Microkitchen #1

We have stepped from the closet- or the kitchen as it were- and are ready to face the public. But, we did pick some nice, friendly ones for this first time around.

While friends await in the yard, on the grass, yapping, the eggs are on the way. White wine and red. Fine china and platinum. A black table clothe. White checkered napkins. Henrietta, a blue bruised bird, sits on her haunches.

This will be our first experiment. Nerves are on edge. Perhaps we never thought that we would make it this far. Some chickens end up in the terrible hell of manufactured food while others are born into the pristine path. This is our story, our story of our bird Henrietta, and how we wish to eat. We follow in the steps of Nordo and the Carnal Food Movement. Wish us luck.

What follows is a picture book of the meal followed by the essential, reduced reactions of the diners.

Our Amuse Bouche- a parsley shot, chilled and peppered.

The green is great, a theme, to follow through out the life of a chicken. Very clean and fresh. Just like the farm and fields should be. "I feel cleansed."

Our Appetizer- A Fresh Spinach Salad with a Nest of Wheat and Goat Cheese Dressing

The presentation and all flavors of the appetizer are phenomenal. The poached egg is the way to go. Drama versus sinister. Light, citrus cooking in lieu of story w/ violence. The dichotomy of cooking and dining are present in the meal. And here, we begin w/ the new life of the egg and nest.

A delicious soup followed (of which no pictures survived- sorry). It was a chicken broth, akin to your standard Chicken Soup variety, but with vibrancy. Snow peas, green beans, and lemon were the flavors of freshness and life.

Our Entree- Henrietta In All Her Glory

She may not be as grotesque and shocking as we would have liked, but she was delicious and not a bit of her remained. They were in love with her. They fawned over her. As she spilled out upon the platter the diners cooed in anticipation. Those present want to be taught by Nordo. "We need to be with Nordo," they demanded.

The world is an endless parade of chickens. And everyone relates their favorite chicken stories.

City chickens. Canabalistic chickens. Viscious chickens. Racist chickens. Wild chickens. Sinister chickens. Horns outside of their cheeks. Valet hens. The chicken is a metaphor for the world!

We work up to the disgusting desert. It is the strong end of the story- the bloody, murder scene. The chicken is beautiful. Her giblets are the coup de grace. And they react with horror and pleasure. The burly quiver at the sight while others chuckle and cluck with delight. The story comes to its proper end.

Thank you Henrietta.

We have succeeded. It is high time for a glass of wine and a toast. The feedback is good and intelligent. Changes will come and adjustments made, but for now, we sit back fat and satiated.

11 pm. Done.

"I feel so dirty. I‘ll have to go to confession after this meal."