Posted on August 30, 2014 under Storytelling with no comments yet

Fare or Fowl?

 

 

It was a simple enough question.

During a recent purge and cleaning of the fridge, my wife asked me about some chicken nestled on the back shelf.  As far as we could determine, it was well over seven days old, and, while not harmful to one’s health, its “curb appeal” was wanting.  We try our hardest not to waste a morsel of food, but every now and then, something past its prime gets lobbed into the composter.  I’ve ended up in there once or twice myself.

Is it just me, or are we turning into a nation of poultry purists?  Once upon a time you had a chicken dinner for a real treat, but nowadays the proliferation of poulet, in all its forms, is something akin to the Tim Horton’s phenomenon.  There seems to be chicken everywhere.

Chicken nuggets, chicken a la king, deep fried chicken, chicken stew, roast chicken potato chips, chicken wraps, stir-fried chicken, chicken balls …

I will never forget my first trip to the Chicken Burger Restaurant on the Bedford Highway.  Everything about the place was just perfect, from the 1950’s décor to the juke boxes.  But the big attraction was the chicken burgers themselves, washed down with their matchless chocolate milkshakes.  These days you can have a meal there before flying the friendly skies, as they have an outlet at the Halifax airport.  Same food and friendly staff but no fresh-air order counters … yet.

Chicken gumbo, rotisserie chicken, chicken Kiev, chicken cordon bleu…

The Colonel brought his famous brand of chicken with “eleven different herbs and spices” into our neck of the woods in the 1960`s.  We woke up one day not long ago in our home town to find that the local KFC outlet was reduced to rubble (they closed it and sent the employees home first).  It was if the Colonel had just kicked the bucket and left town.  It caused quite a flap.

Chicken Cacciatorre, Tuscan chicken, chicken fingers and taters…

If you have your head down for even a nanosecond, you might miss the A& K Lick a Chick in Little Bras d’Or.  It is reputed to have the world’s finest deep fried chicken.  You might not want to stop there the night before bloodwork for your cholesterol readings.  Right across the street there is a Tim Horton’s which, in and of itself, is not surprising.  However, this is a very famous Timmie’s, for years ago it became famous for a time when the face of the Blessed Virgin appeared on an exterior wall of the building.

Chicken has become so highly regarded as a food staple that it has developed its own brand in Quebec.  St. Hubert’s Chicken is as much a staple in the Quebecois diet as poutine.  In case you’re wondering, St. Hubert is the patron saint of hunters, mathematicians, opticians and metal workers.  It almost seems like one of the Popes ran out of ideas for patron saints and gave St. Hubert all the leftovers.

My wife is forever espousing the merits of a balanced diet.  I am suspicious that my diet might not be quite there yet.  I have noticed that small feathers are appearing on my arms and that I am prone to making audible clucking sounds when asked to do chores.  Unfortunately, I am not allowed to “chicken out”.

 

 

 

Posted on August 28, 2014 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

They call me mellow Jell-O

 

 

When was the last time that you had a bowl of jell-o? I’m certain that it’s over fifty years for me. I’m not talking about jell-o in a salad. No. A bowl full of the giggly stuff, pure and unadulterated. The last time I saw yellow jell-o was 37 years ago when I was living in Alberta. And why, you ask, is this such a big deal? Because the jell-o was completely covering the floor of a log cabin that I was renting during my teaching days in the late ‘70’s. Enough time has passed and many of the principals in the story have passed away so I felt it time to finally write this story. This story is 100% true. It’s called “ They Call Me Yellow Jell-o.” Apologies to Donovan who did a song with a similar title. ( earworm material… if you start humming it right now, I guarantee that you’ll hear it again in your head several times today! )

Coming up this weekend, I will be publishing my story about the proliferation of chicken. It seems that chicken has taken over from beef, pork and fish as the number one meal choice. Have you ever stopped to think how many different ways we prepare chicken these days? I will, of course, pay tribute to “The Colonel” and will also mention those iconic eateries, the A@K Lick a Chick in Little Bras D’or and the original “Chickenburger” on the Bedford Highway. The story is called “ Chickened Out” and will appear here on Saturday.

One of the great things about my new life as a writer is that I have more opportunities to chat with people. I met a lovely lady at Sobeys the other evening. B.G. admitted to reading my book… and liking it. I informed her that volume 2 will be coming out at the end of October. We stood in the aisle and just talked about story telling. She wondered how I kept coming up with story ideas. I told her that I finally took Betty’s advice ( after 32 years! ) and have become a better listener. Everybody has a story …or a hundred so I’m sure I’ll never run out of material.

Next week I will be publishing the story that I did about my solo trip around the Cabot Trail. I realize that it is difficult if not impossible for most people to take a day and wander off on their own. It sounds rather selfish but if you want a chance to get in touch with your thoughts, spend a day without the radio, a cell phone or an ipad.

An old schoolmate of mine died very suddenly this week. Life is so incredibly fragile and fickle… and fleeting. I once again mention my gratitude jar. You might discover that your “happiness quotient” will rise if you express your gratitude on a daily basis.  Don’t take anything for granted and try to appreciate the simple things in life like a hot shower or a walk with a friend.

Have a great long weekend.

One more earworm … “ See You, In September” ( The Happenings – 1966 )

Posted on August 26, 2014 under Storytelling with 3 comments

Got a tune stuck in your ear?

 

 

“If music be the food of love, play on …”

Twelfth Night – William Shakespeare

Have you ever thought what life would be like without music?  How would primary school teachers survive without teaching the classics like “Old MacDonald Had a Farm?”  Church can be pretty boring by times.  Luckily, a great choir can lift people’s spirits and occasionally lift the congregation out of their seats.  How would sports teams possibly psyche themselves up without the ever present din pouring through the loudspeakers?

For many people, music is every bit as important to their well-being as food and water.

But every once in a while, music can overwhelm us to the point where we want to put a large gag in it.

Can you say earworm?

In case you’re not familiar with the jargon, an earworm is a catchy tune that runs continually through one’s mind.  I don’t often receive complaints from my loyal readers but the other day I mentioned the Beatles tune “Ticket to Ride” in one of my stories.  I often do this as a song can often set the tone for the story.  In this case, this individual complained bitterly that the refrain was firmly stuck in her head and couldn’t find the escape hatch.

I always have a song or two that get lodged in my cranium.  There’s only one thing worse than earworm and that’s an earworm on steroids.  It’s bad enough to have Brian Adams’ “Summer of ‘69” repeating itself like something out of the movie “Groundhog Day”.  But add to this “What Am I Doing Hangin’ Round” by The Monkees and you can almost send yourself silly.

I will be the first to admit that I wasn’t all that crazy about everything that came out of Vatican 2.  One of the things they did away with, by and large, was the use of Latin during mass.  This included Latin hymns, which have always been my absolute favorites.  So when the cathedral choir sings the “Ave Verum” once or twice a year I find myself replaying the song for days, and in some cases, weeks on end.   I swear that someday I’m going to be picked up and carted off when someone hears me singing in a foreign tongue while walking to work.

And every so often a song comes along that radio stations beat to death like “Tubthumping” or “Who Let the Dogs Out” and an entire town can have a case of collective earworm.

As I am a senior, I can say without any hesitation (or shame), that I get up once every night for a trip to the bathroom.  And do you know what song instantly enters my head when I flick on the bathroom light?  “I’m Not Ready to Go” by The Trews.   If three of the band members were not blood relatives I would track them down and threaten them with bodily harm unless they guarantee me that this song will never be played again by a public broadcaster.

That’s the tune I’m singing today.