Hen Roasting Mafia Style

Last month, I promised my oldest step-daughter, the fabulous Mae West, that I’d teach her how to roast a hen. I sent pictures and simple instructions via text messaging of a mafia-style roasting--I had butterflied the hen. See below:

First, talk to the chicken.

Then, show it who's boss.

Finally, let it know you mean business.

This Monday, Mae indicated that, humor aside, she wanted specifics. We spoke on the phone, discussing what pan to use, temperature, time, and seasoning options. Moments later, she called back. Apparently, her chicken had “butt wing flaps” and she wanted to know what to do about it. I asked if “butt wing flaps” was what I really heard her say. I suppose this term explains what I have going on in my own caboose department as I near middle age. I considered this briefly. “Just leave the hen’s butt alone. It’s fine like that.” I hoped by some means of transference that my bum is, too.

“Don’t forget to reach in the cavity and pull out the bag of gizzards and such,” I added. But our famously bold Mae apparently was not so fearless as to allow her hand to trespass the butt of a chicken.

“Oh, no!” she stated firmly, “I held up the chicken and shook it all out.” Sounds like the Mafia retained its influence after all. Either that, or due to the fact that having birthed two children and cleaned up mass amounts of inherently “gross stuff” since, my casual approach to sticking a hand up a hen’s ass qualifies me as a certain kind of brave in her world. Later that evening, Mae celebrated her triumph with a beautifully browned and glistening hen, butt flaps and all.

Tonight, having confidently cleaned and prepped my own hen, which roasted contentedly in the oven as I wrote the bulk of this post, the lovely Mae sent me a text about how hard she shook the hen. She wrote,”…I shook it like a bully shakes lunch money out of a child’s pockets…” Laughing hysterically, I stopped my writing and called her. You know what she said? “I took your advice. I was showing it who’s boss.”

And some people say their kids don’t listen….

She began to blog, by the way, at Anchors and Orchids. While her first post is pensive and sentimental, I am sure the sauce pot we all know and love ultimately will make her keen sass and wit felt as well. I look forward to every delicious morsel she offers.