Vegetarians and faint of heart, you might want to skip to the last paragraph or come back tomorrow for a new post.
Before:
I’m not sure if I’m exactly proud of this, but here it goes: I’ve finally managed to kill one of the chickens from my coop myself. I’ve talked a lot about wanting to take responsibility for my meat-eating habits by doing the deed myself instead of just expecting them to magically appear in my kitchen, ready to cook. It took me a year to muster up the courage to actually do it. In our defense, we’ve only eaten a couple of chickens so far because heavy rain has slowed down egg production, and we wanted to wait until the next generation of hens was ready to lay eggs before we started culling the older ones. Out of our initial 10 hens, 4 died of unknown causes and one was eaten by a wild animal, leaving us with just 5 adults.
The first to go was the “little black one” because she was mean to all the other hens. The handyman handled it while I watched and learned. There are essentially two methods for killing a chicken: you can either chop off their head with a machete, which is quick but messy, or you can wring their neck, which requires more strength and a steady hand. We chose the latter. Watching the little black one go wasn’t that tough, as I never really liked her.
A week later, it was my turn. My partner, always pushing me, suggested we kill all four of the remaining older hens that day since they were not laying eggs anymore and just freeloading. Why not go from novice to expert in one fell swoop?
I started with “Lunch.” She was one of the first hens to join our coop, along with “Breakfast,” who was also on the chopping block that day, and “Dinner,” who had already died a few months back from what probably was the flu. I liked Lunch and didn’t want her to suffer. I grabbed her legs, put her head down, and started pulling to break her neck. I thought I had done it with the first pull, but the handyman told me she wasn’t dead yet, so I had to pull again, and again. It felt like an eternity, and I was deeply concerned for the poor animal. Finally, the handyman had to finish the job and explain that you need to pull steadily, not hard, to tear the nerves apart.
I managed to kill two more hens after that, but it was tough emotionally because I had raised these animals for a year. No more names for the next generation, that’s for sure.
Once the hens are killed, they need to be dunked in boiling water to relax their pores, making it easier to pluck the feathers. It’s a tedious and smelly job. After plucking, you drain the blood from the head and then cut it off. Next, you make a cut around the rectum to pull out the intestines, which is the most disgusting part. Then you find the heart, liver, kidneys, and throat, clean them properly, and set them aside. Finally, you remove the food bag near the neck, clean everything, and you’re done!
After:
COST OF EATING YOUR OWN CHICKENS
If you’re curious about the costs of running a chicken coop, I’ve crunched the numbers mostly focusing on eggs. We haven’t seen many eggs lately because of the cold weather and an illness affecting the village that killed many animals. Fortunately, our chickens survived thanks to a shot we gave them before heading to Europe. But no eggs mean we’re spending $40 a month on chicken feed without much return.
In the village, an adult free-range hen or rooster costs about $12-$15. From one, we can make a soup with vegetables that lasts for two to three days, feeding six adults. It’s economical, but these chickens don’t have as much meat as commercially raised ones.
Over the past four months, we’ve spent $160 on food for five hens and five roosters, which breaks down to about $16 per bird. This is more expensive than buying chickens from the market and only makes sense if the hens are laying eggs properly. During laying months, we get free eggs, free chickens, and the eggs hatch into even more chicks. Our initial investment of 10 chickens swelled to 40 animals within a year. However, with the high cost of bird feed, it’s hard to break even unless they start laying eggs soon.
COST OF EATING A VILLAGE PIG
We’ve also started buying whole pigs from the village and having the handyman and his girlfriend process them into meat for us. Pork costs $3 a pound at the butcher’s, located six miles away, and you can’t always be sure where the pigs come from. Village pigs, however, eat locally and are usually healthier.
We bought an adult pig for $75 and handed it over to the couple for processing. We agreed to buy 20 pounds of meat for $60, which included one leg, one arm, one rib, and one filet mignon. The couple kept the other half of the pig, which they could sell for $60, netting them $45 after adjusting for the purchase price.
In addition to the meat, they also kept the head, liver, heart, kidneys, and skin, which they fry into a local delicacy called chicharrones. The rendered fat from frying the skin is also sold for cooking. Everyone was happy; the couple made some extra money, enjoyed some meat themselves, and we got quality meat at market prices.
WOULD YOU KILL YOUR OWN MEAT IF YOU HAD TO OR RATHER GO VEGETARIAN?
