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Hugh Gives A Cluck ?
“Chicken”, shouts the little boy in front of me, his faced pressed to the glass of the display case, “Cluck, cluck, cluck”.
“I promised him that we would go to the farm to see the animals and we are, just they look a little different”, his mother tells me putting a parcel of freshly made sausages into her bag.
The reason that I am here is that it’s Wednesday and this is chicken day at the farm shop. “We process them in the morning so they are fresh”, said Roger the butcher, a man who smiled through me struggling to estimate how many ounces or grams I needed, stuck forever as I am between imperial and metric, and who didn’t worry that he was bringing reality crashing into people’s shopping. These things I’m going to cook were alive a few hours ago this morning.
In support of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s Chicken Out campaign we’re trying the meat from the local farm shop. Chicken, venison and sausages. Cluck, cluck, cluck.
