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Showing posts from December, 2015

KIS, THE CHAMPION CHICKEN-HEAD-EATER TRAINED IN GRANDMA’S KITCHEN

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In our childhood days, as soon as grandma identifies a chicken as the next to feel the edge of a blade, the head would automatically become the ‘most wanted’. Every one of us – a teeming pack of cousins, would begin silent prayers, hoping to be the one to land the head – more so if it’s a gangly cock. Anybody watching our body language as the chicken is plucked and cut into pieces then dunked into the soup, with or without frying, would assume that we are excited about the chicken itself – but that is not entirely true. Though, the prospect of eating chicken, a temporary departure from the normal titus/sardine fish most families eat in those days, may be a cause for excitement for us kids, the real deal was the head of the chicken. We were not like kids of these days who scramble for chicken laps (drumsticks?). The head was what we wanted. It was the ultimate trophy. You might wonder why, I’ll tell you. You see, as kids – living with the many cousins in grandma’s house, we ha