It is fowl, but not necessarily foul.

So I'm going to be boring and write an everyday sort of post. I don't do that often, because I'm a pretentious bitch like that. Some still refer to me as a professional pain in the ass. I kinda hate it when people write about their errand running, and trips to Target. I try to keep it interesting for the most part, but yeah... today? Sorry. You get boring Hedro.

So, chicken sausage. That stuff? It's well... shit. Don't buy it. I don't even give a shit that it was made of the purest, organic chicken. Damn. They ruined it. Unfit for dog consumption. Maybe cats would like it. But cats? Not really known for being that smart. In fact, don't they have something akin to a 7 day memory?

Anyway, this tube-shaped meat, (which I am generally a fan of,) was just wrong. And if you are one of those "vegetarians" who sometimes eats chicken? I can tell you... in this case? Get the pork. Seriously. One pork sausage in your lifetime? Probably not going to kill you. Or stick to tofurkey. If you like your soy, it is a lovely product.

Love-ly.

I was tempted by this stuff the other day at New Seasons. Normally, I'm pretty smart, and I DO stick to the pork. It was lemon chicken. Yum? Well, you'd think. I mean, when I cook a whole chicken at home, I usually do place a few lemon slices under the skin of the breast, along with some garlic and rosemary. That is quite yummeh.

This? Well... I am under the impression that ground chicken should be placed under the category: "what is, and what should never be." Especially when you place it in an impenetrable pork casing.

Heh heh... impenetrable pork.

But back to the situation at hand. See? Chicken? Kinda watery. It needs a release. Especially when you add lemon juice. Yeah, that shit needs somewhere to go. Also? It sort of got fucked up by the grinding process. When there is no grain, and no identifiable... well, anything, until you run across a piece of sinew or something? Yeah, that doesn't work out so well texturally.

Mr. Hed is sitting here reading this as I type, and alternately looking at my face. He actually just told me not to barf. See? This recount of experience is... not sitting well with me.

I'll go faster.

Mr. Hed took the sausages in question down to the backyard to grill. He brought them back up, and when I went to cut into one of them, it was like a flood of vile, horrible liquid was released. I don't even know what to think of this. It was just... nasty. I really could not tell if they were cooked, or uncooked. Flesh adjacent to burnt flesh looked raw, but was it? WTF?

I pinched a small amount from the inside of said tubed meat, and rubbed it between my fingers. I... thought it was done. Thought. It. Was.

So, we take them over to the table, and the entire time we are eating, the only person who is not grimacing in partial horror was our daughter who I am pretty sure has no taste buds, and will therefore eat anything. Seriously. I guess it could be worse, because she could be horribly picky like some children. I'll take it, but still. She gets the leftovers tomorrow, since she actually claimed them.

Anyway, at one point, I really was worried that mine was not cooked, so I stuck it back in the oven. It cooked for a good, long time, and when I took it out, same thing. Exactly the same. So, yes. They were cooked, but just... simply disgusting.

So, word to the wise: keep that shitty chicken sausage far, far away from me.

That said, Mr. Hed and I have decided to open a DECENT chicken restaurant. The kind that does not do bad, bad, things to chicken. Because damn. They died. They should die for a good cause... like being part of something delicious, not something that is, but should never, ever be.

We debating on a name right now, but it has been narrowed down to two: "Taste of fowl", or "Fowl Taste". Oh yes. You'll see. It will be a success.

-H