Saturday, November 10, 2007

growing up

At about age 8 I remember going with my mother on a Saturday morning to the A and P super market. This supermarket originated well over 100 years ago as the Grear Atlantic and Pacific Tea company bringing boat loads of tea from the orient to Britton. This was near the tail end of world war two and many things were difficuly to come by. I remember opening the door of the super market and was suddenly engulfed in the sweet aroma of fresh bananas. This left an indelable mark in my memory. I have never smelt such a wonderful aroma of bananas since. It was rare for us to have such fruit in those times . Every Saturday morning I would go, sometimes with my father , if he was not working on Saturday or with my mother to the farmers market in downtown Windsor. We always went by bus since the family did not have a car until I bot a 1929 Ford jalopy after graduating from high school I learned by driving up and down the alley way. To day allies do not exist in newly developing neighborhoods. My father never had a car but rode his bicycle to work and back. In the winter time he took a bus. We bot fresh friuts, vegetables and meats at the farmers market. We almost always bot a live chiken and my mother made chiken soup every Sunday. We brought the chiken home and it my duty to help my mother with it. I did this by grabbing the chiken by the head and streching the neck as far as I could and with a sawing action of the kichen knife my mother severed the neck. The chiken kicked and scratched for a few seconds . and my mother would quickley put the bleeding chicken into a pot. Sometimes I would have to wipe some blood off the table and floor. Then she put the chicken into pot of boiling water along with some onios, celery. carrots, parsley, salt and pepper and other condiments that I do not recall. My sisters, both older than me thought this was horrific and stayed far away while this was going on. My father did not care for this procedure and he stayed as far away as possible. It became soley my responsibility. After boiling in the pot for a time my mother removed it and we proceded to pull the feathers. With that chore over she split the chiken down the breastbone and removed the entrales. She removed the stomache and peel.ed off the iner lining . This was very tastey when cooked. The heart also was very good when cooked. Sometimes we would find two or three yokes inside the chiken and they were boiled also. I found it all decious. I would make a chiken sandwich using mostley the dark meat and lots of skin with a good dose of salt, pepper and catchup-----wonderful.


stefan said...

Hi Dad

great post. I remember that poor chicken story. I love hearing about your memories. The kids and I will sit down tonight to read a bit of the Szyszkowski story. Great job!


Unknown said...

hi Papa!

I never heard anything like your chicken story. and I love the way you spell things like "bought" is spelled "bot" and you spelled chicken without the C on purpose.

this is a very interesting story and I like reading it :)

szyszkos said...

We have used a sheet metal cone for killing chikens - the cone is truncated so there is an opening at each end. Put the chiken head first into the big end and stick the head out of the hole at the little end. That holds the chiken immobile and its easy to strike the head off with a knife. No mess because it can't flop around.

Steve (on the chken farm)

Katrina said...

From Ira...

One of my earliest memories is of visiting my father's cousin's chicken farm in Massachusetts. I never could figure out how relatives of ours could actually have a chicken farm. They were immigrants from eastern Poland so it's not so hard for me to understand now. We were from the big city and I was five tears old. it was thanksgiving and I'd never been so far from NYC. They had two long low buildings full of chickens all over the place. Feathers and eggs and clucking and feathers. In the middle of the country with snow everywhere and pine trees. not unlike Steve's farm in Chassel. It blew my mind.

Great blog Steve. Love the spelling. Can't wait for spinich to make its appearance.