Could I do it?

Today seemed to be a "usual" day...if one exists here at The New Place.

We clamored off to school and were 10 minutes late for the "Teacher Reporting Time"...however, nothing could be done about it. We suffered an apple juice spill and my glasses were left up on the 8th floor for which we had to return.


WARNING...SOME READERS MIGHT FIND THIS BLOG ENTRY UNSAVORY...



At lunch we lined up to enter the "lunchroom." The same room serves as the Art Room too...but I digress...

Lunch is brought to us in large institutional-sized stainless steel vats. Always an amazing amount of rice and then usually two vegetable dishes and some sort of meat. Of course everyday soup is also served (none of the locals here drink a single drop of anything else...only the soup du jour...and EVERYONE drinks it.)

As I, using my Teacher and Height advantage approached the lunch offerings...I saw them. The meat of the day?

CHICKEN FEET.

I should leave this narrative for a moment and remind some of our readers that at one time this family had a "Chicken Dream." More truthfully stated, I had a "Chicken Dream." During the six years we lived on our little mini-farm at The Old Place, we had several chickens for eggs. Eventually the dream died and so did all the chickens. (We sold them to some neighbors from the South and they butchered them all for Mole (I don't know how to indicate the emphasis on Mole...but it's a Mexican dish...it was not a typo.)

We have seen many chicken feet. We have seen what they walk in. We have been scratched by them. Looking at chicken feet...doesn't seem like there's any meat on them, either.

I rescued the girls, Magpie and The Bug. I happened to bring a snack from home today so I gave them some chicken from home. I retired away from the lunchroom to nurse my leftovers and to AVOID AT ALL COSTS THE CHICKEN FEET.

Along comes Dad. He says "you've got to get in there...you're verging on Ugly Amrcan!"

Those were fightin' words.

I followed him in as he piled his plate high. I selectively chose a few items, rice, a vegetable stir-fry and...a single, de-clawed (nails only), chicken foot.

I stared at it for a long time. I was in a lunchroom of kids and other teachers that were honkin' on those feet...my children...they were watching me.

Then I realize that Big-Mouth Dad DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A CHICKEN FOOT ON HIS PLATE! (Who's the Ugly one now?)

But THE FOOT is on my plate. I cannot be conquered by such a simple thing!

Chicken feet have three "toe-like" claw parts. Of course this one had it's nails cut off just at the first knuckle. And the amber, yellowish colored skin was all plumped up from the cookin'. If you turn the foot over...they have a fatty pad-like area on their "soles."

I did not think I could do it.

I try to talk Dad into going back up to the chicken-foot vat and join me for some cross-cultural experience...but he TOTALLY BALKED.

He gets up and leaves the room.

My children are watching me in amazement..."What will Mom do?"

I wonder the same thing!

There's another foreign teacher here with us. Now, she is of semi-local descent...so she's eaten a few feet in her day...and she was cleaning that little claw up...

The pressure was immense. "What kind of a weenie am I...it's just chicken meat...I'm a cross-cultural gal...my children are watching me!"

Thoughts were racing through my mind...

The foot lay on my plate...getting cooler and cooler.

I picked it up...in my paw...and bit off the first toe.

I thought I might not make it...it was just a bone, I broke it off with my teeth and I gnawed off some chicken skin. I'm not sure that there really is any meat on a chicken foot...and it was SPICY.

Magpie opened the window near me...hysterically laughing...certain I was going to hurl and she feared for the spectacle I was about to make.

But I did not lose the battle.

I returned for another bite...the longest...the middle toe.

Then for my final Fear Factor moment...I turned over the claw...and bit out the sole, the fleshy-looking gathering of skin/fat...and that was all I could do.

I was victorious! My children were awestruck and my courage.

My husband would not allow me to come near him once he heard my tale of facing my fears and suppressing my gag reflex...

Upon arriving home here at the apartment...he made me go brush my teeth and demanded that I stop telling him the details...

So...I wrote a song.

This should be sung to the the tune of "These Eyes" by The Guess Who.

"These teeth... (dunnu tunnu tun)have bro-ken chicken bones."

"This tongue... (dunna tunna tun) has licked where toe-jam was."

"This mouth... (dunna tunna tun) has ga-gged on chicken sole."

"The nose... (dunna tunna tun) was picked by a chicken toe."

Dad has made me promise to never sing this song again...although he composed two of the lyrics himself before his overwhelming disgust took over.

Please forgive me if this distressed you too greatly...

I learned later that the same meal was offered to the Kindergarteners. Potato and Bub wanted nothing to do with the feet. However, Brownie was highly disappointed that after watching her classmates gnaw on some feet that when she went up to get her own to try...they were all gone!

This truly represents how weird we can be on just a "usual day."