One of my favourite childhood taste-memories is the feel of chicken feet on my tongue once I was done slurping up my chicken soup on Friday nights. We would feast on pippiks and chicken necks, and sometimes Grandma would throw some chicken feet into the soup. Those who have had them totally understand the appeal of these delicacies.
raw chicken feet, ready for my soup.
Once I moved to Canada it became impossible to find chicken feet, in fact, people went out of their way to show me their utmost displeasure at even mentioning chicken feet and chicken soup in the same breath.
Today I was shopping at Monsey Glatt (an experience on a Thursday afternoon, I can tell you) and while perusing the meat freezers I came face to face with a bunch of chicken feet, packaged and ready to sell. To me. For my soup. This week. In my mind, this was reason #46279 to move to Monsey – they sell chicken feet!! I was so darn excited and couldn’t wait to come home and show the KoD my purchase, after almost 2 decades of living chicken-feet-free. Such deprivation!!
For someone who works in the food industry, his reaction was not as I expected. He was totally disgusterated at the idea of me even thinking to put them in the soup. Plus, the thought of this possibly being a regular occurrence seemed to shake him to his very core. I offered to cook them in a mesh bag-thing inside the soup, so I could take them out as soon as they were cooked. Only I would eat them, I wouldn’t serve them to him or the kids. The dude turned quite a nice shade of green – and totally leeched the joy out of my find. Harumph.
Well, KoD, let me just tell you this. I would look very very carefully under your pillow tonight before you go to sleep – you just might find some interesting items in need of a pedicure.
You know, I could have bought Beef Knees too – but I didn’t know quite what to do with those….
From my girlfriend who happens to live in Lakewood. I wouldn’t call her a Lakewood-ite, because, well, because I won’t…….
We are having our fence fixed. Last summer a drunk driver dismantled part of it and a month ago a storm tore up another section.
The township sends someone from the utility to check before work begins. Don’t need any Kentucky fried workers in our lawn.
I noticed this guy was parked out in front of our house for quite a while. Naturally, I asked him if everything was ok and if he needed any help. He said he was ok, but he might need mouth-to-mouth.
I guess that’s a come on, but here I am in my tichel and super tznius clothes, so I didn’t see it coming.
To Mrs So-not-Lakewood – you go girl! You OrthoFox, you!!
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We have discussed this subject on the blog many times, but Chaviva just posted on her blog the most amazing personal account of her acceptance of this mitzvah –it is well worth a read. Modesty, Shomer Negiah and Me.
I dreamt about Aliza Hausman last night. A few months ago that would have been weird, seeing as we hadn’t met, but we’ve met since then, so weird – not really.
Aliza and I and a bunch of other nameless bloggers were at a convention in my dream. Aliza was due to be speaking and she left instructions with the bartender to bring her a stiff drink at a certain time before she was due to go on stage.
I showed up with 2 humongulous scotches, prepared the way she likes and proceeded to drink them both down without a thought. The bartender shows up, looking extremely non plussed, saying that all his scotch vanished. Oops, my bad.
Aliza still went up on stage, whiskey-deprived, did her thing. The next morning I awoke early and found her about to get on the bus for Stonehenge (!!!), and presented her with a bottle of 21 year old Glenfiddich.
Interpret away my friends…..
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