If you’ve known me a while, you know that while I’m afraid of everything from potato peelers to moving a sleeping cat, my one true deep, dark phobia is chicken feet. Not chickens. Just the feet.
This morning, after dropping the Short Kid off at school early for his Student Council meeting, I popped into the grocery store to rummage up something for supper tonight. I didn’t bother with a cart, just went straight to the meat department to see how the chicken looked. I reached for a package of boneless chicken breasts and there they were…
Packages and packages of pale, plastic-wrapped chicken feet.
Next thing I knew, I was in the lady’s restroom, which thankfully isn’t far from the meat department. I really hope I didn’t step on any children or run over any elderly women on my way there, but I don’t know. Previous reactions to being confronted with chicken feet (and really, there have been way more chicken feet episodes than one would reasonably expect one person to have) include blacking out, vomiting and vaulting over a spear-tipped, wrought-iron fence after which I locked myself in my aunt’s minivan. I have no memory of my aunt and mother beating on the windows, trying to get in.
After about fifteen minutes in the restroom during which I managed to stop hyperventilating and even tweeted about my situation—and nobody ran to my rescue, which is the downside to all of my friends living on my computer—I managed to at least fake being an adult about the situation. I left the restroom and took an immediate right, away from the meats. I went all the way to the far wall and walked up the dairy aisle and straight out the door. Then I drove to another grocery store to get supper, which won’t be chicken.
I don’t like change—that’s been my grocery store since it opened but, really, what possible reason could there be for somebody in central New Hampshire to want to buy a package of chicken feet? Since it would be unreasonable to call them and tell them to stop stocking chicken feet, I’m going to have to find a new grocery store.
Poor Shan. Why not find out if you can join a local meat CSA and specify no chicken feet? You’ll never have to see them again.
Obviously I missed the chicken feet episode this morning.
Poor Shan. There might still be hope for you store. Sometimes they just get in a supply of weird shit, sell it, and then it’s never seen again.
Send Mr S or one of the kids to the chicken dept next week to do a chicken feet search. They might be gone by then.
Aww, Shan I responded, just w/out enough love, sorry. I do have sympathy pains for you every time I shop at the one store that sells them here! Itâ€™s been a rather nightmarish day here, sort of delirious from baking cupcakes until after midnight for the preschool birthday bash.
I know you responded, Rhon, I just meant as in driving to the store and removing the chicken feet and then coming in the bathroom and helping me to my car.
And YUCK on baking all night! They sell cupcakes pre-baked at the grocery stores, you know. Hopefully far from the chicken feet.
Mr S doesn’t want to reconnoiter the chicken feet situation, btw. He wants me to see a therapist.
I saw chicken feet at my grocery a couple of weeks ago. I don’t understand why. How would one use a chicken foot? It doesn’t make sense. Hopefully it is a one shot deal. If not, call the manager and ask ahead of time. Maybe he’ll get tired of your calls and stop stocking them.
I don’t really understand the chicken feet thing either, but being in Texas, I suspect it’s either a Hispanic thing or a Southern thing (being a native northerner, I don’t always grasp the distinction between the two). Thankfully, I don’t have that reaction, but I can understand it on some level. Chicken feet in the meat case is pretty disgusting. I guess it could be a poor thing — lack of money frequently results in creative cooking that most of us wouldn’t consider. In some cases, it’s healthier than we wealthier folks realize.
Based on my musings above, a chicken feet sighting in New Hampshire suggests one of two things. And influx of people whose culture embraces chicken feet or an economic impact resulting in people being more willing to search outside their comfort zone for protein sources.
I saw your Tweet but was, of course, unable to help from this distance. Being only a computer has it’s disadvantages. (And you thought I was a real person? Hahahaahhaha)
OK, I googled it because I had to know. Apparently chicken feet are good for making soup stock.
Good to know, but I think I’ll stick with boullion cubes.
I had rather not eat chicken feet stock. Please, God, tell me bouillon cubes aren’t made from chicken feet stock.
LOL, I can tell you that chicken feet you can’t really blame on the Hispanics. Pigs feet, cow stomach, brain and tongue, totally. (Though, that might be just us Indians on those last two) Chicken feet, nope, not us. Usually I think they’re an Asian cooking tool. See that a lot at hubby’s stores.