Hunted fruitlessly at two Park N Shop outlets tonight for a smallish whole chicken to make into nilaga. After chowing down--in the course of 48 hours--six Timtams, two platefuls of pancit bihon, a four-course Thai meal at Phukets on Elgin St. (consisting of a so-so tom yum, a red chicken curry that had more veg than actual chicken, and a plate of vegetables of indetermininate purpose), paella and gambas (NOTE TO SELF: Easy on the olive oil for the entire week) -- a clear, simple soup seemed just the ticket.
PnS had run out. No chickens on a Monday evening, and it wasn't even 8 o'clock yet. The branch in Aberdeen had only two suspiciously yellow-looking chickens left, rather creatively labelled 'ginseng' chicken.
I dithered for looooong minutes in front of the display. In the end, went home with...fish.
Maybe I should start keeping chickens. My family did, when I was about 12 or 13. Mom would buy dozens of the cutest chicks and we would feed them and raise them until they became so much less cute and so much more edible. And because she sold them 'dressed', guess who chased them around the yard, cut their poor little throats and plucked their gazillion little feathers?
That said, a steaming bowl of arroz caldo, full of choice bits of chicken, is on my top 20 list of favorite comfort food.
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