You had, what in your soup !

My late maternal Grandmother used to raise chickens.  When they were ready for the soup pot, my siblings and cousins A and J would try their best to catch them.  Secretly I was afraid of chasing them, too much of a princess perhaps ?

From the doorway of the kitchen I remember watching my grandmother and her housekeeper U clean the chickens.  After the chicken had been cleaned and the feathers plucked from their plump bodies, a bowl with mentholated spirits would be lit.  The chicken would be passed through the dancing blue flame to singe off all the tiny feathers.

In an outside room there was a large chest freezer. I have a memory of opening the freezer and seeing the cleaned chickens at the bottom of the freezer. The image below is of a rubber chicken and a real representation of my memory.

                                                              ( Image source: Google )
                                                                  www.caufields.com
                                                                  

One tasty morsel that we as children fought over were the eggs, beautiful golden balls of deliciousness.  One thing that made me feel really special is when my Grandmother would quietly call me into the kitchen and be given a few eggs to eat.

A friend recently asked me what the eggs looked like.  The only way I could describe them was it looks like a bunch of grapes.  As I only remember what they looked liked cooked, I got my trusty assistant Ms Google to a little research.  Oh, my goodness not a pretty sight, they sure taste better than they look. Mr T&T almost gagged when I showed him the image.

Recently I watch a program by renowned British chef Rick Stein called from Venice to Istanbul.  In one segment he is visiting Croatia ( correct me if I am wrong ) with a  local chef cooking a traditional chicken dish.  Among the deliciously cooked chicken in the dish Rick spots a yellow " ball " which he thought was a kumquat, turns out to be a chicken egg.  I was soo excited I had to show Mr T&T he still was not impressed.

We are now so familiar with Asian cuisine, that it does not seem shocking at all to walk past a Chinese supermarket or restaurant and see roasted ducks displayed in the front window.

Chicken soup served to us up by my late Grandmother yielded many delicious treats such as the head of the chicken, the livers were reserved solely for my Mother.  The chicken heart was reserved for my cousin J, the feet did not appeal to me too gelatinous.  But, it was the chicken eggs that were the most fought over, hence feeling very privileged by the sneaky egg given to me by my Grandmother.

So many wonderful memories attached to a simple chicken soup observed from the entrance to the kitchen. From being outside watching my siblings and cousins running up and down the chicken enclosure trying to catch the chickens. To my Grandmother and her housekeeper U cleaning the chickens and running them through the dancing blue flame.  Lesson learnt from my Grandmother and Mother is that food is more than nourishment it means I care.  My Mother and I have been chatting about the recipe and what her mother told her, I am going to try and recreate the soup. Wish me luck.

Sadly, I did not always appreciate the soup.  I was 14 years old when my Grandmother passed away, way too soon for me to learn more from her.  My heart at times feels heavy with sadness at her passing.  I now think that it is heavy with her memories of great food, bread and couscous making from scratch ( I might add ) Most of all lots of laughter and that, surely  must be a good thing.

If only one more bowl...