust, either. You’re not alone there. 🙂

    My post.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I don’t think many doctors had a clue about such things back then. Not a valid excuse, ignorance, but it just was. She’s doing well now and that’s what counts. 🙂 I am learning today I’m not the only gal who lacks in these skills. And now I’m more determined to figure them out! LOL

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  3. Yes! I’ve never been able to make a decent pie crust either! I’ve heard many explain it’s all about the coldness of the butter, etc. All I can say is thank goodness for puff pastry and pre-packaged pie crusts. As for cutting up a chicken…never do it. Thankfully, that’s the job for my chef husband.

    Great post, Dixie! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I now exactly what you mean! Thank goodness for frozen help with the pie crusts. I’ve tried every method imaginable and it turns out all kinds of bad every single time. Thanks for coming by today, Mary!

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  4. Your poor mom. I can relate though. Several years ago, I was dealing with pain in my arms and legs, constant exhaustion, and chest pains. Doctor literally wrote it off to my being a working mother. Fast forward six months, my OB/GYN asked about my general health and when I said I was fine, he must have seen something in my face because he got me to tell him about all my issues – and the doctor. He was apalled and immediately ordered blood work and wrote referrals to see a neurologist. All before doing what I’d come there to do. Turns out I was having anxiety attacks on top of a couple other issues (spinal stenosis and fibro). Who knew?

    ANYWAY… that has nothing to do with this either! Haha! If it’s any consolation, I can’t make a biscuit to save my life. Pie crusts are hit or miss – sometimes they’re great, others… not. As for the chicken, that’s why you have a butcher. No shame there at all.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Sometimes one just wonders how the heck some doctors managed to pass the final. Thanks goodness for your OB/GYN! Oh gravy! Biscuits…another tricky culinary feat! Mine are sometimes like little hockey pucks. LOL Thanks for stopping in, Aymee!

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      1. Ugh, no joke! And yeah, I’m so thankful I had someone on my side!

        Now gravy, I’m good at! Hahaha. I learned that drop biscuits are the way to go, too. Mix the ingredients and then drop from a spoon onto a cookie sheet. No rolling, cutting, or overworking the dough!

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  5. Oh no–we can never eat them after we name them. I went through that when I was grow3i3ng up on the family farm. Now I have Ed and Rose–the chickens. But alas, Ed is going to the local rooster roundup because he attacked me a couple of weeks ago. I launched him with my purse. Thank god it’s a bit bigger than my old one, and has a handle of a cross-body bag. Rose will get a couple of “sisters’ to keep her company. 🙂

    There’s still time to learn how to make a pie crust. 🙂 ! And, thank heavens, store-bought crusts are actually pretty good, right? 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The perils of chicken wrangling! Our rooster came lame. He doesn’t do his rooster duties and he has never crowed. He’s scared to death of the girls and I sincerely feel sorry for him. As long as he’s around, we can’t bring a rooster who’d do his rooster duties in because he’s flog poor old Mad Dog maybe to his demise, so we just treat him like a pet. But man I have seen some mean roosters! I’m glad you had that big purse, too. 🙂 Thanks for stopping in today, Teresa!

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  6. rightasusual2003gmailcom

    I would not hesitate to eat the chicken, but just could not bear to be the one that terminates its life.

    Fortunately, I have many vegetarian recipes, from a previous time in my life, when I reduced the amount of meat I ate.

    My relatives were farmers, and certainly did all of that work you write about. I remember visiting my Aunt Hattie, and asking for milk with breakfast. I sipped, and made a face. “It’s WARM!”

    They all laughed, and Aunt Hattie explained that, fresh from the cow, that was the normal temperature.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Oooh, I ADORED your post, Dixie! I’m also very jealous of you having chickens. I would love to have some chooks bok-bokking around the yard but they wouldn’t last long here thanks to the feral cat population. That’s funny about cutting up the chicken though.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Cathryn! I had wanted chickens for the longest time, but with my husband in the military for so long we never had the chance until he retired. We have our yard mostly fenced, but if we free-range we go sit in the yard and watch them. It gives me a great reason to go out and enjoy the sun and fresh air. 🙂

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  8. aandj8804

    Cooking and baking are hard! But how lovely that you got to spend so much quality time with your grandma. I’m certain she is proud of you regardless of your cooking/baking skills!

    Liked by 1 person

  9. I can make a pie crust, but I can’t cut up a chicken properly either. And I also grew up eating animals I’d known personally. I prefer the anonymous steaks from the Safeway meat department, thank you very much.

    Liked by 1 person

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